Stories Worth Rereading

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Both lads had thrown their cigarettes to the ground, scrambled to their
feet. Johnny, sober-faced and round-eyed, was gazing intently up at the
man; but Albert, feigning indifference, stood digging his toe into the
earth. He was listening, however.

"It is this way with me," the stranger went on, seeing he had an audience:
"I have gone from bad to worse till I cannot stop, no matter how hard I
try. Why, I was once a clean little chap like you, but I got to reading
trash, and then I began to smoke, and pretty soon I had drifted so far into
evil ways that I had no control over myself."

Here Johnny and Albert exchanged a painful glance.

"The worst thing about cigarettes," the man continued, "is that they
usually lead to something worse. I am a drunkard and a thief, because of
evil associations. Tramps never have any ready money; so when I have to
have cigarettes, which is all the time, I either steal them or steal the
money to buy them with. Besides," with another sad shake of the head, "I am
what is known as a drug fiend, and--yes, I guess I am everything bad. If
your folks knew who was talking to you, their blood would run cold.

"And it is all principally due to cigarettes!" he broke forth, savagely,
emphasizing his words with his fist and speaking more excitedly. "Just look
at me and behold a splendid example of the cigarette curse. Why, I was
naturally bright; I might have been a man to honor. But a bad habit,
uncontrolled, soon ruins one. My nerves are gone. I am only a fit companion
for jailbirds and criminals. I cannot even look an honest man in the face,
yet I am not naturally bad at heart. The best way is never to begin; then
you will never have to suffer. Cigarettes will surely hurt you some day,
though you may not be able to see the effects at first."

The speaker's manner had changed greatly during the past few moments. At
first he had spoken calmly, but he was now more than agitated. His eyes
rolled and flashed in their dark caverns, and he spoke vehemently, with
excited gestures. Johnny and Albert stood close together, regarding him
with frightened eyes.

"I wish I could reform," he exclaimed, "but I cannot! The poison is in my
veins. A thousand devils seem dragging me down. I wish I could make every
boy stop smoking those things. I wish I could warn them of the horrible
end."

With a sudden shriek, the man threw up his hands, fell backward, and
disappeared. After a second's hesitation, both lads ran to the wall,
climbed up, and looked over. In an unmistakable fit, the man was writhing
on the ground. Johnny and Albert ran quickly across lots and into Rev. Paul
Brighton's study. After learning that the boys had found a man in a fit,
Johnny's father hailed two passing neighbors, and the little party of
rescuers followed the lads to the scene of the strange experience.

It was a sorry spectacle that greeted them. The poor fellow's paroxysm had
passed, and he lay still and apparently lifeless, covered with dust and
grime. The minister bent over him, and, ascertaining that he was alive and
conscious, lifted him up; then, with the help of the two men, took the
outcast to the parsonage.

That evening, before the minister had asked his boy three questions, Johnny
broke into convulsive sobs, and made a clean breast of the matter from the
beginning. Blaming himself for not having won the child's heart securely
long before this, the minister did not censure him severely. He knew that
after such an example, the sensitive lad would never go wrong as far as
cigarettes were concerned.

Aunt Priscilla took her nephew in her arms, and, kissing the lips that were
yet sweet and pure, said, "If I have neglected you, Johnny, I am sorry; and
after this I am going to spend considerable time being good to my precious
laddie."

Johnny slipped an arm around Aunt Priscilla's neck. "That is just what I
want," he said, happily.

"I hope this will teach you a lesson, Albert," said Mrs. Beecher to her
son, when he, with the help and advice of the minister, had made a full
confession of his share in the matter. "After such an example, I should
think you would never want to see another cigarette."

"I do not," said Albert, soberly, "and if I can help it, I am not going to;
I will fight them. Cigarettes certainly did not make a man of that fellow.
They _unmade_ him."

For several days, during which the minister thought of what could be done
for him, the outcast stayed at the parsonage. He was invited to try the
gospel cure. "If you will put yourself unreservedly in the hands of God,
and remain steadfast," said Mr. Brighton, "there is hope for you. Besides,
I know of some medical missionaries who can help doctor the poison out of
your system, if you will let them."

At last the poor fellow yielded. And after a hard, bitter struggle, during
which a higher power helped him, he won the victory. He joined a band of
religious people whose work is to help rebuild wrecked lives; and although
weak at first and never robust, he was still able to point the right way to
many an erring mortal. He did much good; and Johnny and Albert, at least,
never forgot the practical example he gave them of what the cigarette can
accomplish for its slaves. BENJAMIN KEECH.

FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT

A number of years ago, at an orphan asylum in a Northern State, there lived
a boy whom we shall call Will Jones. He was just an ordinary boy. No, he
was not so in one respect, which I must point out, to his discredit. Will
Jones had a temper that distinguished him from the general run of boys.
Will's temper might have been inherited from a Spanish pirate, and yet Will
was a boy whom every one loved; but this hair-trigger temper at times
terribly spoiled things. It would be tedious to recount his uprisings of
anger, and the direful consequences that often followed.

Mr. Custer, the superintendent of the asylum, had hopefully striven to lead
Will to the paths of right; but it was a difficult task.

Sometimes it needs but one small breach to begin the overthrow of a giant
wall. One small key, if it is the right one, will open the most resisting
door. One small phrase may start a germ-thought growing in a human mind
which in after-years may become a mighty oak of character. So Will Jones,
the incorrigible fighter was to demonstrate this principle, as we shall
see.

On a Sabbath evening, as the hundred or more orphans met at vespers and
sang, "Onward, Christian Soldiers!" they saw a stranger seated at the
speaker's desk in the home chapel. He was a venerable old Wan, straight and
dignified, his hoary head a crown of honor; for he was all that he
appeared--a father in Israel.

In a brief speech he told the boys that he had once been a Union soldier,
and had fought in the battles of his country. He told of the courage it
required to face death upon the battle-field. He described the charges his
company had made and met, the sieges and the marches, the sufferings they
endured, and, lastly, the joys that victory and the end of the conflict
brought.

Then, when the boys were at the height of interested expectancy, he
skilfully drew the lesson he wanted them to learn. He told of a greater
warfare, requiring a higher courage, and bringing as a reward a larger and
more enduring victory. "Boys," he said, "the real soldiers are the
Christian soldiers; the real battle is the battle against sin; the real
battle-ground is where that silent struggle is constantly waging within our
minds." Then he told of Paul, who said, "I have fought a good fight." "Did
any of you boys ever fight a bad fight?" Every head but one turned to a
common point at this juncture, and the eyes of only one boy remained upon
the speaker. Will Jones had the record for bad fights, and that is why
about ninety-nine pairs of eyes had involuntarily sought him out when the
speaker asked the question, which he hoped each would ask himself. And the
reason Will Jones did not look around accusingly at any of the other boys
was because he had taken to heart all that had been said; and, because of
this, the turning-point had come; his conversion had begun. Henceforth he
determined so to live that he could say with Paul, "I have fought a good
fight."

No sooner does a boy determine to fight the good fight than Satan accepts
the challenge, and gives him a combat such as will seem like a "fiery
trial" to try him. These struggles develop the moral backbone; and if a boy
does not give in, he will find his moral courage increasing with each moral
fight. Just let that thought stay in your mind, underscored in bold-faced
italics, and printed in indelible ink; and if you have a tendency to be a
spiritual "jelly-back," it will be like a rod of steel to your spine.

The fear of Will Jones's knuckles had won a degree of peace for him. He had
lived a sort of armed truce, so to speak. Now he was subjected to petty
persecutions by mean boys who took advantage of his new stand. He did not
put on the look of a martyr either, but kept good-natured even when the old
volcano within was rumbling and threatening to bury the tormentors in hot
lava and ashes. The old desire to fight the bad fight was turned into the
new channel of determination to fight the good fight. Today Will Jones is
still a good fighter, and I hope he always will be, and some day will be
crowned with eternal victory; for he who fights the good fight is fighting
for eternity.

Will you not try so to live each day, subduing every sinful thought, that
at night when you kneel to pray you can say to the Lord, "I have fought a
good fight today"?

S. W. VAN TRUMP.

* * * * *

Our Help Is Near

Temptations dark and trials fall
On all who labor here;
But we have One on whom to call:
Our Lord is ever near.
So let us when these trials come,
Lean on his strength alone,
Till we have reached the promised home
Where sorrows are unknown.

MAX HILL.

TIGHTENING THE SADDLE-GIRTH

A time of grave crisis; upon the events of the next few minutes would hang
the issue of a hard-fought battle. Already at one end of the line the
troops seemed to be wavering. Was it indeed defeat?

Just where the fight was most fierce, a young officer was seen to leap from
his horse. His followers, sore pressed though they were, could not help
turning toward him, wondering what had happened. The bullets flew like hail
everywhere; and yet, with steady hand, the gallant soldier stood by the
side of his horse and drew the girth of his saddle tight. He had felt it
slip under him, and he knew that upon just such a little thing as a loose
buckle might hinge his own life, and, perhaps, the turn of the battle.
Having secured the girth, he bounded into the saddle, rallied his men, and
swept on to victory.

Many a battle has been lost on account of no greater thing than a loose
saddle-girth. A loose screw will disable the mightiest engine in the world.
A bit of sand in the bearing of an axle has brought many a locomotive to a
standstill, and thrown out of order every train on the division. Lives have
been lost, business houses wrecked, private fortunes laid in the balance,
just because some one did not tighten his saddle-girth!

Does it seem a small thing to you that you forgot some seemingly
unimportant thing this morning? Stop right where you are and go back and do
the thing you know you should have done in the first place.

One of the finest teachers in the leading school of one of our cities puts
stress day after day on that one thing of cultivating the memory so that it
will not fail in time of stress. "Do the thing when it should be done," she
insists. "If you forget, go back and do it. You have no right to forget; no
one has."

Tighten up the loose screw the moment you see it is loose. Pull the strap
through the buckle as soon as you feel it give. Wipe the axle over which
you have charge, clean of dust or grit. If your soul is in the balance,
stop now, today, this very moment, and see that all is right between you
and God.--_Kind Words_.

* * * * *

If You But Knew

O lad, my lad, if you but knew
The glowing dreams I dream of you,--
The true, straight course of duty run,
The noble deeds, the victories won,
And you the hero of them all,--
I know that you would strive to be
The lad that in my dreams I see;
No tempter's voice could make you fall.

Ah, lad, my lad, your frank, free smile
Has cheered me many a weary mile;
And in your face, e'en in my dreams,
Potent of future manhood beams,--
Manhood that lives above the small;
Manhood all pure and good and clean,
That scorns the base, the vile, the mean,
That hears and answers duty's call

And lad, my lad, so strong and true,
This is the prayer I pray for you:
Lord, take my boy, and guide his life
Through all the pitfalls of the strife;
Lead him to follow out thy plan,
To do the deeds he ought to do,
To all thy precepts ever true;
Make him a clean and noble man.

MAX HILL.

"HERRINGS FOR NOTHING"

I want you to think of a bitter, east windy day, fast-falling snow, and a
short, muddy street in London. Put these thoughts together, and add to them
the picture of a tall, stout man, in a rough greatcoat, and with a large
comforter round his neck, buffeting through wind and storm. The darkness is
coming rapidly, as a man with a basket on his head turns the corner of the
street, and there are two of us on opposite sides. He cries loudly as he
goes: "Herrings! three a penny! Red herrings, good and cheap, three a
penny!" So crying, he passes along the street, crosses at its end, and
comes to where I am standing at the corner. Here he pauses, evidently
wishing to fraternize with somebody, as a relief from the dull time and
disappointed hopes of trade. I presume I appear a suitable object, as he
comes close to me and begins conversation:--

"Governor, what do you think of these yer herrings?"--three in his hand,
while the remaining stock are deftly balanced in the basket on his head.
"Don't you think they're good?" and he offered me the opportunity of
testing them by scent, which I courteously but firmly declined, "and don't
you think they're cheap as well?"

I asserted my decided opinion that they were good and cheap.

"Then, look you, governor, why can't I sell 'em? Yet have I walked a mile
and a half along this dismal place, offering these good and cheap 'uns; and
nobody don't buy none!"

"I do not wonder at all at that," I answered, to his astonishment.

"Tell us why not, governor."

"The people have no work, and are starving; there are plenty of houses
round here that have not a single penny in them," was my reply.

"Ah! then, governor," he rejoined, "I've put my foot in it this time; I
knew they was werry poor, but I thought three a penny 'ud tempt 'em. But if
they haven't the ha-pence, they can't spend 'em, sure enough; so there's
nothing for it but to carry 'em back, and try and sell 'em elsewhere. I
thought by selling cheap, arter buying cheap, I could do them good, and
earn a trifle for myself. But I'm done this time."

"How much will you take for the lot?" I inquired.

First a keen look at me, then down came the basket from his head, then a
rapid calculation, then a grinning inquiry, "Do you mean profit an' all,
governor?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll take four shillin', and be glad to get 'em."

I put my hand in my pocket, produced that amount, and handed it to him.

"Right, governor, thank'ee! Now what'll I do with 'em?" he said, as he
quickly transferred the coins to his own pocket.

"Go round this corner into the middle of the road, and shout with all your
might, 'Herrings for nothing!' and give three to every man, woman, or child
that comes to you, till the basket is emptied."

On hearing these instructions, he immediately reproduced the money, and
examined it. Being satisfied of its genuineness, he again replaced it, and
then looked keenly and questioningly at me.

"Well," I said, "is it all right and good?"

"Yes," replied he.

"Then the herrings are my property, and I can do as I like with them; but
if you do not like to do as I tell you, give me back my money."

"All right, governor, an' they are yours; so if you say it, here goes!"
Accordingly, he proceeded into the middle of the adjoining street, and went
along, shouting aloud: "Herrings for nothing! Good red herrings for
nothing!"

Out of sight myself, I stood at the corner to watch his progress; and
speedily he neared the house where a tall woman stood at the first-floor
window, looking out upon him.

"Here you are, missus," he bawled, "herrings for nothing! A fine chance for
yer! Come an' take 'em."

The woman shook her head unbelievingly, and left the window.

"Vot a fool!" said he. "But they won't be all so. Herrings for nothing!" A
little child came out to look at him, and he called to her, "Yer, my dear,
take these in to your mother. Tell her how cheap they are--herrings for
nothing." But the child was afraid of him and them, and ran indoors.

So down the street, in the snowy slush and mud, went the cheap fish, the
vender crying loudly as he went, "Herrings for nothing!" and then adding
savagely, "O you fools!" Thus he reached the very end; and, turning to
retrace his steps, he continued his double cry as he came, "Herrings for
nothing!" and then in a lower key, "O you fools!"

"Well?" I said to him calmly, as he reached me at the corner.

"Well!" he replied, "if yer think so! When you gave me the money for
herrings as yer didn't want, I thought you was training for a lunatic
'sylum. Now I thinks all the people round here are fit company for yer. But
what'll I do with the herrings, if yer don't want 'em and they won't have
'em?"

"We will try again together," I replied. "I will come with you, and we will
both shout."

Into the road we both went; and he shouted, "Herrings for nothing!" and
then I called out also, "Will any one have some herrings for tea?"

They heard the voice, and they knew it well; and they came out at once, in
twos and threes and sixes, men and women and children, all striving eagerly
to reach the welcome food.

As fast as I could take them from the basket, I handed three to each eager
applicant, until all were speedily disposed of. When the basket was empty,
the hungry crowd who had none, was far greater than those that had been
supplied; but they were too late; there were no more herrings.

Foremost among the disappointed was the tall woman, who, with a bitter
tongue, began vehemently: "Why haven't I got any? Ain't I as good as they?
Ain't my children as hungry as theirs?"

Before I had time to reply, the vender stretched out his arm toward her,
saying, "Why, governor, that's the very woman as I offered 'em to first,
and she turned up her nose at 'em."

"I didn't," she rejoined passionately; "I didn't believe you meant it!"

"Yer just goes without, then, for yer unbelief!" he replied. "Good night,
and thank'ee, governor!"

You smile at the story, which is strictly true. Are you sure you are not
ten thousand times worse? Their unbelief cost them only a hungry stomach;
but what may your unbelief of God's offer cost you? God--not man--God has
sent his messenger to you repeatedly for years, to offer pardon for
nothing! Salvation for nothing! He has sent to your homes, your hearts, the
most loving and tender offers that even an Almighty could frame; and what
have you replied? Have you not turned away, in scornful unbelief, like the
woman?

God says, "Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my
hand, and no man regarded;... I also will laugh at your calamity; I will
mock when your fear cometh." Prov. I:24-26. But he also says, "Ho, every
one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come
ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without
price." Isa. 55:1. "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have
everlasting life." John 3: 16.

Answer him. Will you have it?--_C. J. Whitmore_.

Come

Ho, every one that thirsteth,
Come to the living stream,
And satisfy your longing soul
Where silver fountains gleam.

Come, weary, faint, and hungry;
Before you now is spread
A rich supply for all your needs;
Receive the living Bread.

Why do you linger longer?
Come while 'tis called today.
Here's milk and honey without price;
O, do not turn away!

Why feed on husks that perish?
Enter the open door.
Thy Saviour stands with outstretched hands;
Eat, drink, and want no more.

MAY WAKEHAM.

THE POWER OF SONG

My Own Experience

Near the summit of a mountain in Pennsylvania is a small hamlet called
Honeyville, consisting of two log houses, two shanties, a rickety old barn,
and a small shed, surrounded by a few acres of cleared land. In one of
these houses lived a family of seven,--father, mother, three boys, and two
girls. They had recently moved from Michigan. The mother's health was poor,
and she longed to be out on the beautiful old mountain where she had spent
most of her childhood. Their household goods had arrived in Pennsylvania
just in time to be swept away by the great Johnstown flood of 1889.

The mother and her two little girls, Nina and Dot, were Christians, and
their voices were often lifted in praise to God as they sang from an old
hymn-book, one of their most cherished possessions.

One morning the mother sent Nina and Dot on an errand to their sister's
home three and one-half miles distant. The first two miles took them
through dense woods, while the rest of the way led past houses and through
small clearings. She charged them to start on their return home in time to
arrive before dark, as many wild beasts--bears, catamounts, and
occasionally a panther--were prowling around. These animals were hungry at
this time of the year; for they were getting ready to "hole up," or lie
down in some cozy cave or hole for their winter's nap.

The girls started off, merrily chasing each other along the way, and
arrived at their sister's in good time, and had a jolly romp with the baby.
After dinner the sister was so busy, and the children were so absorbed in
their play, that the time passed unheeded until the clock struck four. Then
the girls hurriedly started for home, in the hope that they might arrive
there before it grew very dark. The older sister watched until they
disappeared up the road, anxiously wishing some one was there to go with
them.

Nina and Dot made good time until they entered the long stretch of woods,
when Nina said:--

"O, I know where there is such a large patch of wintergreen berries, right
by the road! Let's pick some for mama."

So they climbed over a few stones and logs, and, sure enough, the berries
were plentiful. They picked and talked, sometimes playing hide-and-seek
among the bushes. When they started on again, the sun was sinking low in
the west, and the trees were casting heavy shadows over the road, which
lengthened rapidly. When about half of the distance was covered, Dot began
to feel tired and afraid. Nina tried to cheer her, saying, "Over one more
long hill, and we shall be home." But now they could only see the sun
shining on the top of the trees on the hill.

They had often played trying to scare each other by one saying, "O, I see a
bear or a wolf up the road!" and pretending to be afraid. So Dot said:
"Let's scare each other. You try to scare me." Nina said, "All right."
Then, pointing up the road, she said, "O, look up the road by that black
stump! I see a--" She did not finish; for suddenly, from almost the very
spot where she had pointed, a large panther stepped out of the bushes,
turning his head first one way and then another. Then, as if seeing the
girls for the first time, he crouched down, and, crawling, sneaking along,
like a cat after a mouse, he moved toward them. The girls stopped and
looked at each other. Then Dot began to cry, and said, in a half-smothered
whisper, "O Nina, let's run!" But Nina thought of the long, dark, lonely
road behind, and knew that running was useless. Then, thinking of what she
had heard her father say about showing fear, she seized her little sister's
hand, and said: "No, let's pass it. God will help us." And she started up
the road toward the animal.

When the children moved, the panther stopped, and straightened himself up.
Then he crouched again, moving slowly, uneasily, toward them. When they had
nearly reached him, and Nina, who was nearest, saw his body almost rising
for the spring, there flashed through her mind the memory of hearing it
said that a wild beast would not attack any one who was singing. What
should she sing? In vain she tried to recall some song, but her mind seemed
a blank. In despair she looked up, and breathed a little prayer for help;
then, catching a glimpse of the last rays of the setting sun touching the
tops of the trees on the hill, she began the beautiful hymn,--

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