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those chubby arms about my neck, those cherry lips to my own, and greeting me with a kiss.

Enclosed in the letter was another. From its hidingplace in the pocket of my office coat, I have taken it out this morning to read it over. I often do so, for it brings to me so many sweet memories of other days.

Let me quote a few words from the first letter: "When I told Virginia I was writing to Grandpa, she wished to write you a letter also. You probably can read it," and Virginia's letter is the one I have before me now. Shall I describe it? The paper is the same as the mother's, on which are four closely-written pages. Did I say written? Yes, written in the child language; a language perhaps not taught in the schools, but understood by so many, many loving hearts. Those long, scrawling lines, characters that no Mongolian would attempt to imitate; scratches of pencil or pen no expert would attempt to duplicate; and yet this is the letter I carry about with me as I follow the routine of a busy life.

There may be some reason why an epistle like this has so much value to me. I remember years ago my family physician came to me one day and told me the mother of my five babies must go away for a change; she must leave the cares of home and children for a few months; and so she left us never to come back. All through those anxious days, when my time was divided between home and the sick chamber miles away, I would never visit the sick one, who was constantly growing weaker, but I was the bearer of letters like the one before me. With what eagerness that mother would break the seals of those missives, and smile or weep, when she would say to me, “I understand every word they have written."

Virginia's grandmother and her mother's baby brother lie side by side. The other babies have grown to be men

and women, and have left the old home, and I am alone. But when I receive such letters as the one I carry in my office coat, “I understand every word," and am young again.

J. W. C. Pickering.

RECESSIONAL
God of our fathers, known of old-

Lord of our far-flung battle-line-
Beneath whose awful hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine-
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies

The captains and the kings depart-
Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away

On dune and headline sinks the fire-
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-
Such boasting as the Gentiles use

Or lesser breeds without the Law-
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet.
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust

In reeking tube and iron shard-
All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding calls not Thee to guard-
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Amen.

Rudyard Kipling.

BENJAMIN BREWSTER'S REPLY Here is an account, told by Henry J. Erskine of Philadelphia, of the only instance in which Benjamin H. Brewster, Attorney-General of the United States during General Arthur's administration, was ever taunted in court of the disfigurement of his face. It occurred during the trial of an important suit involving certain franchise rights of the Pennsylvania railroad in Philadelphia. Mr. Brewster was then the chief counsel of the Pennsylvania company. The trial was a bitterly contested affair, and Brewster at every point got so much the best of the opposing counsel that by the time arguments commenced his leading adversary was in a white heat. In denouncing the railroad company, this lawyer, with a voice tremulous with anger, exclaimed: “This grasping corporation is as dark, devious and scarified in its methods as is the face of its chief attorney and henchman, Benjamin Brewster!" This violent outburst of rage and cruel invective was followed by a breathless stillness that was painful in the crowded courtroom. Hundreds of pitying eyes were riveted on the poor scarred face of Brewster, expecting to see him spring from his chair and catch his heartless adversary by the throat. Never before had anyone referred to Mr. Brewster's misfortune in such a way, or even in any terms, in his presence. Instead of springing at the man and killing him like a dog, as the audience thought was his desert, Mr. Brewster slowly arose and spoke something like this to the court: "Your Honor, in all my career as a lawyer I have never dealt in personalities, nor did I ever before feel called upon to explain the cause of my physical misfortune, but I will do so now. When a boy -and my mother, God bless her, said I was a pretty boy —when a little boy, while playing around an open fire one day, with a little sister, just beginning to toddle, she fell into the roaring flames. I rushed to her rescue, pulled her out before she was seriously hurt and fell into the fire myself. When they took me out of the coals my face was as black as that man's heart." The last sentence was spoken in a voice whose rage was that of a lion. It had an electrical effect, and the applause that greeted it was superb, but in an instant turned to the most contemptuous hisses, directed at the lawyer who had so cruelly wronged the great and lovable Brewster. That lawyer's practice in Philadelphia afterward dwindled to such insignificance that he had to leave the city for a new field.

From the Chicago Times.

A LUDICROUS EXPLANATION

A clergyman, anxious to introduce some new hymnbooks, directed the clerk to give cut a notice in church in regard to them immediately after the sermon. The clerk. however, had a notice of his own to give with reference to the baptism of infants. Accordingly, at the close of the sermon, he announced: “All those who have children they wish baptised, please send in their names at once." The

clergyman, who was deaf, supposing that the clerk was giving out the hymn-book notice, immediately arose and said: “And I want to say for the benefit of those who haven't any, that they may be obtained from me any day between three and four o'clock; the ordinary little ones at fifteen cents, and special ones with red backs at twenty-five cents each."

NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE

Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross

That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee!

Though like the wanderer,

The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,

My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee!

There let the way appear,

Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me

In mercy given;
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee!

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