PHYSICS OF ORGANISMS.

LEAN MEAT.

Great principles of economy regulate the use of these two articles, in accordance with the scarcity and price of either. Man may live without bread if he have meat, and vice versa, but his system demands one of them, or its equivalent.

As in the cell of the plant, mineral substances become organized, so, under the influence of animal vitality does vegetable material become transformed into the constituents of a new organism. The great argument against the doctrine that alcohol is a food, lies in the fact that it does not undergo this transformation. It leaves the body as it enters it. But beef-steak ceases to be steak, and bread is no longer the same; they have become bone, tissue, nerve, and all that makes a human body

Most are familiar with the marvelous processes of mastication, digestion, absorption and aeration, by which food is converted into blood freighted with all that is essential to the nutrition of the human system.

A COLUMN, ARCHES, DOMES, SPIRES AND MINARETS.

Foods serve three great purposes—growth, restoration of waste, and supply for heat. Whether vegetable or animal, they are of two classes—nitrogenous and carbonaceous. The former consists of all seeds and vegetable tissues, and flesh in animal foods. The latter comprises the starch and sugar of vegetables, and fat in animals. Nature seems to suggest the propriety of using both as food for man. His teeth are adapted to the mastication of both, and the varied demands of different seasons and climates furnish a not less conclusive argument in its favor.

It is not our design to discuss here the dietetics or even the chemistry of food. There is, however, one branch of the subject that calls for a passing remark—the value of foods for special purposes. As the agriculturist is now carefully considering the adaptation of soils to the various kinds of vegetation, and is also inquiring into the character of those fertilizers that will continue and increase the growth-producing qualities of his land, so the physiologist is seeking to discover the special value of different aliments for all conditions of health and disease. The problem is necessarily somewhat difficult, but the end is so desirable—nothing less than human safety, comfort and development—that it is one of the most worthy of all the questions of science. Wholesome food, cheap food, and appropriate food for all classes and conditions is its aim. What does the weary brain require? What will give strength to muscle? How may the impoverished blood be enriched? How can vigorous, symmetrical growth be secured to childhood and youth? These are vital questions. Even when applied to the wants of the lower animals they are of immense importance. What conditions are most favorable for fattening cattle? What will give greatest strength and best sustain continuous exertion.

Note a simple instance of one result of such inquiry. In ascertaining the food value of cottonseed, the revenue of our cotton crop is said to have been doubled. In medical practice physicians are more and more inclined to depend upon their knowledge of the principles of alimentation and the adjustment of proper nourishment to the sick than upon artificial stimulants or medicines.

We conclude this article on the chemistry of organisms, with the somewhat humbling reflection that to all living beings there comes a time when vitality yields to the power of those chemical forces, which resolve them again to their original inorganic forms. It can not be that this was the only and ultimate end contemplated by the Creator, in that sublime system of arrangement for life, which began with the morning of creation and ended with man. Nature is more than a cycle of change from dead matter to vegetable form, thence to animal life, and thence back again to mineral substance.

Solomon wrote: “The dust shall return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it;” and another has said: “There remains the paramount duty of rendering worthy of survival that spiritual part of our being which no merely physical power can destroy.”

A brief discussion of somephysicalcharacteristics of organisms will conclude our articles on “Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics.”

The abundance of metaphorical expressions even in common language, indicates the numerous resemblances between the living and inorganic worlds. Description and poetry are full of imagery. A metaphor implies a resemblance between objects, a simile suggests it, and a comparison states it.

THE DIONÆA, OR VENUS’S FLY-TRAP.

Thus to the human mind, the different departments of nature seem to reflect a light and beauty upon each other, even as the “earth-shine” lights the moon in the absence of the sun. The sky is a dome; the groves are temples; the sea moans and roars; the falling cataracts laugh and shout, and the calm lake is the smile of the Great Spirit. “Language,” says Dean Trench,[5]“is fossil poetry.” “Architecture is frozen music.”

Many of the forms of art and devices of human invention have been suggested by Nature. The Doric column was borrowed from some stately tree shaft. The ornamented capital of the Corinthian column was decorated by carved copies of the graceful acanthus leaves. Gothic architecture found its models in the tree tops of the arching forests.

A HUMAN HEART, SHOWING CHAMBERS AND VALVES.

Every experimenter in science is simply one who is inquiring of Nature for her analogies, truths, forms, forces, and machines; and like the wise and good mother that she is, she has granted many a pregnant suggestion to the busy brains of discoverers and inventors.

THE NEPENTHES,[6]A PITCHER PLANT OF THE INDIAN ARCHIPELAGO.

Plants in their action illustrate many of the principles of natural philosophy, as if directed by intelligence. Turn their roots upward in the soil, and they will invariably turn down to the moisture. Bend their stems to the earth and they will seek to mount upward. The young sunflower greets the sun at his rising, and turns to behold his setting. Unwind a twining vine, and wind it in an opposite direction, and it will soon assert its right to assume its own method. Some plants shrink from touch; others, like the Venus fly-trap,[7]hold out their open palms to catch flies; many sleep; most seem to select special places, seasons, and conditions. They seem almost, at times, to be possessed of moral qualities. They adapt themselves to situations. If the season is dry, they are sparing of moisture; if the soil is scanty, they penetrate deeper for sustenance; if the winds are fierce, they grow strong by struggle; if gashed or broken, they have “philters for healing;” if pruned and chastened, they yield richer fruitage.

SKELETON OF A FROG.—A GOOD SET OF SPRINGS.

One can not help feeling that certain trees have a personality. They are friendly with their shade. They are proud in their loftiness, confident in their strength, satisfied in their usefulness.

Other plants are almost equally interesting. Flowers have long been chosen to express the language of sentiment. Even the lowest forms of vegetable life, like the algæ, the mosses and lichens, arrange their parts with symmetry and beauty. Even the microscopic diatoms[8]are exquisite in the perfection of their curves and markings.

Comparative anatomy long since showed us that there is great harmony in the construction of animals. A few principles seem to govern in all. For example: None violate the law of gravity with regard to the line of direction’s falling within the base. They employ the lever, the inclined plane, the pulley, and the mechanical means of applying power, precisely as we do in machinery. The heart is a pump; the stomach is a churn; the backbone has springs; the elbow is a hinge; the muscles are ropes; the nerves are telegraph wires; the ear is a harp, the eye is a telescope. The most perfect mechanism characterizes the construction of all the animal kingdom, but one can do little more than suggest the interest of this most fascinating subject.

SHOWING PRINCIPLE OF VENTURI.Ex.—S V is the sub-clavian vein; J is the jugular vein; D is the thoracic duct, through which the chyle is poured into the blood.

SHOWING PRINCIPLE OF VENTURI.

Ex.—S V is the sub-clavian vein; J is the jugular vein; D is the thoracic duct, through which the chyle is poured into the blood.

An ancient saying declares that “Poets are born, not made,” and classic story informs us that Minerva sprang full armed from the head of Jove. Something like this natural perfection appears in the occupations of the lower orders of creation. Man is a creature of education, absolutely unlimited in point of time in the possibilities of his development. Other animals, within their own limited scope often attain an excellence superior to his. Note the scent of the greyhound, the hearing of the cat, the sight of the eagle. As artisans they have few apprentices, though it must be confessed that some are better workmen than others, and they are not without “bosses.” Observe a few of their trades. The brant-goose is a navigator, which may have already found the pole. The heron is a fisherman, who carries his torch upon his breast. Swallows are excellent masons; so are wasps and the caddis fly.

There is a spider that is a diver; he makes his own bell and fills it with air. The bee is a geometrician that never studied Euclid. The ant is a political economist, who, like Joseph, lays up supplies for a time of want. There is a “tailor bird.” There are hosts of hunters among the carnivora. The nautilus is a “little sailor,” and weavers are innumerable. Beavers unite the trades of lumbermen and civil engineers. There are carpenters and paper makers, indeed, time would fail in the attempt to mention all the occupations pursued in this busy world of animate creation. Yet over all these the Almighty has given man dominion. They are but organisms impelled to their appointed tasks by unreasoning instinct, but, as Sir William Hamilton has said: “Manis not an organism, but anintelligenceserved by organs.”

A BIRD’S HEAD.Ex.—The mandibles form a pair of scissors. The tongue is a spear.

A BIRD’S HEAD.

Ex.—The mandibles form a pair of scissors. The tongue is a spear.

Note.—Through the courtesy of Messrs. Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor & Co., of New York, the cuts in this article are taken from two of their excellent publications, Gray’s “Lessons and Manual of Botany,” and Hitchcock’s “Anatomy and Physiology.”

SELECTED BY CHANCELLOR J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

Courtesy is, strictly speaking, a Christian grace.… It is the offspring of charity; and since it derives its being from divine grace; since it is made the subject of divine command; since it is especially calculated to smooth those little asperities which sometimes hinder even “the living stones of the temple” from being so perfectly joined and so fitly framed together as they should be; since it powerfully tends, likewise, to remove the prejudices and to allay the enmity so generally entertained by the world toward the church; above all, since, in combination with other causes it may contribute to win souls to God, we surely ought not to deem it unsuitable, but to make it … the subject of our particular and attentive consideration.… While some professed disciples of Christ seem to have substituted in the place of genuine courtesy a conformity to the manners and habits of ungodly men, which very ill consists with that simplicity of character which should distinguish the remnant of true Israelites, there are others who, through an honest disgust toward the impertinent fopperies of the world, and an ill-directed fear of becoming infected with the same spirit of guile and hypocrisies, have even run so far into the opposite extreme of churlishness as to be culpably negligent of the mere forms of civilized society.

The courtesy of the world is an imposing form.… But the courtesy of a Christian is not a mere form. It is not the phantasm of a feeling which has no real existence. It is the outward expression of an inward disposition, the conduct which a benevolent mind will on all occasions instinctively prescribe. It is the natural and unconstrained operation of unfeigned love. Let us but love our neighbor as ourselves, and it will be morally impossible to violate the laws of courtesy; for love worketh no ill to his neighbor. It will teach us cautiously to avoid whatever might unnecessarily wound his feelings; it will dispose us assiduously to study his inclination, ease, and convenience; it will make us anxious to interpret his very looks, that we may even anticipate his requests; it will enable us cheerfully to make a sacrifice of our own gratifications with a view to his. All this is perfectly easy; it is even delightful where love exists without dissimulation; but let this heavenly principle be wanting, take away from theformof courtesy thepower, and it becomes an arduous and irksome task, a yoke grievous to be borne.—Summerfield.[1]

I would not slight this wondrous world. I love its day and night. Its flowers and its fruits are dear to me. I would not willfully lose sight of a departing cloud. Every year opens new beauty in a star; or in a purple gentian fringed with loveliness.The laws, too, of matter seem more wonderful the more I study them in the whirling eddies of the dust, in the curious shells of former life buried by thousands in a grain of chalk, or in the shining diagrams of light above my head. Even the ugly becomes beautiful when truly seen. I see the jewel in the bunchy toad. The more I live, the more I love this lovely world; feel more its Author in each little thing; in all that is great. But yet I feel my immortality the more. In childhood the consciousness of immortal life buds forth feeble, though full of promise. In the man it unfolds its fragrant petals, his most celestial flower, to mature its seed throughout eternity. The prospect of that everlasting life, the perfect justice yet to come, the infinite progress before us, cheer and comfort the heart. Sad and dissatisfied, full of self-reproach, we shall not be so forever. The light of heaven breaks upon the night of trial, sorrow, sin; the somber clouds which overhung the east, grown purple now, tell us the dawn of heaven is coming in. Our faces, gleamed on by that, smile in the new-born glow; we are beguiled of our sadness before we are aware. The certainty of this provokes us to patience, it forbids us to be thoughtfully sorrowful. It calls us to be up and doing.…

There is small merit in being willing to die; it seems almost sinful in a good man to wish it when the world needs him here so much. It is weak and unmanly to be always looking and sighing voluptuously for that. But it is of great value here and now to anticipate time and live to-day the eternal life. That we may all do. The joys of heaven will begin as soon as we attain the character of heaven and do its duties. That may begin to-day. It is everlasting life to know God, to have His Spirit dwelling in you, yourself at one with Him. Try that and prove its worth. Justice, usefulness, wisdom, religion, love, are the best things we hope for in heaven. Try them on—they will fit you here not less becomingly. They are the best things of earth. Think no outlay of goodness and piety too great. You will find your reward begin here. As much goodness and piety, so much heaven. Men will not pay you—God will; pay you now, hereafter, and forever.—Theodore Parker.

Let us do all the business we can.… If we can’t be a lighthouse, let us be a tallow candle. Some one said, “I can’t be anything more than a farthing rushlight.” Well, if you can’t be more, be that; that is well enough. Be all you can. What makes the Dead Sea dead? Because it is all the time receiving, never giving out anything. You go every Sunday and hear good sermons, and think that is enough. You are all the time receiving these grand truths, but never give them out. When you hear it, go and scatter the sacred truth abroad. Instead of having one minister to preach to a thousand people, this thousand ought to take a sermon and spread it till it reaches those that never go to church or chapel. Instead of having a few, we ought to have thousands using the precious talents that God has given them.…

If God has not given us but half a talent, let us make good use of that. When God told the people to take their seats by fifties, he told Philip to get food for them. “What,” says Philip, “feed them with this little loaf? Why, there is not more than enough for the first man.” “Yes, go and feed them with that.” Philip thought that was a very small amount for such a multitude of hungry men. He broke off a piece for the first man, and didn’t miss it; a piece for the second man, and didn’t miss it; a piece for the third man, and didn’t miss it. He was making good use of the loaf, and God kept increasing it. That is what the Lord wants to do with us. He will give us just as many talents as we can take care of.

There are many of us that are willing to do great things for the Lord; but few of us willing to do little things. The mighty sermon on regeneration was preached to one man. There are many who are willing to preach to thousands, but are not willing to take their seat beside one soul, and lead that soul to the blessed Jesus. We must get down to personal effort—this bringing one by one to the Son of God. We can find no better example of this than in the life of Christ himself. Look at that wonderful sermon that he preached to that lone woman at the well of Samaria. He was tired and weary, but he had time and the heart to preach to her. This is but one of many instances in the life of the Master from which we may learn a precious lesson. If the Son of God had time to preach to one soul, can not every one of us go and do the same?…

“I commend you”—and in this connection, I want to tell you how the God of all grace has kept us. For nearly twenty-one years he has watched over me. He has watched over me and stood by me in the hour of temptation and trial; he has brought light to me out of darkness; and he will do the same with you. In leaving you, young converts, I would like to leave with you two Ws—the one is Work, and the other is the Word; or, rather, the first is the Word, and the other is Work. Go out and work for him, and you will become strong Christians. There are two lives that you want to lead. The one is your inner life, that the world knows nothing of, that the wife of your bosom knows nothing of. That life is between yourself and God; and if you don’t lead this aright, the outer life will not be long right. Let me say to you, young converts, read your Bibles and you will be strong. If you don’t, you will fall; and the men who are now scoffing at this movement will say: “I told you you would fall back again; the meetings have been only an emotional excitement; only a sensation.” I pray that God Almighty may keep you. Just have those two Ws before you—the Word and Work—and make that your banner.—D. L. Moody.

What language, “Father, forgive them!” and, in the words, what an act, greater than the most splendid miracles with which he marked his radiant path through the world.…

“Forgive them!” Is it possible? With these words … he covers the guilty heads of his murderers with the shield of his love, in order to secure them from the storm of the well deserved wrath of Almighty God. With these words, which must have produced adoring astonishment, even in the angels themselves, he takes these miscreants in the arms of his compassion, and bears them up to the steps of his Father’s throne, in order to commend them to his mercy. For know, my readers, that the words “Forgive them,” mean, in Jesus’s mouth, not merely, “Do not impute to them the murderous crime they have committed upon me.” No, when he utters “Forgive,” it comprehends something much more, and embraces the whole register of sins. In his mouth it means, “Plunge their whole sinful life into the depths of the sea, and remember no more their transgressions, but consider these sinners henceforth as dear in thy sight, and act toward them as such.”

There are individuals on earth for whom no one feels inclined to pray, because they are too depraved. There are those who even dare not pray for themselves, because their consciences testify that such worthless creatures as they are can not reckon upon being heard. What a prospect is here opened to people of this description! Ah, if no heart beats for them on earth, the heart of the King of kings may still feel for them. If among their friends not one is to be found to intercede for them, yet, possibly, the Lord of Glory is not ashamed of bearing their names before his Father’s throne. O, what hope beams on Calvary for a sinful world! And if the great Intercessor appears there for a transgressor, how does his intercession succeed? Though a whole world should protest against it, his prayer saves whom he will. His voice penetrates the heart of the eternal Father with irresistible power. His entreaties are commands. Mountains of sin vanish before his intercession. How highly characteristic and deeply significant is the fact that the Lord, with this prayer, commences the seven expressions he uttered on the cross. The words,“Forgive them!” show us not merely the heaven of loving kindness which he carries in his bosom, but it also darts like lightning through the gloom of the entire night of suffering, and deciphers the mysterious position which the Holy One of Israel here occupies as Surety, Mediator, and High Priest.…

… And yet the prayer for forgiveness raises its wing from the mount of suffering and passes apparently through all those eternal and unimpingeable statutes and limitations. It puts aside even Mount Sinai and Ebal, and heeds not the cherub of the law, who keeps the gate of paradise, and is enjoined to admit only the righteous. Careless of his flaming sword, it soars with seemingly unheard-of boldness above the brazen walls of the manifold menaces of the divine maledictions which inexorably close against sinners the entrance to the mansions above, and in a most striking contrariety with the indelible inscription over the eternal sanctuary, “Him that sinneth against me will I blot out of my book,” requests forgiveness and even admittance into the habitations of the blessed children of God, for rebels, blasphemers, and murderers.—F. W. Krumacher.[2]

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

The eye may be trained so that it can detect the least flaw in a diamond; the ear be so delicately attuned that the slightest variation in the harmony will be perceptible, although there is no apparent attempt at listening, and discord will have the same effect on the sensitive nerves, as a blow on a fine strung instrument. The engineer can not see all the working parts of his engine, so he is obliged to cultivate his ear until each throb, plunge, and revolution is familiar to him, and the whole set to a rhythmic movement, any change in which betokens disaster.

An eye quick to see, and an ear quick to hear may belong to a wide-awake, successful business man; but in order to become a philanthropist, a wise, energetic, live Christian, he must have a heart to feel. A father may see that his children are poorly clad, may hear their cries of distress, but if he has no heart to feel their needs, he will go off and leave them to the care of charity, as so many fathers, and mothers too, have been known to do.

This inclination to avoid cares, to shirk responsibilities, and to live a purely selfish life, is the result of a defect in the cardiac region, which might have been corrected in early youth.

The training of the heart begins at so early an age that it can not be known with certainty just when the child is first acted upon by the influences around it, and it is more easily misdirected than guided aright.

An accomplished lady, of considerable literary fame, spent a great deal of time in preparing a lecture on “Individual Sovereignty,” which was to prove that children had rights that parents and guardians ought to respect. The lecture was delivered but once, to a very small number of people who, while full of admiration and respect for the lecturer, were not in favor of putting her theories into practice, believing that a monarchy such as she proposed would make the Land of Liberty a place that grown people would want to get away from.

The great bond of brotherhood is sympathy. “Pity and need make all flesh kin,” and “sympathy is especially a Christian’s duty.” But there is an active sympathy and there is a passive sympathy; the one sits down and broods over the calamities of life, wrings its hands, sheds tears, and sighs over its own incapacity; while the other is up and doing all it can to relieve the necessities of those perhaps less heavily burdened than itself.

“It is not all of life tolive,” nor all of life toloveeither; for some in their excessive fondness will allow those whom they might control, to walk in evil ways and indulge in unlawful passions without putting forth a restraining hand.

“I want John to have a good time,” says the indulgent mother. “I don’t want Jennie to tire herself, or to soil her hands doing housework. What else am I good for?” So John grows to be a selfish, disagreeable man, and Jennie an ease-loving, self-satisfied woman, both with hearts incapable of feeling any interest in anything that does not immediately affect their physical comfort and well-being. Mothers, do not spoil your children and destroy the foundations of character. Let them wait upon you and do your errands; teach them to cultivate a self-sacrificing spirit, to feel that it is no hardship to give up their own personal comfort in order to secure the happiness of others. The sacrifices should not be all on one side; and yet we have known mothers to give up their lives rather than disappoint the children, who must have their wishes gratified at any expense.

Exacting children should be made to wait upon themselves, and to practice patience and self-denial; for the tyrannical spirit is fostered by unwise timidity and forbearance, and many a passionate man and woman lives to regret the lack of proper discipline in youth. But it lies within ourselves to correct mistakes that may have been made in our training; and it has been truthfully said, “Every person has two educations, one which he receives from others, and one, more important, which he gives to himself.”

It is astonishing how much may be accomplished by one who is energetic and persevering, careful to avail himself of all opportunities, and to use all the spare time at his disposal. Ancient and modern histories and biographies are full of illustrations showing the benefits conferred upon mankind by certain individuals whose hearts were busy with the things about them. It is interesting to read this record of General Gordon—or “Chinese Gordon,” as he is familiarly called—whose valiant deeds have won him undying fame:

From 1865 to 1875 Gordon lived at Gravesend, employed in the duty of improving the defenses of the Thames. These were his six years of quiet peace and beneficent happiness. “He lived wholly for others,” writes his friend. “His house was school and hospital and almshouse, in turn; was more like the abode of a missionary than of a commanding officer of engineers. The troubles of all interested him alike. The poor, the sick, the unfortunate, were ever welcome, and never did suppliant knock vainly at his door. He always took great delight in children, but especially in boys employed on the river or the sea. Many he rescued from the gutter, cleansed them and clothed them, and kept them for weeks in his house. For their benefit he established reading-classes, over which he himself presided, reading to and teaching the lads with as much ardor as if he were leading them to victory. He called them his ‘kings,’ and for many of them he got berths on board ships. One day a friend asked him why there were so many pins stuck into the map of the world over his mantlepiece; he was told that they marked and followed the course of the boys on their voyages; that they were moved from point to point as his youngsters advanced, and that he prayed for them as they went, night and day. The light in which he was held by those lads was shown by inscriptions in chalk on the fences.A favorite legend was ‘God bless the Kernel!’ So full did his classes at length become that the house would no longer hold them, and they had to be given up. Then it was that he attended and taught at the Ragged Schools, and it was a pleasant thing to watch the attention with which his wild scholars listened to his words.”

The workhouse and the infirmary, writes another, were his constant haunts, and of pensioners he had a countless number. Many of the dying sent for him in preference to the clergyman, and he was ever ready to visit them. His purse was always empty because of his free-handedness, and he even sent some of his medals to the melting-pot in the cause of charity.

When another appointment removed him from Gravesend, there was universal regret. The local newspaper paid him the following graceful and sincere tribute: “By general and continual beneficence to the poor, he has been so unwearied in well-doing that his departure will be felt by numbers to be a personal calamity. His charity was essentially charity, and had its root in deep philanthropic feeling and goodness of heart; shunning the light of publicity, but coming even as the rain in the night-time, that in the morning is noted not, but only the flowers bloom and give a greater fragrance. All will wish him well in his new sphere, and we have less hesitation in penning these lines from the fact that laudatory notice will confer but little pleasure upon him who gave with the heart and cared not for commendation.”

Military glory pales before this display of missionary zeal.

In order to achieve any success the heart must be in the work, and from this center of our being all true Christian culture must begin. Every one can make his own destiny, and

“Taught by time the heart has learned to glowFor others good, and melt at other’s woe.”

“Taught by time the heart has learned to glow

For others good, and melt at other’s woe.”

It is good to indulge the habit of looking out of ourselves, to study the ways and needs of others, and to keep the heart busy with things about us—the trifles, as they are considered, which are apt to be overlooked or made light of. For there is great danger that the small philanthropies and courtesies of life will be neglected because of the large schemes that are so absorbing. This kind of outlook requires, of course, a certain amount ofinsight, or intuition, without which we can not bring ourselves into sympathetic relations, or prove ourselves the friend of humanity.

Our home, the place where we spend the most of our time, should be the field in which to exercise our best gifts, wherein we both sow and reap, and which is left to us to brighten and beautify, or to darken and disgrace. The heart renewed by grace is zealous of good works, fond of home, and anxious to do its full duty therein. It has a word of cheer for those who are cast down; it comforts the sick; speaks tenderly to those in trouble; has patience with the erring; seeks out ways of interesting the young; is mindful of the aged, and helpful to everybody.

“A heart at leisure from itself,To soothe and sympathize,”

“A heart at leisure from itself,

To soothe and sympathize,”

need never want for an opportunity; and it is often the small attentions, the unconsidered trifles, that are most highly valued.

The heart that begins its labors in too wide a sphere will find it hard to concentrate its interests, while a more gradual expansion will result in more satisfactory work, and the strengthening of the magnetic current, for on our personal magnetism depends, to a great extent, our influence on those with whom we associate. What responsibilities rest upon fathers and mothers, on sisters and brothers! How much good and how much evil they can do in their special fields of operation! That son needs a little wholesome correction from the father, a few kind words may be all that is requisite, but the father is busy about other affairs, his heart is interested in things outside of his family, and the boy slips downward for want of a restraining hand. That girl would have turned out, oh! so differently, if she had only had the right kind of a mother. Some boys and girls are not fit to be left to themselves. They seem to be born without any inward monitor, or strong moral sense. The germ may be there, but it has never been properly cultivated.

At a school examination the question was put, “What is conscience?” But one pupil could give the definition, “An inward monitor.”

“What is your idea of an inward monitor?” asked the inspector, and away down at the lower end of the room a hand was stretched forth, and a voice proclaimed, “It’s an iron-clad, sir!” So it is. Fortified to resist evil, but to assist good; and a “tender conscience,” to keep up the nautical figure, is the small convoy that supplies the soul with spiritual sustenance.

A conscience alive to duty will serve as an electrical alarm to notify us what is to be done and when and how we are to do it. If you have sick neighbors, and can not conveniently call upon them yourself, send to inquire how they are and in what way you can be of service. An offering of fruit or flowers will often be most acceptable to invalids or their families, who are cheered and sustained by the thought that other hearts are sympathizing with them. Keep down your own sensitiveness, and learn to make generous allowance for other people. Show that your zeal is not of the offensive sort, that your politeness is deep and genuine, that “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh,” and you will always be on good terms with your neighbors, and with yourself.

There is a variety of ways of helping people, and no two people may be helped in precisely the same way. The most deserving are the most modest, and it may take considerable study and observation for you to discover that Mrs. Needlewise, whose children always look so neat and well dressed, would be thankful for the cast-off clothes which are taking up the room in your garret, or which you give away recklessly just for the sake of getting rid of them. Mrs. Needlewise would be offended at your offering her the garments, but friendliness, and the exercise of a little tact, will remove the barriers and enable you to relieve anxieties that were a continual burden.

A dear, good woman whose heart was always open to the necessities of those about her, was in her old age given to somewhat erratic impulses. One morning, much to the mortification of her family, she seized the coffee-pot and went into a near neighbor’s, a poor but proud little woman, who would go without rather than beg. The old lady, in her sweet way, said to the farmer’s wife that it was a pity to waste so much good coffee, and she had brought it over for her to use. The gift was accepted with a smile, and to please the old lady the coffee was used by the good man of the house, who sent word that he had never tasted any quite so delicious, and should be glad to be so favored again. It was the entering wedge of neighborly kindness, and the beginning of better days for the poor family whose fortunes at that period were at a low ebb. The right kind of a lift at the right time will put human nature on its feet, and reëstablish the foundations that were in danger of giving way.

O, the magnetizing power of love! beginning first with the love of Christ, and then reaching out toward all our fellow-creatures! How wide spreading, how far-reaching in its influences! Home missions, foreign missions, small charities or large ones, incidental acts of kindness, thoughtful consideration for the welfare of others, all that a self-sacrificing spirit can do is done cheerfully and without hope of reward.

A saintly young woman whose earthly pilgrimage ended at thirty-four, is thus eulogized by the pastor of the church for which she labored lovingly and assiduously: “She gave out so much to others that she has left herself broken in fragmentshere and there, and you and I hold this or that fragment so really that we are only hardly persuaded to acknowledge that there is an end of her earthly life for a time. How simply, purely and patiently that life was lived, you know.… Many and many a time have I pointed to that life as an example of what people might do and might be, if they would do as she did—be content ‘to live faithfully a hidden life,’” Her mother says: “Her unselfish work and devotion were marvelous. It is often said of her that she crowded more into her short life than is done or experienced in the longest. She shone the brightest in her daily life at home, always serving some one, forgetful of self. Her pure spirit grew so fast that the frail body could not retain it; yet she faded so slowly, so cheerfully and hopefully, that we hardly believed she could not rally until the day before she left us. Our sunshine is gone, but the radiance is still left in the memory of her sweet life.”

Blessed memory!

In this bright way she speaks of herself when laid aside from her sphere of usefulness, and obliged to some extent to discontinue the literary work which had proved so acceptable to the public and already given her considerable fame as an author: “I’ve been occupied with turning a corner, round which the landscape is different, and getting used to the change. I suppose it has been coming on for a good while; at all events, after some ten years of ruddy health and active exercise, I am not to sweep any more for a while, not to walk, not to sing, read aloud, talk much, not to hurry, not to get tired at anything.… Of course it is a little queer and painful sometimes, because, particularly, my father is always an invalid, and increasingly so. One dreads to be another anxiety. But I have no real reason to fret. Something good will come of it, I will expect. I am so thankful that I need not give up writing that I will not mind the rest of my denials;” and then when her own health was declining, and the sunset hour of her life was nearer than she thought, she closes her letter with “Good night, dear. Health and God’s blessing!” and it was a final “good night,” for word soon came of her entering into communion with the saints above.

The more heart we put into our work, whether it be domestic drudgery, the care of the sick, or “whatsoever the hand findeth to do,” the more perfect and satisfactory it will be; and according to the measure with which we serve others, is meted out to us the happiness we derive from that service. The sending of a letter full of kindly thought and sympathy has often brought a return far beyond the expectation of the sender. A little gift, a token of good will, insignificant in itself, has spoken volumes to the recipient, and brightened a day that was full of clouds. To do no more than our duty does not fill the measure of Christian usefulness. We would grieve if compelled to walk a narrow path, fenced in on either side, and not allowed to look to the right or left, or to pluck the fruits that lined the road; and God and his holy angels must grieve when we neglect to turn out of our path to assist others, and make excuses for the non-performance of heart service.

A young lady, very much interested in mission work, and an active worker in a large school connected with a flourishing church, felt offended at some of the officers of the school, and decided to send in her resignation. Each Sunday she had been accustomed to place before the children some text that they might carry with them through the week, absorbing its teachings and principles so that they would be “wrought out in living characters.”

All through the week her mind dwelt upon the injustice that she felt had been done her, and she went to the mission school the following Sunday fully determined to give up the work which had been her delight for so many years. As she entered the room her gaze rested on the text which stood out in bold lettering, as she had printed it the previous Sunday:

“Even Jesus pleased not himself.”

The arrow struck home. It would never do to have that text uppermost when she handed in her resignation, so she reversed the roll, and there in as bold type appeared:

“Jesus, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.”

There was no use trying to avoid the situation, or to escape the responsibilities. The teacher’s work was there. She knew it; she felt it.

“To doubt would be disloyalty;To falter would be sin;”

“To doubt would be disloyalty;

To falter would be sin;”

so she roused herself to greater endurance, put more heart into work, and had the satisfaction of hearing it said that never since her connection with the school had she given such a splendid lesson. The approval of her own conscience was not the least of her compensations, and there is no further talk of her giving up her position in the mission school.

We may be so situated that we can not do any great work in the world. By temperament, by education, or by reason of ill-health we may be restricted from carrying out our ambitious schemes, but there are none so weak, so ignorant, or so poor that they can not do some good in the world. The ladder that reaches to heaven is not composed of wooden rungs, or of cold, senseless material, but God has made every human being so dependent on his fellow-creatures that each one is lifted up by some one above him, some busy heart that feels another’s need and reaches out; and when there is no looking up nor reaching out there is no growth nor spiritual attainment.

If you want to know people you must get near them; first go down to their level, and then bring them up to yours, not waiting for any great occasion, or a more direct revelation, but taking advantage of small opportunities, and making your influence felt in quiet, unobtrusive ways.

“And when it is all over, and our feet will run no more, and our hands are helpless, and we have scarcely strength to murmur a last prayer, then we shall see that instead of needing a larger field we have left untilled many corners of our single acre, and that none of it is fit for the Master’s eye were it not for the softening shadow of the cross.”

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