Let him not die!" That prayer is given His Cork Leg The best stories are not told on the platform; they are told while waiting at the railroad station, while traveling on the train, in the social circle, or in a banqueting hall. I think the best story I ever heard was told by my pastor, Rev. W. U. Murkland, D.D.; for twenty-nine years pastor of the Franklin Street Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, Md. It was at a banquet given to the members of the Pan-Presbyterian Council then meeting in Baltimore. Dr. Murkland was toast-master. A party of men were once captured by the cannibals, who immediately proceeded to eat them. But there was one who was fat and sleek, and did not use tobacco; so they concluded to keep him for the king's banquet. They put him in a pen to fatten him, and he was there long enough to learn their language, and they caught on to his. Finally the day came for the banquet. The king and his court were all present, and the gentleman who was to furnish the principal dish of the feast was brought forward. He asked permission to make a speech. The permission was granted, and he said: 66 Gentlemen, you are about to eat me; this seems to be your view of the case. I do not agree with you; I hope I will not agree with you. I have one favor to ask. I am a good carver, and would like to carve myself." His request was granted, and a sharp knife given to him. He at once proceeded to cut out a small triangular piece from his right leg and hand it to the king. After tasting it the king made a wry face, and passed it on to the members of his court. Not one of them seemed to want it. As it reached the last one, he threw it on the floor, and they all arose and said "Go." The man went off, and has been thanking the Lord ever since that he had a cork leg on that side."-A. W. Hawks. A Recipe for Sanity BY HENRY RUTHERFORD ELIOT. Are you worsted in a fight? Are you cheated of your right? Don't make tragedy of trifles- Does your work get into kinks? Are you near all sorts of brinks? If it's sanity you're after, O, for a book and a shady nook, Either indoors or out; With the green leaves whispering overhead, Or the street cries all about. Where I may read all at my ease Both of the new and old; For a jolly good book whereon to look Is better to me than gold. -Old English Song. The Death of Oh, brilliant and incomparable Grady! We lay for a season thy precious dust beneath the soil that bore and cherished thee, but we fling back against all our brightening skies the thoughtless speech that calls thee dead! God reigns and His purpose lives, and although these brave lips are silent here, the seeds sown in his incarnate eloquence will sprinkle patriots through the years to come, and perpetuate thy living in a race of nobler men! But all our words are empty, and they mock the air. If we should speak the eulogy that fills this day, let us build within the city that he loved, a monument tall as his services, and noble as the place he filled. Let every Georgian lend a hand, and as it rises to confront in majesty his darkened home, let the widow who weeps there be told that every stone that makes it has been sawn from the sound prosperity that he builded, and that the light which plays upon its summit is, in afterglow, the sunshine that he brought into the world. And for the rest-silence. The sweetest thing about his funeral was that no sound broke the stillness save the reading of the Scriptures, and the melody of music. No fire that can be kindled upon the altar of speech can relume the radiant spark that perished yesterday. No blaze born in all our eulogy can burn beside the sunlight of his useful life. After all, there is nothing grander than such living. I have seen the light that gleamed from the headlight of some giant engine rushing onward through the darkness, heedless of opposition, fearless of danger, and I thought it was grand. I have seen the light come over the eastern hills in glory, driving the hazy darkness like mist before a sea-born gale, till leaf and tree and blade of grass glittered in the myriad diamonds of the morning ray, and I thought it was grand. I have seen the light that leaped at midnight athwart the storm-swept sky, shivering over chaotic clouds, mid howling winds, till cloud and darkness and the shadow-haunted earth flashed into midday splendor, and I knew it was grand. But the grandest thing next to the radiance that flows from the Almighty Throne is the light of a noble and beautiful life, wrapping itself in benediction round the destinies of men, and finding its home in the blessed bosom of the Everlasting God.-John Temple Graves. Jane an' Me..... A Good Dinner... The Martyrdom of Joan of Arc... Marguerite's Husband The Method of Charles Stewart Yorke.... .Amsbary .Klein .Fernald ..Long ...Cutting De Quincey Tompkins .Champion ..Cooke .Gilmore His Morning's Mail.... The Father of His Son... Scenes from "David Copperfield". The Betrothal. Lost. Sought and Found. Miss Janumit Latlit... Bobby Unwelcome ... Mrs. Lathrop's Love Affair.. A Soldier of the Empire.. The Count's Ambassador. .Dickens The Wreck. .Merwyn .Donnell Warner ..Page Bowman |