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"Is that right, sir?"

The question roused him; he looked up, tears brimming his eyes and his voice faltering as he said:

"Excuse me, sir, but memory was busy, and this is the first pecuniary reward I have ever received for all my exertions in adapting steam to navigation; I would order a bottle of wine to commemorate the event, but really, sir, I am too poor."

The voyage to New York was successful and terminated without accident or delay.

Four years later, when the Claremont, greatly improved and renamed the North River, and two sister boats, the Car of Neptune and the Paragon, were regularly plying between New York and Albany, I again took passage.

The cabin was below and well filled with passengers. As I paced to and fro, I observed a man watching me closely, and thought he might be Fulton, and as I passed him our eyes met, when he sprang to his feet, eagerly extending his hand and exclaiming:

"I knew it must be you. I have never forgotten your features. Come, I can now afford that bottle of wine."

As we discussed the nice lunch he ordered spread for us, Mr. Fulton ran rapidly and vividly over his experiences of the past few years. He spoke of the world's coldness and sneers, of the hopes, fears, disappointments and difficulties which had followed him through his whole career of discovery up to his final crowning triumph of success.

"I have again and again recalled our first meeting at Albany, and the vivid emotions caused by your paying me that first passage money. That, sir, seemed then, and still seems, the turning-point in my destiny,—the dividing line between light and darkness—the first actual recognition of my usefulness from my fellow-men. God bless you, sir! That act of yours gave me the courage I needed."

AFTERWHILE

Afterwhile we have in view
The old home to journey to;
Where the Mother is, and where
Her sweet welcome waits us there,
How we'll click the latch that locks
In the pinks and hollyhocks,
And leap up the path once more
Where she waits us at the door;
How we'll greet the dear old smile
And the warm tears, afterwhile.

James Whitcomb Riley.

JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL

Jesus, Lover of my soul,

Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll,

While the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour, hide

Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide,

O receive my soul at last.

Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone,

Still support and comfort me. All my trust on Thee is stayed,

All my help from Thee I bring: Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of Thy wing.

Wilt Thou not regard my call?

Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo, I sink, I faint, I fall!

Lo, on Thee I cast my care;
Reach me out Thy gracious hand!

While I of Thy strength receive,
Hoping against hope I stand,

Dying, and behold I live!

Thou, O Christ, art all I want;

More than all in Thee I find;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,

Heal the sick and lead the blind.
Just and holy is Thy name;

I am all unrighteousness;
False and full of sin I am,

Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with Thee is found,

Grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound;

Make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the Fountain art,

Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart,
Rise to all eternity.

Charles Wesley.

THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD!

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalms xxiii.

"GET AWAY FROM THE CROWD".

Robert Burdette, in a talk to young men, said: "Get away from the crowd for a while, and think. Stand on one side and let the world run by, while you get acquainted with yourself and see what kind of a fellow you are. Ask yourself hard questions about yourself. Ascertain, from original sources, if you are really the manner of man you say you are; and if you are always honest; if you always tell the square, perfect truth in business details; if your life is as good and upright at eleven o'clock at night as it is at noon; if you are as good a temperance man on a fishing excursion as you are on a Sunday-school picnic; if you are as good when you go to the city as you are at home; if, in short, you are really the sort of man your father hopes you are and your sweetheart believes you are. Get on intimate terms with yourself, my boy, and, believe me, every time you come out of one of those private interviews you will be a stronger, better, purer man. Don't forget this, and it will do you good."

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS

This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main-

The venturous bark that Alings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings.

In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,

As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed-
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,

Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no

more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee.
Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born

Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!
While on mine ear it rings,
Thro' the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings;

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