Chapter 64

Fogs are not only disagreeable, but very expensive, especially in fog-bound London, where they are often the cause of great loss to merchants. During the week preceding Christmas in a recent year it is estimated that as a result of foggy weather at least $50,000,000 was lost in that city, business being paralyzed for the time being. This being the case, the invention of some means for clearing the air of fog would mean to the British merchant a very material increase of prosperity. The problem is one of such serious importance that experiments are now being carried on with a view of finding practical means for dispelling the dense atmospheric conditions.—W. Raymond,The American Inventor.

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OBSCURITY, LITERARY

Thomas Scott, the Biblical Commentator, once wrote a commentary on “The Pilgrim’s Progress.” He gave a copy of it to an old woman. Some time after he called to see her. “Have you been reading the book I gave you?” he asked her. “Yes, sir.” “Do you understand it?” “Well, sir,” she said, “I can understand what Mr. Bunyan wrote, and I think that some day by the grace of God I may be able to understand your explanation of it.”

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OBSERVATION, KEENNESS IN

Numerous mistakes in life, in literature and in science are due to imperfect or erroneous observation. The following story from thePenn Monthly, which is quite apropos, is related of Agassiz, and it is sufficiently characteristic of this remarkably accurate observer to have the merit of probability:

Once upon a time the professor had occasion to select an assistant from one of his classes. There were a number of candidates for the post of honor, and finding himself in a quandary as to which one he should choose, the happy thought occurred to him of subjecting three of the more promising students in turn to the simple test of describing the view from his laboratory window, which overlooked the side yard of the college. One said that he saw merely a board fence and a brick pavement; another added a stream of soapy water; a third detected the color of the paint on the fence, noted a green mold or fungus on the bricks, and evidences of “bluing” in the water, besides other details. It is needless to tell to which candidate was awarded the coveted position.

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Observation Profitable—SeeInsect, a Model.

OBSERVATION, VALUE OF

Louis Agassiz, after he had spent fifteen years as a teacher of science in this country, when asked what was the best result of his efforts, replied: “I have educated five observers,” referring to the five senses. He claimed that the noblest profession in the world was that of teacher; and that especially in science, the teacher’s most important work was to train the student in habits of observation. Lowell called it a divine art—that of seeing what others only look at.

Educate the five senses and you make them fit teachers to educate you.

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OBSTACLES

Apparently some people are ignorant, and others have forgotten, that we have no sense that is capable of discriminating between high and low speed, or even between motion and rest, except by noting the usual accompaniments of motion, such as the apparent movement of surrounding objects, the resistance of the atmosphere, or the jolting due to obstacles in the path. If our surroundings move with us and the motion is smooth, our methods of detecting it fail. Thus, we can not feel the great velocity with which the earth is moving through space. In like manner, a train on a rough road seems to be going faster at forty miles an hour than one on a smooth road at sixty. The sensations of high-speed travel depend largely, therefore, on the conditions of that travel.

In the same way our moral progress can only be measured by the obstacles we meet and overcome.

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SeeHappiness;Rebuffs a Stimulant.

Obstacles Overcome—SeeEnergy, Indomitable.

OBSTACLES, UNEXPECTED

Dr. Cecil Carus-Wilson described before the Linnean Society in London recently some singular observations concerning the inclusion of stones in the roots and stems of trees.Oaks growing in a gravel pit in Kent had so many stones imbedded in their roots that they resisted attempts to saw them. Some of the roots are described as consisting of “a conglomerate formed of flints inclosed in a woody matrix.” In one specimen 67 flints were found, the largest weighing several pounds. In Norton churchyard, near Faversham, are three old yew-trees, in two of which flints and fragments of tiles have been seen at a height of seven feet above the ground. In Molash churchyard are other yew-trees which have flints imbedded in their trunks as much as eight feet above the ground. The tissues of the wood appear to have grown round the stones, which have been carried upward with the growth of the trees.

Dr. Cecil Carus-Wilson described before the Linnean Society in London recently some singular observations concerning the inclusion of stones in the roots and stems of trees.

Oaks growing in a gravel pit in Kent had so many stones imbedded in their roots that they resisted attempts to saw them. Some of the roots are described as consisting of “a conglomerate formed of flints inclosed in a woody matrix.” In one specimen 67 flints were found, the largest weighing several pounds. In Norton churchyard, near Faversham, are three old yew-trees, in two of which flints and fragments of tiles have been seen at a height of seven feet above the ground. In Molash churchyard are other yew-trees which have flints imbedded in their trunks as much as eight feet above the ground. The tissues of the wood appear to have grown round the stones, which have been carried upward with the growth of the trees.

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Obstinacy—SeeSuggestion.

Obstruction—SeeLittle Things.

Occasion, Equal to the—SeeRank, Obsequiousness to.

OCCUPATION AND HEALTH

There are some occupations that ought to be salvatory to those that engage in them, as that of the physician or the minister. Yet all occupations may so serve, if the man who works in them thus determines. As an instanceof service salvatory to the worker, an English writer refers to the immunity from disease of those who work in the oil-fields:

There is no difficulty in accounting for this. Carbolic acid, one of the most powerful of our disinfectants, is abundantly produced in the oilworks, and this is carried by the clothes of the men, and with the fumes of the oil into the dwellings of the workmen and through all the atmosphere of the neighborhood, and has thereby counteracted some of the most deadly agencies of organic poisons. Besides this, the paraffin oil itself is a good disinfectant.

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OCCUPATION OF THE MIND

A certain boy who was distinctly bad in the Sunday-school class was observed to be one of the best in the industrial class held on Saturday. “How is it,” said the teacher, “that you cut up so in Sunday-school and behave so well here?” “Well,” said the boy, “here I have something to occupy my mind; in Sunday-school I don’t.”—Walter L. Harvey, “Journal of the Religious Education Association,” 1903.

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Occupation, Slavery to—SeeEngrossment in Business.

Occupation, Wrong—SeeSympathy Royal.

Occupations, Comparing—SeeValues, Standard of.

Occupations of Women—SeeAlumnæ Occupations.

ODD BEHAVIOR

Paul Veronese, like many other painters, was given to eccentric moods and odd habits. On one occasion he accepted the hospitality of a family at their beautiful country villa. He assumed great liberties during his visit, claiming absolute possession of his room, allowing not even a servant to enter. He would not suffer the maid to make his bed, and the sweepings of the room were left every morning outside of the door for her to remove. He slipt away without bidding the family good-by. On entering the room the servant found the sheets of the bed missing and at once reported that the painter must have stolen them. After careful search a roll was found in a corner, which proved to be a magnificent picture of “Alexander in the tent of Darius.” It was painted on the missing sheets of the bed, and the artist had chosen this curious way of recompensing his hosts for their generous hospitality.—Frank H. Stauffer,The Epoch.

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ODD ONE, THE

“As every one who has visited London knows,” said a young man formerly attached to our embassy at the British capital, “the number of passengers carried on certain ’busses is limited by regulation.“Once a kindly Irish conductor, tho quite aware that his ’bus was full, had permitted a young and sickly woman to squeeze in. The ’bus had not proceeded far before the usual crank spoke up. ‘Conductah!’ he exclaimed, ‘You’ve one over your number, y’know.’“‘Have I, sir?’ asked the conductor with affected concern. Then, beginning to count from the opposite end, leaving the complainant until the last, he repeated: ‘Wan, two, three, four, foive, six, sivin, eight, noine, tin, ’lefen, twelve, thir—so I have sir, an’, be the Lord Harry, ye’re the wan. Out ye go!’“And out he did go.”—BostonTranscript.

“Once a kindly Irish conductor, tho quite aware that his ’bus was full, had permitted a young and sickly woman to squeeze in. The ’bus had not proceeded far before the usual crank spoke up. ‘Conductah!’ he exclaimed, ‘You’ve one over your number, y’know.’

“‘Have I, sir?’ asked the conductor with affected concern. Then, beginning to count from the opposite end, leaving the complainant until the last, he repeated: ‘Wan, two, three, four, foive, six, sivin, eight, noine, tin, ’lefen, twelve, thir—so I have sir, an’, be the Lord Harry, ye’re the wan. Out ye go!’

“And out he did go.”—BostonTranscript.

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ODORS

As each nation has its peculiar cut of dress, so each has its national odors apart from race odor. Esson Third says:

The Korean gentleman carries about with him two odors that are specially noticeable to a newcomer. I once made a journey with a Western friend who had a somewhat highly keyed sense of smell, and I remember his stopping short on the road as we walked along, tapping me on the arm and with a long sniff saying: “There it is again.” “What is it?” I asked. “That peculiar smell,” said he. I sniffed long and hard, but there was nothing but the fresh morning breeze and the delightful odors of hill and field. “I’ve smelt it before,” said he, “and I’ll tell you later when I smell it again.”We tracked that odor for two days, and then we discovered that it came from the black lacquer hat. The odor of lacquer is one of Korea’s national smells. The second smell is due to a mixture of garlic, onions, cabbage, salt, fish, and other ingredients, that make up the Korean pickle so greatly enjoyed with their rice. This odor clings like that of Limburger cheese, and followsthe native to church and into all the other walks of life.—James S. Gale, “Korea in Transition.”

We tracked that odor for two days, and then we discovered that it came from the black lacquer hat. The odor of lacquer is one of Korea’s national smells. The second smell is due to a mixture of garlic, onions, cabbage, salt, fish, and other ingredients, that make up the Korean pickle so greatly enjoyed with their rice. This odor clings like that of Limburger cheese, and followsthe native to church and into all the other walks of life.—James S. Gale, “Korea in Transition.”

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OFFENDED FEELINGS

To think about something else is the best and only sure cure for offended feelings. To think about the offense—its unkindness, its injustice, its meanness of spirit, and all its other ugly aspects—only adds to its sting and deepens our own suffering or anger. This hurts us, and helps no one. Eggs are not the only things that are given added life and power by being brooded over. If we want to enlarge and multiply everything unpleasant in that which has offended us, brooding over it will do it. If we want to have done with it and get it out of our life as quickly as possible, to turn deliberately away from it and concentrate our thought and energy upon something else is our sure road to success. “When any one has offended me, I try to raise my soul so high that the offense can not reach it,” Descartes is credited with saying. But we can not lift ourselves by mere will power. We can lose ourselves by devotion to something else—and thus we can lose the offense.—Sunday School Times.

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OFFENSE, ROCK OF

Fred J. Atwood voices the regret of those who, by failing to live, will lead others astray:

Because, professing still to beA follower of the Lamb of God,I walk in devious paths where heIs never seen, has never trod,E’en thus it is that some, through me,The Master’s face may never see.Because, professing to be wise,And to have found the Truth, the Way,I oft am seen in Folly’s guise,Unmindful whom I thus betray,—Yet so it is that some, through me,To heaven’s gate may lose the key.Because, professing his dear nameWhose love is infinitely great,My tongue will even friends defame,And flashing eyes oft tell of hate,—Alas, alas, that some, through me,May, hopeless, face eternity!

Because, professing still to beA follower of the Lamb of God,I walk in devious paths where heIs never seen, has never trod,E’en thus it is that some, through me,The Master’s face may never see.

Because, professing still to be

A follower of the Lamb of God,

I walk in devious paths where he

Is never seen, has never trod,

E’en thus it is that some, through me,

The Master’s face may never see.

Because, professing to be wise,And to have found the Truth, the Way,I oft am seen in Folly’s guise,Unmindful whom I thus betray,—Yet so it is that some, through me,To heaven’s gate may lose the key.

Because, professing to be wise,

And to have found the Truth, the Way,

I oft am seen in Folly’s guise,

Unmindful whom I thus betray,—

Yet so it is that some, through me,

To heaven’s gate may lose the key.

Because, professing his dear nameWhose love is infinitely great,My tongue will even friends defame,And flashing eyes oft tell of hate,—Alas, alas, that some, through me,May, hopeless, face eternity!

Because, professing his dear name

Whose love is infinitely great,

My tongue will even friends defame,

And flashing eyes oft tell of hate,—

Alas, alas, that some, through me,

May, hopeless, face eternity!

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Offerings—SeeLove’s Acceptable Offering.

OFFERINGS, EXTRAVAGANT

When Alexander was a young man, he was one day present at the offering of sacrifices, and Leonnatus, one of his teachers, who was standing by, thought he was rather profuse in his consumption of frankincense and myrrh, for he was taking it up by handfuls and throwing it on the fire. Leonnatus reproved him for his extravagance, adding that when he became master of the countries where these costly gums were procured he might be as prodigal of them as he pleased. Alexander remembered the reproof years later, and finding vast stores of these gums in Gaza, he sent to Leonnatus large quantities of them, telling him that he might not have occasion to be so sparing for the future in his sacrifice to the gods. (Text.)

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OFFERINGS, THE POOREST

In the middle of the summer season tails of sick cattle are principal native offerings at Saint Herbot, a small parish not far from Paris, France. The annual cattle fair brings together a great number of dealers from all parts of Brittany. Business goes on from early morning until three o’clock in the afternoon, when every one adjourns to the church and joins in the service, at which the benediction of heaven on the worshipers’ heads is implored. The custom is for the breeders to cut off the tails of sick animals and lay the tails on the altar, the idea being that this ceremony will restore the sick animals to health. The tails are afterward sold and considerable money realized from the sale.

Many people are just this way toward God. The poorest products of their life they give to God, and make themselves believe that is giving. To give the tailings of the threshing floor is to give chaff. To give the tailings of the reduction mill is to give the low-grade ore. To give the tail ends of anything is to give the poorest.

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OFFERINGS, UNWORTHY

At the heathen festivals in India, the traffickers in sacrificial goods resort to all sorts of devices. Low-caste men have baskets containing little pigs from two days to a month old. These they sell to the high-caste worshipers, cutting the throat of thepig in the presence of the buyer and smearing some blood upon his pious forehead. But by a trick known to the salesman, the windpipe is not severed, so he sells the pig over and over. In the same way coconuts are sold whose milk has been dry for years, and rotten fruit and blind animals are bought at bargains—anything is good enough for offerings to the gods!

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OFFICE-SEEKING

Some Missouri Republican, hungry for an office, resorted to rather a novel method of attracting the attention of Governor-elect Hadley. He cut away the sole from an old shoe, carefully removed the pegs, and then, with a lead-pencil, addrest a letter on the worn side of the surface. Unfortunately, his signature could not be deciphered, nor was the address legible.Curiosity on the part of those who handled this missive may have been in part responsible for its condition when it reached the attorney-general’s office. This much could be made out:“I am a Republican and want a piece of pie. Anything will do me from guard at the penitentiary up as high as you will go. If you can’t give me a slice of pie, please save me a bite of the crust.”

Curiosity on the part of those who handled this missive may have been in part responsible for its condition when it reached the attorney-general’s office. This much could be made out:

“I am a Republican and want a piece of pie. Anything will do me from guard at the penitentiary up as high as you will go. If you can’t give me a slice of pie, please save me a bite of the crust.”

So long as the spirit of the writer of this unusual epistle is abroad in the land, politics will be degraded and a better state of things retarded.

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Oil on the Waters—SeeExperiment.

Old Age—SeeImmortality.

Old Age and Work—SeeFame and Time.

OLD AGE CHEERED

The incident related below by the Rev. Asa Bullard is an example that ought frequently to be imitated:

At the “Old People’s Day” in 1881, I was invited to be with Mr. Batt. The house was quite full on the occasion. There were sixty people present who were over sixty years of age, and twenty-five who were eighty years of age or more. A bouquet was presented to each of these twenty-five. They arose, as their names were called, and received the bouquets as they were presented by the hands of children. At the close of the meeting one of those addrest said: “It knocked twenty years right off from my age.”—“Incidents in a Busy Life.”

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OLD AGE INCURABLE

The following story is told of John Hay:

He had been ailing one time, and a friend made bold to ask what the trouble was. “I am suffering from an incurable disease,” answered Mr. Hay bravely.A sense of delicacy prevented the friend from making further inquiry; but he told the story to many of his associates, nearly all of whom were acquainted with Mr. Hay, and the report soon spread around Washington that a deadly disease held the Secretary of State within its grasp. One intimate acquaintance of Mr. Hay determined to find out the nature of the secretary’s ailment, and addrest him one day with the remark: “I have been told that you are suffering from an incurable disease. Is it true?” “It is,” said Mr. Hay, in a sad tone. “What is the incurable disease?” then asked the insistent acquaintance. “Old age,” exclaimed Mr. Hay, with a chuckle. (Text.)—MilwaukeeFree Press.

He had been ailing one time, and a friend made bold to ask what the trouble was. “I am suffering from an incurable disease,” answered Mr. Hay bravely.

A sense of delicacy prevented the friend from making further inquiry; but he told the story to many of his associates, nearly all of whom were acquainted with Mr. Hay, and the report soon spread around Washington that a deadly disease held the Secretary of State within its grasp. One intimate acquaintance of Mr. Hay determined to find out the nature of the secretary’s ailment, and addrest him one day with the remark: “I have been told that you are suffering from an incurable disease. Is it true?” “It is,” said Mr. Hay, in a sad tone. “What is the incurable disease?” then asked the insistent acquaintance. “Old age,” exclaimed Mr. Hay, with a chuckle. (Text.)—MilwaukeeFree Press.

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OLD, ENCOURAGEMENT TO THE

To feel young and able to take on new duties and perform them satisfactorily at the age of 73 should put heart into every discouraged person who is nearing the seventies. Such a person was the matron of the “rest home” for working girls, Arrity Hale.

When Arrity Hale was seventy-three years old, her husband having died some time before, she began to find it hard work keeping her small house going. She never told any one of this, but neighbors began to suspect it. A well-known New York family had a country-place near the village, and they had always been on friendly terms with Mrs. Hale. One member of this family was connected with the Working Girls’ Vacation Society, and she, with some other women, was contemplating the foundation of a home in the neighborhood as a branch of the society.The woman in question and her friends interested with her in the project, were all alumnæ of Miss Green’s school in this city. Miss Green was a famous preceptress a generation or so ago, and she numberedin her classes at No. 1 Fifth Avenue many of the girls who are now the society matrons of the city. After teaching three generations of pupils, and when she was considerably more than seventy years old, she decided to give up her work.Her old pupils determined to do something in her honor, something that would be a lasting tribute to her, and acting upon a suggestion from her, they determined to purchase a cottage in the country to be used as a rest-home for working girls during their summer vacations. That was how the “L. M. Green Cottage” was established.Knowing that Arrity Hale was not in the best of circumstances, they approached her with an offer to buy her farm and establish her in it as matron. She eagerly accepted, and the plan was at once put in operation. Some of the members of the society were rather dubious about putting a woman over seventy years old in charge of a houseful of girls, but in a season or two this feeling had entirely disappeared. Mrs. Hale had no trouble at all.Every girl who visited the Green Cottage left with a regret that she could not spend all her life there. (Text.)

The woman in question and her friends interested with her in the project, were all alumnæ of Miss Green’s school in this city. Miss Green was a famous preceptress a generation or so ago, and she numberedin her classes at No. 1 Fifth Avenue many of the girls who are now the society matrons of the city. After teaching three generations of pupils, and when she was considerably more than seventy years old, she decided to give up her work.

Her old pupils determined to do something in her honor, something that would be a lasting tribute to her, and acting upon a suggestion from her, they determined to purchase a cottage in the country to be used as a rest-home for working girls during their summer vacations. That was how the “L. M. Green Cottage” was established.

Knowing that Arrity Hale was not in the best of circumstances, they approached her with an offer to buy her farm and establish her in it as matron. She eagerly accepted, and the plan was at once put in operation. Some of the members of the society were rather dubious about putting a woman over seventy years old in charge of a houseful of girls, but in a season or two this feeling had entirely disappeared. Mrs. Hale had no trouble at all.

Every girl who visited the Green Cottage left with a regret that she could not spend all her life there. (Text.)

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OLD, HOW TO GROW

Softly, oh, softly the years have swept by thee,Touching thee lightly with tenderest care;Sorrow and death they have often brought nigh thee,Yet have they left thee but beauty to wear.Growing old gracefully,Gracefully fair.Far from the storms that are lashing the ocean,Nearer each day to that pleasant home-light;Far from the waves that are big with commotion,Under full sail and the harbor in sight;Growing old cheerfully,Cheerful and bright.Past all the winds that were adverse and chilling,Past all the islands that lured thee to rest,Past all the currents that lured thee unwillingFar from thy course to the Land of the Blest;Growing old peacefully,Peaceful and blest.Never a feeling of envy or sorrowWhen the bright faces of children are seen,Never a year from the young wouldst thou borrow—Thou dost remember what lieth between;Growing old willingly,Thankful, serene.Rich in experience that angels might covet;Rich in a faith that has grown with thy years,Rich in a love that grew from and about it,Soothing thy sorrows and hushing thy fears;Growing old wealthily,Loving and dear.Hearts at the sound of thy coming are lightened,Ready and willing thy hand to relieve;Many a face at thy kind word has brightened;“It is more blessed to give than receive.”Growing old happily,Ceasing to grieve.

Softly, oh, softly the years have swept by thee,

Touching thee lightly with tenderest care;

Sorrow and death they have often brought nigh thee,

Yet have they left thee but beauty to wear.

Growing old gracefully,

Gracefully fair.

Far from the storms that are lashing the ocean,Nearer each day to that pleasant home-light;Far from the waves that are big with commotion,Under full sail and the harbor in sight;Growing old cheerfully,Cheerful and bright.

Far from the storms that are lashing the ocean,

Nearer each day to that pleasant home-light;

Far from the waves that are big with commotion,

Under full sail and the harbor in sight;

Growing old cheerfully,

Cheerful and bright.

Past all the winds that were adverse and chilling,Past all the islands that lured thee to rest,Past all the currents that lured thee unwillingFar from thy course to the Land of the Blest;Growing old peacefully,Peaceful and blest.

Past all the winds that were adverse and chilling,

Past all the islands that lured thee to rest,

Past all the currents that lured thee unwilling

Far from thy course to the Land of the Blest;

Growing old peacefully,

Peaceful and blest.

Never a feeling of envy or sorrowWhen the bright faces of children are seen,Never a year from the young wouldst thou borrow—Thou dost remember what lieth between;Growing old willingly,Thankful, serene.

Never a feeling of envy or sorrow

When the bright faces of children are seen,

Never a year from the young wouldst thou borrow—

Thou dost remember what lieth between;

Growing old willingly,

Thankful, serene.

Rich in experience that angels might covet;Rich in a faith that has grown with thy years,Rich in a love that grew from and about it,Soothing thy sorrows and hushing thy fears;Growing old wealthily,Loving and dear.

Rich in experience that angels might covet;

Rich in a faith that has grown with thy years,

Rich in a love that grew from and about it,

Soothing thy sorrows and hushing thy fears;

Growing old wealthily,

Loving and dear.

Hearts at the sound of thy coming are lightened,Ready and willing thy hand to relieve;Many a face at thy kind word has brightened;“It is more blessed to give than receive.”Growing old happily,Ceasing to grieve.

Hearts at the sound of thy coming are lightened,

Ready and willing thy hand to relieve;

Many a face at thy kind word has brightened;

“It is more blessed to give than receive.”

Growing old happily,

Ceasing to grieve.

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OLD-TIME REVELS

Talk about dissipations, ye who have ever seen the old-fashioned sideboard! Did I not have an old relative who always, when visitors came, used to go up-stairs and take a drink through economical habits, not offering anything to his visitors? On the old-fashioned training-days the most sober men were apt to take a day to themselves. Many of the familiar drinks of to-day were unknown to them, but their hard cider, mint julep, metheglin, hot toddy and lemonade in which the lemon was not at all prominent, sometimes made lively work for the broad-brimmed hats and silver knee-buckles. Talk of dissipating parties of to-day and keeping of late hours! Why, did they not have their “bees” and sausage-stuffings and tea-parties and dances, that for heartiness and uproar utterly eclipsed all the waltzes, lanciers, redowas and breakdowns of the nineteenth century, and they never went home till morning.—T. De Witt Talmage.

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Old Truths—SeeSolidity of Old Truths.

OLD-YEAR MEMORIES

Let us forget the things that vext and tried us,The worrying things that caused our souls to fret;The hopes that, cherished long, were still denied usLet us forget.Let us forget the little slights that pained us,The greater wrongs that rankle sometimes yet;The pride with which some lofty one disdained usLet us forget.Let us forget our brother’s fault and failing,The yielding to temptation that beset,That he perchance, tho grief be unavailing,Can not forget.But blessings manifold, past all deserving,Kind words and helpful deeds, a countless throng,The fault o’ercome, the rectitude unswerving,Let us remember long.The sacrifice of love, the generous giving,When friends were few, the hand-clasp warm and strong,The fragrance of each life of holy living,Let us remember long.Whatever things were good and true and gracious,Whate’er of right has triumphed over wrong,What love of God or man has rendered precious,Let us remember long.So, pondering well the lessons it has taught us,We tenderly may bid the year “Good-by,”Holding in memory the good it brought us,Letting the evil die. (Text.)—Susan E. Gammon,Christian Advocate.

Let us forget the things that vext and tried us,The worrying things that caused our souls to fret;The hopes that, cherished long, were still denied usLet us forget.

Let us forget the things that vext and tried us,

The worrying things that caused our souls to fret;

The hopes that, cherished long, were still denied us

Let us forget.

Let us forget the little slights that pained us,The greater wrongs that rankle sometimes yet;The pride with which some lofty one disdained usLet us forget.

Let us forget the little slights that pained us,

The greater wrongs that rankle sometimes yet;

The pride with which some lofty one disdained us

Let us forget.

Let us forget our brother’s fault and failing,The yielding to temptation that beset,That he perchance, tho grief be unavailing,Can not forget.

Let us forget our brother’s fault and failing,

The yielding to temptation that beset,

That he perchance, tho grief be unavailing,

Can not forget.

But blessings manifold, past all deserving,Kind words and helpful deeds, a countless throng,The fault o’ercome, the rectitude unswerving,Let us remember long.

But blessings manifold, past all deserving,

Kind words and helpful deeds, a countless throng,

The fault o’ercome, the rectitude unswerving,

Let us remember long.

The sacrifice of love, the generous giving,When friends were few, the hand-clasp warm and strong,The fragrance of each life of holy living,Let us remember long.

The sacrifice of love, the generous giving,

When friends were few, the hand-clasp warm and strong,

The fragrance of each life of holy living,

Let us remember long.

Whatever things were good and true and gracious,Whate’er of right has triumphed over wrong,What love of God or man has rendered precious,Let us remember long.

Whatever things were good and true and gracious,

Whate’er of right has triumphed over wrong,

What love of God or man has rendered precious,

Let us remember long.

So, pondering well the lessons it has taught us,We tenderly may bid the year “Good-by,”Holding in memory the good it brought us,Letting the evil die. (Text.)—Susan E. Gammon,Christian Advocate.

So, pondering well the lessons it has taught us,

We tenderly may bid the year “Good-by,”

Holding in memory the good it brought us,

Letting the evil die. (Text.)

—Susan E. Gammon,Christian Advocate.

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Omens—SeeSuperstition.

OMNISCIENCE

Here is a sentiment of the Psalms repeated in distant Japan by one who, perhaps, had never read about the all-seeing One who “understandeth our thoughts afar off”:

Take heed unto thyself; the mighty GodThat is the soul of nature, sees the goodAnd bad that man in his most secret heartThinks by himself, and brings it to the light. (Text.)—Her Majesty the EmpressHarukoof Japan.Translated byArthur Lloyd.

Take heed unto thyself; the mighty God

That is the soul of nature, sees the good

And bad that man in his most secret heart

Thinks by himself, and brings it to the light. (Text.)

—Her Majesty the EmpressHarukoof Japan.

Translated byArthur Lloyd.

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There was in my regiment during the Civil War—I was chaplain—a certain corporal, a gay-hearted fellow and a good soldier, of whom I was very fond—with whom on occasion of his recovery from a dangerous sickness I felt it my duty to have a serious pastoral talk; and while he convalesced I watched for an opportunity for it. As I sat one day on the side of his bed in the hospital tent chatting with him, he asked me what the campaign, when by and by spring opened, was going to be. I told him that I didn’t know. “Well,” said he, “I suppose that General McClellan knows all about it.” (This was away back in 1861, not long after we went to the field.) I answered: “General McClellan has his plans, of course, but he doesn’t know. Things may not turn out as he expects.” “But,” said the corporal, “President Lincoln knows, doesn’t he?” “No,” I said, “he doesn’t know, either. He has his ideas, but he can’t see ahead any more than General McClellan can.” “Dear me,” said the corporal, “it would be a great comfort if there was somebody that did know about things”—and I saw my chance. “True, corporal,” I observed, “that’s a very natural feeling; and the blest fact is there is One who does know everything, both past and future, about you and me, and about this army; who knows when we are going to move, and where to, and what’s going to happen; knows the whole thing.” “Oh,” says the corporal, “you mean old Scott!”—Joseph H. Twichell.

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Omnipresence, A Wrestle with—SeeChildren’s Religious Ideas.

One Idea, The Man With—SeeEngrossment in Business.

ONE, WINNING

In St. John’s Church, in the little town of Beverley, England, one stormy evening in December, 1853, a meeting of the church missionary society was being held at which a scant audience was present, including just one young man, who on the Sunday previous had been particularly invited to attend. The vicar of the church, the Rev. A. T. Carr, suggested a postponement, but the speaker, a venerable rector of a near-by town, replied that those who had braved the storm were entitled to hear the message intended for them. The service over, that lone young man trudged homeward, when the thought came to him: “I was the only young man there. Why should not I become a missionary? May not the Lord have something for me to do in heathen lands?” The resolution was made. That young man wasWilliam Duncan, now known as “The Apostle of Alaska,” whose missionary triumphs among the Indians of the Alaskan coast have won the admiration of the world.

To win the one is sometimes to win the many. (Text.)

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Open Allegiance—SeeChurch Membership.

Open Door to China—SeeChinese Progress.

OPENNESS OF MIND

The Mediterranean is practically a tideless sea, and yet the visitor to its waters is puzzled at the discovery of what appears to be a tide. But the explanation is that there is a connection between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, so that what seems to be a tide at Gibraltar is simply the rolling waves from the tide of the mighty Atlantic into the sea that washes the shores of southern Europe and northern Africa. As long as the channel at the Straits of Gibraltar is open, so long will there be this rolling in, and so there will be a constant influx of blessing while communication with God is unhindered.

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SeeSource of Blessing.

OPINION, CHANGED

When General Ewell was asked what he thought of Jackson’s generalship in the Shenandoah Valley campaign, he replied:“When he began it, I thought him crazy. Before he got through, I thought him inspired.” —The Sunday Magazine.

When General Ewell was asked what he thought of Jackson’s generalship in the Shenandoah Valley campaign, he replied:

“When he began it, I thought him crazy. Before he got through, I thought him inspired.” —The Sunday Magazine.

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Opinionatedness—SeeIndividualism, Excessive.

OPINIONS

Wesley himself said once to his preachers, “I have no more right to object to a man for holding a different opinion from my own than I have to differ with a man because he wears a wig and I wear my own hair, tho I have a right to object if he shakes the powder about my eyes.”—W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

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OPPORTUNITIES, IMPROVED

Whitefield preached under conditions and to audiences known to no other orators. Passing over Hampton Common, he finds a crowd of 12,000 people collected to see a man hung in chains. Here is an audience, a pulpit, a text; and straightway he captures the crowd! He preaches to another vast multitude assembled to see a man hanged, and the hangman himself suspends his office while Whitefield discourses. Some wandering players have set up their stage at a country fair; the crowd rushes together to grin and jest. But Whitefield suddenly appears, turns the whole scene to religious uses, spoils the players’ harvest, and preaches a sermon of overwhelming power.—W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

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OPPORTUNITIES UNUTILIZED

The MaconTelegraphsays that Macon men in Florida laugh to see natives opening canned tomatoes in sight of tomato plants loaded with ripe fruit. Then the said Macon men go to their own homes and buy Florida shad, at Washington Market prices, altho their own river is full of them; and theTelegraphasks: “Is it not a little singular?” Bless you, no! The same sort of thing is going on all over the country. There is not a year when hams and bacon do not bring higher prices in some great pork-producing counties of the West than they do in New York. There are Southern counties where the watermelon grows so easily that the small boy scorns to steal it, yet in some towns in these counties a watermelon costs twice as much as in any Northern city. There are cattle-ranches in the West where milk, when there is any, brings fifty cents a quart, and great grain farms on the prairies whose owners never in their lives tasted an ear of sweet-corn. And, coming back to the shad, there are times when these fish are running up our own river by tens of thousands that a breakfast of shad costs more than one of beefsteak, altho the shad comes right to town and needs only to be taken from a net, while the beef has to be fed at least three years and then brought half-way across the continent by rail. No, there’s nothing singular about it, except in the fact that where food products most abound human nature seems most incompetent to make full use of its opportunities. America is, above all others, a land of plenty, but no one would imagine it after looking at a price-list of family supplies.—New YorkHerald.

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OPPORTUNITY

Senator J. J. Ingalls wrote the first of these poems not long before he died, the only poetry he is known to havecomposed. In reply, Walter Malone wrote the second selection:

IMaster of human destinies am I,Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait,Cities and fields I walk; I penetrateDeserts and seas remote, and, passing byHovel and mart and palace, soon or lateI knock, unbidden, once at every gate:If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise beforeI turn away. It is the hour of fate,And they who follow me, reach every stateMortals desire and conquer every foeSave death; but those who doubt or hesitate,Condemned to failure, penury, and wo;Seek me in vain, and uselessly implore:I answer not, and I return no more.IIThey do me wrong who say I come no more,When once I knock and fail to find you in;For every day I stand outside your door,And bid you wake to ride, to fight, and win.Wail not for precious chances passed away,Weep not for golden ages on the wane!Each night I burn the records of the day,At sunrise every soul is born again.Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;My judgment seal the dead past with its dead,But never bind a moment yet to come.Tho deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep:I lend my arm to all who say, “I can!”No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep,But yet might rise and be again a man.Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?Dost reel from righteous retribution’s blow?Then turn from blotted archives of the past,And find the future’s pages white as snow.Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell!Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven.Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.

Master of human destinies am I,Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait,Cities and fields I walk; I penetrateDeserts and seas remote, and, passing byHovel and mart and palace, soon or lateI knock, unbidden, once at every gate:If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise beforeI turn away. It is the hour of fate,And they who follow me, reach every stateMortals desire and conquer every foeSave death; but those who doubt or hesitate,Condemned to failure, penury, and wo;Seek me in vain, and uselessly implore:I answer not, and I return no more.

Master of human destinies am I,

Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait,

Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate

Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by

Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late

I knock, unbidden, once at every gate:

If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise before

I turn away. It is the hour of fate,

And they who follow me, reach every state

Mortals desire and conquer every foe

Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,

Condemned to failure, penury, and wo;

Seek me in vain, and uselessly implore:

I answer not, and I return no more.

They do me wrong who say I come no more,When once I knock and fail to find you in;For every day I stand outside your door,And bid you wake to ride, to fight, and win.Wail not for precious chances passed away,Weep not for golden ages on the wane!Each night I burn the records of the day,At sunrise every soul is born again.Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;My judgment seal the dead past with its dead,But never bind a moment yet to come.Tho deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep:I lend my arm to all who say, “I can!”No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep,But yet might rise and be again a man.Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?Dost reel from righteous retribution’s blow?Then turn from blotted archives of the past,And find the future’s pages white as snow.Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell!Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven.Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.

They do me wrong who say I come no more,

When once I knock and fail to find you in;

For every day I stand outside your door,

And bid you wake to ride, to fight, and win.

Wail not for precious chances passed away,

Weep not for golden ages on the wane!

Each night I burn the records of the day,

At sunrise every soul is born again.

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,

To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;

My judgment seal the dead past with its dead,

But never bind a moment yet to come.

Tho deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep:

I lend my arm to all who say, “I can!”

No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep,

But yet might rise and be again a man.

Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?

Dost reel from righteous retribution’s blow?

Then turn from blotted archives of the past,

And find the future’s pages white as snow.

Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell!

Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven.

Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,

Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.

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The importance of seizing opportunities as they pass by is realized by astronomers who study the sun’s corona:

The study of the corona of the sun is limited to the few brief moments of total solar eclipse; to some five or six minutes every few years. For this purpose expeditions are fitted out and sent to the most favorable locations; and the astro-physicist utilizes every moment of totality in obtaining photographs and spectographs for measurements and study.—Charles Lane Poor, “The Solar System.”

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Howard B. Gross, pleading for better conditions for the “submerged” classes, says:

The other day, after Easter, I took a lily which I had bought for my wife—it had withered and grown yellow—I took the ugly thing and threw it into the back yard, and as I threw it the pot broke, and I saw a thousand little rootlets beating against the pot, hungry for air and moisture, and I planted that ugly thing in the soft and tender soil, where the morning sun could smile upon it, and the noonday sun not smite it, and the fairest thing which ever grew in the garden grew out of that despised and dried thing which had no chance to grow. All these people need is the full, free, fair chance that we have had.

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Single acts and moments are fraught with destiny.

Esau filled his life with regret for trifling one day; Esther’s was full of glory for one day’s courage. Peter slept one hour and lost a matchless opportunity; Mary’s name is fragrant forever for the loving deed of a day. Do your best now. (Text.)—Maltbie Babcock.

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Some men make their opportunities.

Less than sixteen years ago a clergyman was called to two New York parishes. One was thriving, the other was standing still, the duty of existence growing heavier with each year of inactivity. He chose the latter church, because, as he said, “there was more work to do.” At that time his congregation was never large and bad weather often made it very small. It had a Sunday-school of less than fifty members and the Sunday services were practically the end of the week’s labor. People were moving rapidly farther uptown; the churches were going with them, and St.Bartholomew’s, at that time one of the smaller Episcopal parishes, while it was stubbornly holding its place, was gradually weakening. And so it was, comparatively inactive, half forsaken, when Dr. Greer came to it.Dr. Greer left St. Bartholomew’s recently perhaps the most powerful single Protestant organization in the world, a church that spends more than two hundred thousand dollars a year, the old edifice remodeled and crowded to the doors of a Sunday morning, a parish house in the midst of the maelstrom of East Side life; six Sunday-schools aggregating two thousand members, two in English, one in Armenian, one in Chinese, one in German, one in Swedish; industrial schools, clubs, an employment bureau that obtains positions for one hundred people a week, a clinic that cares for one hundred and fifty people a day, a boarding-house for girls, and many other important cogs in an immense and constantly active machine of religious and philanthropic endeavor. It was built up piece by piece, getting greater support as it proved itself, just as any factory or business grows. (Text.)—Arthur Goodrich,Leslie’s Monthly.

Dr. Greer left St. Bartholomew’s recently perhaps the most powerful single Protestant organization in the world, a church that spends more than two hundred thousand dollars a year, the old edifice remodeled and crowded to the doors of a Sunday morning, a parish house in the midst of the maelstrom of East Side life; six Sunday-schools aggregating two thousand members, two in English, one in Armenian, one in Chinese, one in German, one in Swedish; industrial schools, clubs, an employment bureau that obtains positions for one hundred people a week, a clinic that cares for one hundred and fifty people a day, a boarding-house for girls, and many other important cogs in an immense and constantly active machine of religious and philanthropic endeavor. It was built up piece by piece, getting greater support as it proved itself, just as any factory or business grows. (Text.)—Arthur Goodrich,Leslie’s Monthly.

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