N

We can understand how Tennyson was preserved from the fatality of recklessness, how it is he wore the white flower of a blameless life, and ruled himself with chivalrous regard for womanhood, when we study his mother’s face. What such a woman must have been in the home, and what sort of home it must have been where she moved like a ministering spirit, we can readily imagine.—W. J. Dawson, “The Makers of English Poetry.”

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Alexander the Great never wore any garments save those made by his mother. These beautiful robes he showed to the Persian princes who came to visit his court as marks of the skill of Olympia, who was the daughter of a chieftain, the wife of a sovereign and the mother of a conqueror.

Every child does not have mother-made garments; but is it not true that every child is mother-made? And does he not more than continue the succession of her royal soul?

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MOTHERHOOD, DIVINE

I remember going one day into a great church in Paris and seeing, round back of the altar, in a little chapel sacred to the Virgin Mary and above a little altar in the little chapel, a bas relief. It represented the figure of a woman with a babe in her arms standing on the world; and under her feet, crusht and bleeding, was a serpent. It is only a woman with a babe in her arms that is going to crush the serpent after all.—Hugh Birkhead.

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MOTHERHOOD IN ANIMALS

Louis Albert Banks tells of a man who killed a she bear and brought her young cubs home to train up as pets:

When they got to camp the motherless pets were put in a box and given something to eat; but eat they would not and yelp they would, making a distressing noise. He took a switch and whipt them, but they only cried the louder. At first every one was sorry for them; but by and by, as the crying was continued, everybody began to scold on account of the noise. He thought that on account of the noise they made he would have to kill them. At length, however, he brought the mother-bearskin, and covering this over something, he put it in a corner of the box. The men stept back so that they could see without being seen, and pretty soon each little cub had smelled the motherskinand had nestled up close to it as contented as could be, and soon they were sound asleep. (Text.)

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MOTION, CHANGE BY

The effect of rotation in changing the shape of plastic bodies can readily be shown in simple experiments. A light metal ring is mounted on a vertical axis about which it can be rotated with great rapidity. When the ring is at rest it is circular in shape, but when it is rotated it becomes flattened along the axis, bulging out at what we may call the equator. The faster the ring is rotated the greater and greater becomes its departure from circular shape.—Charles Lane Poor, “The Solar System.”

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Motion Desired—SeeHome, Choice of a.

MOTION WITHOUT PROGRESS

There’s one kind of an engine that’s always a nuisance to me, and that’s these little switching-engines down by the station. They run up and down side-tracks, shoving cars; and that’s all they do from week to week and from month to month. They’re always getting in the way of wagons and scaring horses. But when I see a grand locomotive start to the seacoast cities, there is music in her whistle. There is something which says she’s determined to land her passengers at their destination on time. There are a great many of us Christians just switching backward and forward on side-tracks.—“Famous Stories of Sam P. Jones.”

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Motive, A Pure—SeePride in One’s Task.

MOTIVE, MERCENARY

Portrait-painting was the deliberate choice of Sir Godfrey Kneller because it was profitable. It was said of him: “Where he offered one picture to fame, he sacrificed twenty to lucre.” He said of himself: “Painters of history make the dead live, and do not begin to live themselves till they are dead; I paint the living and they enable me to live.” And in this he succeeded, for he painted ten sovereigns, and among other celebrities, Marlborough, Newton and Dryden. He was rewarded, too, by poems written in his honor by Pope, Addison, Steele and others. King William got him to paint the beauties of Hampton Court. (Text.)

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Mountain, The—SeeViewpoint, The.

Mourning—SeeBible Customs To-day.

Movement—SeeSlowness.

MOVEMENT UNCEASING

There is nothing absolutely stable in the universe. From the ultimate eon to the largest world in space everything is moving. If we believe in progress we shall say that everything is moving on. If anything should actually stop it would be instantly destroyed. If a man could go to the top of a high tower, or a mountain, and there could come to absolute rest, the atmosphere of our earth, light as it seems, but traveling about nineteen miles in a second, would by its friction probably reduce him in a second to a patch of flame and dissipate him as a fiery gas in every direction.

So, if in our life progress we should try to stop and live in a dead past, or turn back to old conditions, the world’s rush of progress would leave us behind, or its frictions would wear our spirits out.

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Moving Pictures in Churches—SeeChurches and the Crowd.

Much in Little—SeeMiniature Work;Economy.

Much in Little Space—SeeUseless Labor.

Multiformity of Life—SeeIndividuality.

MULTIPLE CONSCIOUSNESS

Newspaper readers have been furnished with the details of the case of the Rev. Ansel Bourne, which may be briefly recalled. Some years ago a stranger arrived in Norristown, Pa., rented a store, stocked it, and began business in a quiet, business-like way which attracted no attention and aroused no suspicion as to any mental difficulty. Some two months later one of his neighbors was startled by a call from the newcomer, who, in a bewildered way, demanded to know where he was, and after a time explained that he was a Rhode Island clergyman, could not account for his presence in Norristown, knew nothing of any of his actions while there, and could only recall that he had drawn some money from a bank in his native place two months before, after which his life was a blank. And yet, during the entire period his actions had been apparentlyrational, altho certainly in nowise suggestive of the clerical profession—rather the reverse. For two months he had been the sharp, shrewd business man during business hours, and a genial and by no means straight-laced companion after his store was closed. These instances of “multiplex personality” have been recognized by alienists since the time of the historic cases of Louis V and Felida X. In one state the patient is cheerful, frank, generous; in another, morose, taciturn, miserly; now belligerent and then the most peaceable of mortals; by turns mendacious and truthful, the soul of honor, and the most depraved of wretches, reveling in immorality, and leading the life of an ascetic. That the different states are due to changes in the psychical activity of different portions of the brain is now the accepted theory, borne out by experiment. This activity may be set up, modified, perverted, or totally arrested by disease; but it may also be caused by the influence of one will over another, as in the familiar illustrations of hypnotism. A few years ago Dr. Hammond hypnotized a young man before the New York Medico-Legal Society, causing him to commit imaginary thefts, assaults, etc., and the phenomena are now the common property of the medical lecture-room.—ChicagoNews.

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MUSIC

When Gainsborough was asked how he had obtained the marvelous expression of inward peace on the face of the “Parish Clerk,” he said he painted it in time and tune with the sweet singing of a voice next door, the movements of the brush forming the beautiful face, and that it was the music that looked out from the eyes and smiled on the mouth.—“Stories of the English Artists.”

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During the Civil War a Union regiment was camping in a Southern town, and the people stubbornly refused to fraternize with the men. Houses and shops were closed to them, and the citizens kept inside. The commanding officer ordered his band to strike up “Dixie.” Instantly, as if by magic, doors opened, shutters came down, and soon the street was alive with men, women and children—all merry and hospitable.

The music had unlocked their hearts.

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MUSIC AND CHILDREN

Music, especially singing, has a fascination and power over children that is truly wonderful. It soothes and subdues their passions and awakens every noble emotion. The school day is always brighter and better if it is begun with a stirring song. If the children are tired and nervous or ill-tempered, a song will quiet them as oil upon a troubled sea. “Music,” says Luther, “is the art of the prophets, the only art which can calm the agitation of the soul.” Its moral and religious power has long been recognized by the Church, but the school is just beginning to realize its value.—John W. Carr, “Journal of the Religious Education Association,” 1903.

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Music and History—SeeHistory and Music Correlated.

MUSIC AND SPIDERS

While a gentleman was watching some spiders it occurred to him to try what effect a tuning-fork would have on the insects. He suspected that they would regard the sound just as they were in the habit of regarding the sound made by a fly. And sure enough they did. He selected a large, ugly spider that had been feasting on flies for two months. The spider was at one edge of its web. Sounding the fork, he touched a thread at the other side of the web and watched the result. Mr. Spider had the buzzing sound conveyed to him over his telephone wires, but how was he to know on which particular wire the sound was traveling? He ran to the center of the web very quickly, and felt all around until he touched the thread against the other end of which the fork was sounding; and taking another thread along, just as a man would take an extra piece of rope, he ran out to the fork and sprang upon it. Then he retreated a little way and looked at the fork. He was puzzled. He had expected to find a buzzing fly. He got on the fork again and danced with delight. He had caught the sound of the fly and it was music to him. It is said that spiders are so fond of music that they will stop their spinning to listen, and a man once said that when he retired to his room for quiet before dinner and played the flute, large spiders would come onto the table and remain quite still, “running away as fast as their legs could carry them” directly he had finished—Electrical Review.

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MUSIC AS A THERAPEUTIC

Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” says:

Besides the excellent power music hath to expel many other diseases, it is a sovereign remedy against despair and melancholy, and will drive away the devil himself. In proof of the truth of the foregoing, many well-authenticated instances may be cited. Among them may be mentioned the case of King Philip of Spain, who, when suffering from hopeless melancholia, was restored to health by the singing of Farinelli in an adjoining chamber, after every other remedy had proved futile.—BostonMusical Herald.

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Music has a vast future before it. We are only now beginning to find out some of its uses. It has been the toy of the rich; it has often been a source of mere degradation to both rich and poor; it has been treated as mere jingle and noise—supplying a rhythm for the dance, a kind of Terpsichorean tomtom—or serving to start a Bacchanalian chorus, the chief feature of which has certainly not been the music. And yet those who have their eyes and ears open may read in these primitive uses, while they run, the hints of music’s future destiny as a vast civilizer, recreator, health-giver, work-inspirer, and purifier of man’s life. The horse knows what he owes to his bells. The factory girls have been instinctively forced into singing, finding in it a solace and assistance in work. And for music, the health-giver, what an untrodden field is there! Have we never known an invalid to forget pain and weariness under the stimulus of music? Have you never seen a pale cheek flush up, a dull eye sparkle, an alertness and vigor take possession of the whole frame, and animation succeed to apathy? What does all this mean? It means a truth that we have not fully grasped, a truth pregnant with vast results to body and mind. It means that music attacks the nervous system directly, reaches and rouses where physic and change of air can neither reach nor rouse.—H. R. Haweis, “My Musical Memories.”

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MUSIC AS A TRANSFORMING POWER

No one denies the influence of music for good. A teacher told me of a boy, an incorrigible little fellow, who was almost entirely cured of his bad traits by a violet song.

Down in a green and mossy bedA modest violet grew;Its stalk was bent; it hung its head,As if to hide from view.And tho it was a lovely flower,Its colors bright and fair,It might have graced a rosy bower,Instead of hiding there.

Down in a green and mossy bed

A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent; it hung its head,

As if to hide from view.

And tho it was a lovely flower,

Its colors bright and fair,

It might have graced a rosy bower,

Instead of hiding there.

He sang the violet song at home, on the street, on the playground, and in school. He loved and believed it; and its tender thought had helped him to become a noble young man.—Elizabeth Casterton, “Journal of the National Educational Association,” 1905.

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MUSIC AS AN ANESTHETIC

A physician of Geneva, in Switzerland, has successfully employed music to soothe and tranquillize the dreams of persons who have taken ether or chloroform in order to undergo surgical operations.The music is begun as soon as the anesthetic begins to take effect, and is continued until the patient awakes. It is said that not only does this treatment prevent the hysterical effects sometimes witnessed, but that the patient, on recovering, feels no nausea or illness.Another physician uses blue light to produce anesthesia. The light from a sixteen-candle-power electric lamp, furnished with a blue bulb, is concentrated upon the patient’s eyes, but the head and the lamp are enveloped in a blue veil, to shut out extraneous light. Insensibility is produced in two or three minutes.—Harper’s Weekly.

A physician of Geneva, in Switzerland, has successfully employed music to soothe and tranquillize the dreams of persons who have taken ether or chloroform in order to undergo surgical operations.

The music is begun as soon as the anesthetic begins to take effect, and is continued until the patient awakes. It is said that not only does this treatment prevent the hysterical effects sometimes witnessed, but that the patient, on recovering, feels no nausea or illness.

Another physician uses blue light to produce anesthesia. The light from a sixteen-candle-power electric lamp, furnished with a blue bulb, is concentrated upon the patient’s eyes, but the head and the lamp are enveloped in a blue veil, to shut out extraneous light. Insensibility is produced in two or three minutes.—Harper’s Weekly.

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MUSIC, CHARM OF

A bewitching way to win a mate is to charm her by music. This is the fashion of our little house-wren, who arrives first in the nesting region, selects a site for the home, and then draws a mate out of the vast unknown by his charm of voice. No one could do it better, for he is a delightful, tireless singer.—Olive Thorne Miller, “The Bird Our Brother.”

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MUSIC ELEVATING

R. H. Haweis says:

I have known the oratorio of the Messiah draw the lowest dregs of Whitechapel into a church to hear it, and during the performancesobs have broken forth from the silent and attentive throng. Will any one say that for these people to have their feelings for once put through such a noble and long-sustained exercise as that could be otherwise than beneficial? If such performances of both sacred and secular music were more frequent, we should have less drunkenness, less wife-beating, less spending of summer gains, less pauperism in the winter.

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Music from Pain—SeeSuffering Transformed.

MUSIC, GOD’S

Since ever the world was fashioned,Water and air and sod,A music of divers meanings,Has flowed from the hand of God.In valley and gorge and upland,On stormy mountain height,He makes him a harp of the forest,He sweeps the chords with might.He puts forth his hand to the ocean,He speaks and the waters flow—Now in a chorus of thunder,Now in a cadence low.He touches the waving flower-bells,He plays on the woodland streams—A tender song—like a motherSings to her child in dreams.But the music divinest and dearest,Since ever the world began,Is the manifold passionate musicHe draws from the heart of man.—Temple Bar.

Since ever the world was fashioned,

Water and air and sod,

A music of divers meanings,

Has flowed from the hand of God.

In valley and gorge and upland,

On stormy mountain height,

He makes him a harp of the forest,

He sweeps the chords with might.

He puts forth his hand to the ocean,

He speaks and the waters flow—

Now in a chorus of thunder,

Now in a cadence low.

He touches the waving flower-bells,

He plays on the woodland streams—

A tender song—like a mother

Sings to her child in dreams.

But the music divinest and dearest,

Since ever the world began,

Is the manifold passionate music

He draws from the heart of man.

—Temple Bar.

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MUSIC, GOOD CHEER IN

It is related of James Nasmyth that the rhythmic sound of a merry little steam-engine introduced into his machine-shop so quickened the strokes of every hammer, chisel and file in his workmen’s hands that it nearly doubled the output of work for the same wages.A master tailor employed a number of workmen, who, getting hold of a slow, doleful but catchy air, hummed it to the movement of their needles, much to the retarding of their work. Observing the secret, he treated the men to lively airs, having a merry swing and a rapid movement, and soon the deft and nimble fingers reverted to their accustomed quickness.

A master tailor employed a number of workmen, who, getting hold of a slow, doleful but catchy air, hummed it to the movement of their needles, much to the retarding of their work. Observing the secret, he treated the men to lively airs, having a merry swing and a rapid movement, and soon the deft and nimble fingers reverted to their accustomed quickness.

There is science as well as philosophy in singing over our tasks.

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MUSIC IN THE SOUL

The orchestra does not make music; it is only an instrument for conveying music from one spirit to other spirits. The orchestra no more makes the music which it conveys than the telegraph wire makes the message which it conveys. Music is not a volume of sound; it is an experience which sound transmits from one soul to another soul. The composer creates in himself the symphony. He translates this creation into symbolic language upon a sheet of paper. The orchestra translates this translation into chords. These chords received through the ear awaken in the hearer an experience similar to that which was in the soul of the original composer.—Lyman Abbott,The Outlook.

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SeeSoul Music.

MUSIC OF DESPAIR AND OF HOPE

On the occasion of the funeral service of King Edward VII, William Maxwell, in theRecord and Mail, of Glasgow, writes as follows concerning the pipes and song:

No music can express the abandonment of grief like the pipes, for none is so individual. Its notes are the tradition of centuries of wild freedom, and are bound by no ordinary system. No music is so personal, for the pipes are the retainers of the clans.They, too, wear the tartan, and voice the feelings of their clan—its joy and grief, its triumph and despair; and none is more national, for it embodies the soul of a people, its strength and its passions.They are famous ballads to which the music of sorrow has been wedded. For there are two national ballads known as “The Flowers of the Forest,” and both are written by women. The first version was written by Jane Elliot, of Minto, and bewails at Flodden Field—

They, too, wear the tartan, and voice the feelings of their clan—its joy and grief, its triumph and despair; and none is more national, for it embodies the soul of a people, its strength and its passions.

They are famous ballads to which the music of sorrow has been wedded. For there are two national ballads known as “The Flowers of the Forest,” and both are written by women. The first version was written by Jane Elliot, of Minto, and bewails at Flodden Field—

I’ve heard the lilting at our ewe milking,Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day;But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning,The flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

I’ve heard the lilting at our ewe milking,

Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day;

But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning,

The flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

The second song was written on the same subject by Alicia Rutherford, of Fernilie, afterward known as Mrs. Patrick Cockburn, and is generally regarded as the more effective in singing, if not in composition.

I’ve seen the forest, adorned the foremost,With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay;Sae bonny was their blooming,Their scents the air perfuming,But now they are withered, and weeded away.Oh, fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting?Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,Nae mair your frowns can fear me,For the flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

I’ve seen the forest, adorned the foremost,With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay;Sae bonny was their blooming,Their scents the air perfuming,But now they are withered, and weeded away.

I’ve seen the forest, adorned the foremost,

With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay;

Sae bonny was their blooming,

Their scents the air perfuming,

But now they are withered, and weeded away.

Oh, fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting?Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,Nae mair your frowns can fear me,For the flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

Oh, fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting?

Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?

Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,

Nae mair your frowns can fear me,

For the flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

The words are beautiful, and instinct with sorrow when spoken or sung. But it is the music of the pipes that gives them supreme interpretation, and makes them the expression of grief so profound that “The Flowers of the Forest” has become the national dirge. Nor is sorrow their only note.The pipes can sound—and have sounded on many a stricken field and in many an hour of despair—the triumph of hope and of victory over death. They have stirred the blood and cleared the head, and given strength to the arm of many a soldier who has never dreamed of the eagle plume blended with the heather and never heard through the mists of memory the clash of the broadsword on the targe—

The pipes can sound—and have sounded on many a stricken field and in many an hour of despair—the triumph of hope and of victory over death. They have stirred the blood and cleared the head, and given strength to the arm of many a soldier who has never dreamed of the eagle plume blended with the heather and never heard through the mists of memory the clash of the broadsword on the targe—

I hear the pibroch soundingDeep o’er the mountain glen,While light springing footsteps are trampling the heath—’Tis the march of the Cameron men.

I hear the pibroch sounding

Deep o’er the mountain glen,

While light springing footsteps are trampling the heath—

’Tis the march of the Cameron men.

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MUSIC OF NATURE

The Innuits, or Eskimos, of Smith Sound, Greenland, the most northerly people in the world, believe that the aurora borealis has a singing noise; and the inhabitants of the Orkneys, of Finmarken, and those in the region of Hudson Bay believe, with many competent observers, that a peculiar sound like the rustling of silk always accompanies it. The Lapps liken this sound to the cracking in the joints of moving reindeer. (Text.)

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MUSIC, POPULAR, VALUE OF

All history reveals the fact that music, wedded to stirring and patriotic words, has in every age had a powerful influence on the course of public events. Nor is this true alone of civilized peoples. Among almost all savage races, the warriors excite themselves to martial ardor by songs which thrill their souls. The war-dances alike of our North American Indians, of the African negroes, and of the semicivilized races which dwell in Asia, are accompanied by songs which, tho wild and incoherent to European ears, have an inspiring influence upon themselves. Carlyle wisely said, “The meaning of song goes deep”; and a more recent writer has declared that “it goes as deep as the heart of man, the throbbings of which it controls more readily and widely than do the speeches of statesmen, the sermons of preachers, or the writings of journalists.” It was clearly because the influence of legend and of patriotic appeal, joined with familiar tunes so strongly roused the emotions of the people, that the ancient bards of Ireland, Scotland, and Wales were held in such high honor in the old royal courts and princely castles of these lands, and were regarded with such veneration by the people everywhere. About two centuries ago Lord Wharton wrote a political ballad, which was set to music, the title of which was “Lillibulero.” It was very poor poetry, but somehow the rude verses struck a chord in the popular heart, and were sung everywhere. It was written in opposition to King James the Second; and so wide was its influence that Lord Wharton boasted, it is said, that it “sang James II out of three kingdoms.” The effect of the “Marseillaise” in arousing and exciting the revolutionary spirit of France is one of the prominent facts in the history of that country. To it, in no small degree, is attributed the success of the French arms against the allies who assailed the young republic. So potent, indeed, was the “Marseillaise” felt to be in kindling political passion, that both the Napoleons forbade it being sung or played in France during their reigns.—Youth’s Companion.

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MUSIC REFLECTS THE SOUL

Welsh, Russian, Polish, Hungarian, Finnish, and Armenian music is apt to be pitched in plaintive, mournful, minor keys. A Welsh preacher explained to an English congregation why Welsh tunes were thus habitually pathetic. It is because for centuries liberties were lost under Saxon domination. So, in Russia, visitors were imprest by the tender and melancholy tho beautiful strains of the national melodies. Peoplewhen opprest sing sadly; but liberty and joy emancipate even the music of a nation. (Text.)

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MUTATION

One of the blest effects of the flight of time is that old animosities are forgotten and the nobler things of reconciliation and peace are seen. An instance of this lately occurred in the South:

A group of gentlemen, soldiers of the present and the past, were gathered upon an historic Southern battle-field, Missionary Ridge. They stopt to read the inscription upon a tablet, simple and unpretentious, which marked the position of a Confederate battery. This tablet bore the name of “Luke E. Wright, Second Lieutenant.” Luke E. Wright, Secretary of War of the United States of America, surrounded by his officers and friends, paused a moment to read again this chapter from his youth. A distinguished general of the regular army laid his hand affectionately upon the shoulder of General Wright and remarked: “General, how queerly things turn out! Who could have foreseen that the boy in gray, who served his guns upon this spot, would one day be my chief, at the head of the Army of the United States?”

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The instability of all mundane things is suggested by the following account, which may also remind us of the utterance of Jesus: “Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my word shall not pass away.”

“When, in 1890, Germany bartered away Zanzibar in exchange for Heligoland, great was the rejoicing,” saysShipping Illustrated(New York). “Much concern is now being manifested in Germany owing to the relentless attack of the sea, which has already reduced the island’s area nearly twenty-five per cent since it came under the German flag. At this rate the little island will, in another half-century, have melted entirely away. The North Sea has been from time immemorial an avaricious land-grabber. The Dogger Bank once reared its head above the surface, a fact proved by the bones of animals occasionally brought up in the fishermen’s nets. The eastern coast of England has suffered severely from its insatiable appetite. Dunwick, an important seaport during the Middle Ages, is now a part of the sea-bottom, and fishes and other marine denizens occupy the one-time habitation of men. Visitors to Felixstowe, once a Roman colony and now a modern seaside resort, opposite Harwich, have pointed out to them a rock a mile out to sea, on which the old church formerly stood. The Kaiser may yet live to see his cherished possession torn from his grasp.” (Text.)

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MUTUAL SUFFERING

There is no individual in society; it is one body corporate. If one member sin all suffer with him. The fearful forms of torture loom up yet out of the shadows, the paddle, the rack, the chair, the cangue collar, the strangle-ring, the shin-rod, and various forms of mutilation remind one of what we see in the Tower of London. Truly, we are brethren in cruelty if we go far enough into the dark past. But God, who is rich in mercy, when He transforms an Oriental, seems first of all to take out of his heart the poison of cruelty, and to leave the spirit of self-sacrifice and tenderness instead.—James S. Gale, “Korea in Transition.”

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MUTUALISM

Did you enjoy your breakfast this morning? You were all alone, and got it yourself, did you say? Did you make the Irish linen in your napkin, or were your table furnishings the creations of an idle hour? Did you raise your own coffee? Did the melon grow in your garden, or was the beef fattened in your pasture? The very ends of the earth contributed to your simple meal, and for it you were dependent upon people you had never seen. Your breakfast-table was really a clearing-house for the ends of the earth, so that when you redecorate your dining-room, and are placing upon the walls the familiar legends, “Let good digestion wait on appetite,” and that famous quatrain of Robert Burns:

Some hae meat but can not eat,And some would eat that want it;But we hae meat, and we can eat,So let the Lord be thank it,

Some hae meat but can not eat,

And some would eat that want it;

But we hae meat, and we can eat,

So let the Lord be thank it,

you might most appropriately add to these that thrilling confession of Paul’s, “I am debtor both to the Greeks and to the barbarians, both to the wise and to the unwise.” (Text.)—Nehemiah Boynton.

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As the astronomers tell us that it is probable that there are in the universe innumerable solar systems besides ours, to each of which myriads of utterly unknown and unseen stars belong, so it is certain that every man, however obscure, however far removed from the general recognition, is one of a group of men impressible for good, and impressible for evil, and that it is in the eternal nature of things that he can not really improve himself without in some degree improving other men.—Charles Dickens.

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SeeBoy and King.

Mutuality—SeeSocial Interdependence;Social Strength.

Mutuality, True—SeeFaithfulness.

MYSELF

What unto me is Nature after all?I pass her by and softly go my way.She is the remnant of my little dayUpon this beautiful revolving ball.I am the real being. At my beck,The seeming actual pays its vassalage;I am the reader and the world the page;I fling a halter round old matter’s neck.Glad to be taught of things outside, yet IFind me indifferent to their transient touch;A life’s to-day is an eternitySeems not to please my spirit overmuch.I may not fathom now the end or whatThe sweat and blood and tragedy may mean;But I can fight the fight and falter not.Above the clouds the hilltops are serene.So if I stay here years or slip awayWhile yet the early dawn is dim and dark,It matters not. I am that living sparkThat ever glows ’tho planets have their day.(Text.)

What unto me is Nature after all?I pass her by and softly go my way.She is the remnant of my little dayUpon this beautiful revolving ball.

What unto me is Nature after all?

I pass her by and softly go my way.

She is the remnant of my little day

Upon this beautiful revolving ball.

I am the real being. At my beck,The seeming actual pays its vassalage;I am the reader and the world the page;I fling a halter round old matter’s neck.

I am the real being. At my beck,

The seeming actual pays its vassalage;

I am the reader and the world the page;

I fling a halter round old matter’s neck.

Glad to be taught of things outside, yet IFind me indifferent to their transient touch;A life’s to-day is an eternitySeems not to please my spirit overmuch.

Glad to be taught of things outside, yet I

Find me indifferent to their transient touch;

A life’s to-day is an eternity

Seems not to please my spirit overmuch.

I may not fathom now the end or whatThe sweat and blood and tragedy may mean;But I can fight the fight and falter not.Above the clouds the hilltops are serene.

I may not fathom now the end or what

The sweat and blood and tragedy may mean;

But I can fight the fight and falter not.

Above the clouds the hilltops are serene.

So if I stay here years or slip awayWhile yet the early dawn is dim and dark,It matters not. I am that living sparkThat ever glows ’tho planets have their day.(Text.)

So if I stay here years or slip away

While yet the early dawn is dim and dark,

It matters not. I am that living spark

That ever glows ’tho planets have their day.(Text.)

(2144)

MYSTERY IN NATURE

What determines which queen shall leave the hive with the swarm? What determines which five thousand out of fifteen thousand worker bees, all apparently similarly stimulated and excited, shall swarm out, and which ten thousand shall stay in? These are questions too hard for us to answer. We may take refuge in Maeterlinck’s poetical conception of the “spirit of the hive.” Let us say that the “spirit of the hive” decides these things; as well as what workers shall forage and what ones clean house; what bees shall ventilate and what make wax and build comb. Which is simply to say that we don’t know what decides all these things. (Text.)—Vernon L. Kellogg, “Insect Stories.”

(2145)

MYSTERY IN RELIGION

Here are wood, brass, my hand—any material things. Here are light, electricity, a magnet—things that we all have something to do with. Now let us ask the scientific people to look at them, weigh them, test them, analyze them, describe them—what will they report? Well, part of their report will be this: There is one thing without which all these other things are impossible, without which there could be no wood, no metal, no light, no electric current; and that thing is called ether. This ether is like nothing you have at hand. It is not solid, nor liquid, nor a gas. It does not weigh anything, nor does it move. It is not alive, nor is it capable of division. Yet it is everywhere. It is in the wood, in the brass, in the air. It fills what we call empty space. It is the road by which light travels. It is the medium of electricity. It is the home of magnetism. Well, when the scientist tells us this we can but gasp. It is nothing that we know, yet without it all we know would break down. It can not be seen, nor handled, nor heard, yet without it we could neither see, nor handle, nor hear. It is utterly beyond belief, so strange a bunch of contradictories it is; and yet if we assume it to be real, then and then only can all the things of life which we do know be properly explained.If in the natural world we follow out carefully all that is before us, if we explore our narrow strip of experience thoroughly, we come to a region getting more and more remote. Send a traveler from Hampstead—he comes back to tell us of India or the Arctic Ocean. Send a scientist out into this world of matter and force, of wood and stone and electricity, and he comes back to tell us of the incredible wonders of the unseen world, of the fathomless mysteries of the ether.If this is so with material things, how much more is it likely to be so with moral and spiritual things? If it be true of earthly things, how much more of heavenly things? If the findings of science are puzzling, contradictory,mysterious, will the findings of theology—the science of God—be simple and mere common sense? If when we have to do with wood and stones we stand amazed before the doctrine of ether, is it surprizing that when we have to do with Christ and His cross, God and His redemption, we come also to the wonderful teaching, not only of the divinity of Jesus, but of His preexistence from eternity with God? So, then, because the doctrine is marvelous, unheard of, difficult to grasp, do not, therefore, pass it by as incredible.—Newton H. Marshall.

If in the natural world we follow out carefully all that is before us, if we explore our narrow strip of experience thoroughly, we come to a region getting more and more remote. Send a traveler from Hampstead—he comes back to tell us of India or the Arctic Ocean. Send a scientist out into this world of matter and force, of wood and stone and electricity, and he comes back to tell us of the incredible wonders of the unseen world, of the fathomless mysteries of the ether.

If this is so with material things, how much more is it likely to be so with moral and spiritual things? If it be true of earthly things, how much more of heavenly things? If the findings of science are puzzling, contradictory,mysterious, will the findings of theology—the science of God—be simple and mere common sense? If when we have to do with wood and stones we stand amazed before the doctrine of ether, is it surprizing that when we have to do with Christ and His cross, God and His redemption, we come also to the wonderful teaching, not only of the divinity of Jesus, but of His preexistence from eternity with God? So, then, because the doctrine is marvelous, unheard of, difficult to grasp, do not, therefore, pass it by as incredible.—Newton H. Marshall.

(2146)

MYSTERY NO BAR TO BELIEF

Toads are said to have been found in rocks. Such cases are rare, but it would be as unreasonable to doubt them as to believe in some of the miraculous explanations that have been made of the matter. The phenomenon is marvelous, it is true, but it is supported by evidence that we are not able to contest; and skepticism, which is incompatible with science, will have to disappear if rigorous observation shall confirm it. The toad was observed, in one case, in the stone itself, and before recovering from its long lethargy, it had not made any motion. One of these toads was presented to an academy, with the stone which had served it as a coffin or habitation, and it was ascertained that the cavity seemed to correspond exactly with the dimensions and form of the animal. It is remarkable that these toad-stones are very hard and not at all porous, and show no signs of fissure. The mind, completely baffled in the presence of the fact, is equally embarrassed to explain how the toad could live in its singular prison, and how it became shut up there. M. Charles Richet had occasion to study this question some months ago, and came to the conclusion that the fact was real, observing that even if, in the actual condition of science, certain phenomena were still inexplicable, we were not warranted in denying their existence, for new discoveries might at any time furnish an explanation of them. (Text.)—Popular Science Monthly.

(2147)

Mystery of Regeneration—SeeDiscernment, Lack of Spiritual.

MYSTERY TO BE MADE CLEAR

Dr. Abbott tells how, after sailing on the muddy waters of Lake Huron, he came on deck one morning, and, looking over the prow, started back in instinctive terror, for, looking down into the clear waters of Lake Superior, it seemed as if the keel were just going to strike on the sharp pointed rocks below; but he was looking through fifty or sixty feet of clear water at the great rock-bed of the lake. Now we endeavor in vain to fathom God’s judgments. As by a great deep they are hidden from us. But by and by the sea will grow as clear as crystal, and through the mystery we shall see and shall understand. We shall know not only the life that was in the ocean, but shall trace the footprints of Him that walked thereon.

(2148)

MYSTERY, VALUE OF

Recently a man called on Edwin Markham, author of “The Man with the Hoe,” we are told bySuccess, and introduced himself as the writer of a book on which, he said, he had spent twenty-five years of study and research. Mr. Markham, who is unusually kind in listening to and counseling with amateur authors, immediately felt that one who has spent a quarter of a century on his work is rare, and he invited him to his study without delay.“What is the nature of your work?” asked Mr. Markham.“I have written the greatest book of the ages,” began the new author; “I have solved the mystery of the world. I know all about it. I am prepared to prove my statements. I know just why the world was made, who really made it, and I have laid bare the mysteries of creation. I—”“My good man,” said Mr. Markham, interrupting him, “if you have come to me for advice, let me tell you to take your manuscript at once and burn it. If you have solved the mystery of this world, you are its greatest enemy. Why,” continued the poet, “if you have solved the mystery of the world you have robbed men of their greatest joy. You have left us nothing to work for, you have destroyed our ambition, you have reduced us to mere animals. It is the mysteries of the world that have made it great, and I, for one, don’t want to have them solved.”Mr Markham’s visitor sat dumfounded for a moment. The vision of his twenty-five years of labor flitted before him as he said:“I guess you’re right—I guess you’re right.” (Text.)

“What is the nature of your work?” asked Mr. Markham.

“I have written the greatest book of the ages,” began the new author; “I have solved the mystery of the world. I know all about it. I am prepared to prove my statements. I know just why the world was made, who really made it, and I have laid bare the mysteries of creation. I—”

“My good man,” said Mr. Markham, interrupting him, “if you have come to me for advice, let me tell you to take your manuscript at once and burn it. If you have solved the mystery of this world, you are its greatest enemy. Why,” continued the poet, “if you have solved the mystery of the world you have robbed men of their greatest joy. You have left us nothing to work for, you have destroyed our ambition, you have reduced us to mere animals. It is the mysteries of the world that have made it great, and I, for one, don’t want to have them solved.”

Mr Markham’s visitor sat dumfounded for a moment. The vision of his twenty-five years of labor flitted before him as he said:

“I guess you’re right—I guess you’re right.” (Text.)

(2149)

Name, A Good—SeeReputation.

Nameless Pioneers—SeeUnknown Workers.

NAMES

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