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INTELLIGENCER AND JOURNAL. .

HOWARD M. J.ENKINS, Managing Editor. ASSOCIATE EDITORS: HELEN G. LONGSTRETH. LOUISA. J. ROBERTS. $USAN ROBERTS. RACHEL W. HILLBORN. LYD1A H. HALL.

PHILADELPHIA, SEVENTH MO. 11, 1885.

WoRSHIP.-The universality of Worship, shows : the universal feeling of a need that will not be satisfied without expression. In the most degraded and uncivilized, equally with the refined and cultured nations, the altar and the sanctuary are a standing testimony to the unsatisfying nature of earthly desires. They witness to man's aspirations after that which is above and beyond his poor finite vision, and to his hope of Divine favor through some act or offering or sacrifice. Is not this feeling the unrest of the divine

within himself, which reaching after God, seeks by |

these varying ways to be at one with Him? As we look over the great family of man in the uncounted phases of life in which we find him, but more especially in this of his soul-longing, how small and insignificant do all the divisions and subdivisions into which the Christian Church has separated itself

appear. And yet there seems to be a place for all in the worl arvest field, that each may plant, and tend, and reap its chosen allotment. It is not in one, nor in another field, that all the golden grains of truth are sown; let us as a people bear this in mind, and in what seems to be the part we have undertaken to cultivate, let us labor with earnestness of purpose. That we may do this helpfully we have need to remember the exhortation of the apostle, “Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together.” In union there is strength. The small thread-like. stalks that support the golden heads of ripening grain, standing alone, sway to and fro and are easily trodden down and laid waste, but the broad field waving in the sunlight, what a sight it is to the eye of the beholder! As it bends to the wind, each tiny stem bearing aloft its wealth of nourishment, leans tenderly, lovingly upon the other, and the blast that singly none could withstand, passes over the field without harm, its rapid motion adding grace and loveliness, and bringing out in endless tints of light and shade the incomparable beauty of the whole. What is distinctively ours, let us make haste to occupy, leaving to those to whom they belong, the unsettled questions of baptisms and sacraments, election and reprobation, Trinity and Sonship, remembering with joy and gladness the declaration, made

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the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God, heirs and joint-heirs with Christ in the heavenly inheritance.” This is an eternal truth, infinitely outweighing all that schoolmen and theologians have formulated in reference to the Divine decrees. It rests on individual experience, and is within reach of every soul that is open to receive it. “God in man, reconciling man to Himself,” must be our watchword; we cannot afford to waste our strength on questions of smaller import. The light that is the life of the soul, will, as its inshinings are heeded, lead into paths of safety and enable us to bear testimony to the truth of the declaration, “The children of the Lord are all taught of the Lord, and great is the peace of his children.”

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The following extract from a private letter will be read with interest by many Friends who have extended aid and sympathy to W. Walton in his missionary labors among the needy but struggling people to whose welfare he is giving himself so unreservedly. We trust the way will open to continue this useful work, and that those who heretofore have aided him, will still lend a helping hand in so good a cause. DEAR FRIEND:—I will tell the one way in which it has been almost a necessity for me to expend considerable funds. Ever since last fall the business of

nearly all kinds out here has been very dull, money scarce, and not near enough work to keep the poor

true by living experience, “As many as are led by

laborers employed. Many industrious colored people (and white ones, too) who had become self-supporting, have failed to get enough work to do to support their families, and rather than put themselves on the city as “paupers,” or even beg for temporary aid, have applied to me to let them have needed goods as a temporary loan, promising to pay as soon as they can procure steady employment. I should have been almost obliged to give things to some of the families if I had not thus sold to them as a loan of honor; and I thought the latter preferable. Some of them have partly paid up, but the times here continue so hard, and there is so little work to do, that I fear some never will pay. I do not need any more money at present, but I hope some way will turn up whereby I can get some towards fall. I still insist upon most of these people paying some cash—even if it is less than the cost of the articles— rather than give them the things, or sell regularly on credit. on account of the “web-worm * destroying their corn crops. Thy friend, WILMER WALTON. Parsons, Kansas, Sixth mo. 21st, 1885.

SUMMER STUDY.

At no time does the value of some special interest in natural science show itself more plainly than in Summer outings at the shore or among the hills. The seeker after rest and health amid the haunts of nature has his pleasure greatly heightened by the careful gathering of plants or minerals or Insects, or the observation of birds and fishes, or of rock strata and evidence of geologic action. The delight of the botanist who finds himself amid a new flora is more than a mere temporary gratification. It raises his spirits and gives interest to his excursions, besides tempting him to more and longer trips than he would otherwise undertake. When he is afield his eyes are always open. He never finds himself with nothing to look at. His searching glance, is everywhere. He may converse, or contemplate the distant prospect," yet his eyes are constant in their watch of roadside, field, hedgerow, and wood. Not only does he observe plants, but any unusual sight arrests his attention. The shy birds of the thicket and the little quadrupeds of the field often come under his eye. He may not know their names, but he remembers their aspects, and is pleased to meet them. If birds or insects or minerals be his objects of interest, the result is similar. All tempt him into the open air, keep him moving and alert, and fill his hours with inexhausti

ble anticipation and pleasure.—Student. *

FIRST USE OF COAL AS FUEL.

Coal was known to the Romans, and there are traces in some of their buildings in Northumberland that they used it for fuel. But in old days the forests supplied plenty of wood; there was little demand for fires for the purpose of manufactures; houses were small, and men did not need so much warming as they do at present; chimneys to carry off the smoke were almost unknown, and coal was not very greatly

| or three were to be seen in ordinary towns.

Some of the farmers are almost discouraged

in demand. It began, however, to be sent to London,

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where it was gradually used by Smiths and brewers' who needed fires for their trade. In 1305 Parliament complained to Edward I, that the burning of coal corrupted the air by its smoke and harmful vapors. An order was made that those who used coal should be punished and their furnaces destroyed. However, coal was used in spite of this order, and gradually became more common. In the sixteenth century the population of the South of England greatly increased; trade rapidly developed ; the woods had gradually been cleared away, and fuel became more difficult to get. In the reign of Eliza

| beth coal crept from the forge to the kitchen and the

hall. Houses were larger and better built; chimneys were common, whereas formerly not more than two The coal trade along the Tyne became brisk, and in 1615 four hundred ships were employed in carrying coals from the harbor of Newcastle.—Leisure Hour.

UNPRAISED GRACES.

Force of character is one of the world’s virtues; the market honors it, but the church knows it not.

| It is esteemed in the factory and the counting-room, but is not preached in the pulpit nor praised in the

press, and is deprecated and discouraged in the nursery and the schoolroom. It is an inconvenient virtue in children; but it makes a sterling manhood. It is the power in life which translates thoughts into deeds, ideas into achievement. Imagination thinks things; grit does them. Imagination fashions its statuette of clay with ease; but life is not clay, it is marble: grit, with mallet and chisel, turns the block into the statue. Grit is the power in every profession. It makes the difference between the declaimer and the orator. The former wins our admiration, the latter compels our conviction. His rhetoric may be faulty, his logic defective, his scholarship poor, his grammar lame, and even his conclusions untenable— but he carries us with him in spite of ourselves; nor is it until we have escaped the mastery of his presence that we are able to reconsider and reverse our verdict. It makes the difference between the politician and the statesman. The one studies the tides, and comes in and goes out with them, when his almanac does not make a mistake; the other pushes his way to his predetermined port, with the tide or against it, as chance may have it. Ebb tide or floodtide, he gets there all the same—in time. It makes the difference between the bookkeeper and the man of business. The one is the servant of figures, the other is their master; the one interprets events, the other makes them. It is the common trait of all the men of destiny in the world's history. Erasmus was a better scholar than Luther ; Luther's grit was Luther's genius. It is grit that gives leadership. Men are like the figure nought; put one or a dozen of them together, and they are still nought. The man of grit is a unit of value; put him at the head of the column, and the two noughts become a hundred, the five noughts a hundred thousand. The man of grit, like the blooded horse, carries his whip and spur in his own veins. At the heart of every great enterprise—industrial, philanthropic, political, missionary—you will find somewhere a man or men of grit; but usually in the singular, not the plural, number. Unpraised grace though it be, yet every Bible hero had it. It required grit in Abraham to disregard the advice of wise men, the sneer of foolish ones, and the expostulations of friendly ones, and abandon his native land, the first pilgrim father, to go in search not only of a new home, but of a new religion. It required grit in Joseph to profess his religion before the court of Pharaoh, and before all his priests: “It is not in me; God shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace ;” and in Moses to abandon the path to promotion and put himself at the head of a despised and despicable people; and in David to disregard the sneers of his brethren, and the stolid stare of the army, and the failure of Saul’s armor, and hazard the disgrace of failure more bitter than death to a sensitive soul; and in Paul to keep up the spirits of ship's company and crew, the only undeSpairing soul among them, during those fourteen days of tempest. Grit is a feminine virtue as well as a masculine one. She who possesses this virtue rules her children; she who lacks it is their nursemaid, not their mother. Grit is translated into achievement by man, into endurance by woman. Her task is the harder of the two. The easiest way to get any grace is to inherit it; but grit, like every other grace, can be cultivated. A robust frame is a great help to a robust nature; broad shoulders and a good digestion are means of grace. But they are only means, they are not the grace itself. Athletism is not grit. Grit is spiritual not physical, and the man of grit always “keeps his Soul on top.” . e An aspiring author advice how to write for the newspapers. “Have something to say, and then say it,” was the laconic reply. Have something to do, and then do it, might pass for a definition of grit. The man of grit is always a man of hope. He believes in his mission, and in its ultimate success. He is therefore a man of faith ; not always intelligent faith in God, perhaps only a superstitious faith in his star or his luck, or a purely terrestrial faith in laws and principles. But he always sees an end from the beginning and blazes his way through the woods, singing, because he knows where he wants to go, and expects to get there.—Christian Union.

CONCERNING MIDDLE-AGED FOLK.

A venerable preacher of a bygone type, whose Voice was once often heard from our galleries, was Wont to divide his audience into “The aged, the middle-aged, and the dear youth.” As to the interest and attractions that circle round the last-named class, “The dear youth,” there can be no difference of opinion. What indeed can be more delightful than the glow and freshness, the yet unquenched hopefulness, and the noble belief in impossibilities, which are ours only in the bright morning of life? Very beautiful and attractive too is that calm serenity which is our ideal of old age—that rest which comes when the day's work is almost over, the battle nearly Won, and the way worn pilgrim, in a peaceful land of Beulah, awaits the wished for summons.

But what about the humdrum middle-aged folk, the

once asked Horace Greeley for

business cumbered men, the busy careworn women, who have lost the glow and freshness of youth, and have not yet attained to the serene dignity of old age? What fascination or interest can attach to these weary, dusty workers? First and chiefly that they are the workers of the earth, that upon them now rests the burden and heat of the day; upon them, for the present hour, chiefly depends the progress of mankind.

In youth we naturally look forward to the future: “Yearning for the large excitement which the coming years

shall yield;” in old age we dwell fondly on the memory of the past; but in middle life it is the intense importance of the present hour that presses most strongly upon us. For we begin to realize how rapidly life is passing away—how little we have yet done to fulfill the hopes and aspirations of our earlier days.

The morning mists have cleared and we look around us and, behold ! the sweet dreaminess of life is gone, and we, the would-be benefactors of our race, pioneers of Christianity and civilization to unknown regions, into what common-place, stay-at-home folk, we have settled down Our wonderful visions of exploration and adventure, of scientific discovery and artistic, literary, or political successes, have given place to the prosaic realities of ledgers and invoices, house cleaning and stocking mending, grocers’ bills, taxes and poor rates; very real, very practical, very necessary no doubt; for in these days of hurry and competition, that task to the utmost every energy of mind and body, men have little time for rest or dreaming, if they would not be left far behind in the eager race.

“That leisure were ! but ah 'tis not,

The fashion of it men forgot

About the age Of Chivalry.” And in the more humble details of household management, no less needful in these days of degenerate servanthood, is the constant vigilance of the mistress. By all means let our houses and households be kept in order due. Let us fight, as best we may, against the perpetual tendency of all things to lapse into confusion and decay. Dusty rooms, dilapidated furniture, and untidy garments, are truly

hateful things from which we hope to be fully

delivered hereafter, and which are now, no doubt, to be withstood to the death. We have heard it said of one lady that her house was in such constant order that a single teaspoonful of dust could not have been scraped up within its walls' Words cannot express the deferential respect in which for years we held this wonderful woman, and yet we have since come to the deliberate conclusion that even this whistle—this most delightful whistle of a perfectly neat and well-ordered house—might be purchased at too great a price. For consider what it would involve to most women—what “nagging” of their servants, what continual checking and faultfinding with the children in their romping indoor games, in short, what perpetual irritation and wearing out of life and spirits, would be the result, to most, of endeavoring to keep the dust of an ordinary house down even to the measure of a tablespoon l No, this one earthly lifetime is surely too short and too valuable to be altogether consumed in such weary Martha-ism. If your new Brussels carpet develop terrible evidence of moths; or a deep spot of rust has appeared on your brilliant drawingroom fire-shovel, do not let yourself become utterly wretched on this account. Just send your thoughts for a moment to that land where neither moth nor rust shall corrupt, and then philosophize on our absurd over-civilization, which makes these short lives of ours so much more full of care and worry than they need have been. Perhaps it must be so. At any rate we do not see our way readily out of it all at once. Only a highly gifted few could, we fear, in this nineteenth century in ordinary British homes, lapse gracefully and conveniently into arcadian simplicity of life and manners. If, then, for most of us much of the perpetual hurry and engrossment of this busy everyday life be indeed inevitable, it only remains for us to strive as best we may against the hardening and wearing influences around us. We do not mean to speak now of those deepest and highest spiritual influences, which'do at times so raise men above the passing interests around them that, though in the world, they are not of the world. Dwelling with the question in its less deep and transcendental form, the question to be solved is, How the tone of mind and thought may best be kept fresh and vigorous amidst the cares and engrossments of middle life. . As this is the time when what is worldly, practical and definite is apt to preponderate, it follows that whatever tends to foster the spiritual and intellectual side of our nature becomes peculiarly important. The love of nature and of art, of music and of poetry, if kept alive by even occasional exercise, will do much to keep the soul serene and healthful;

and it may well startle us when we are so busy with

our worldly and practical cares, that the wild flowers of spring, or the gorgeous tints and glowing sunsets of autumn, can come and go scarce noticed by us. Of the invigorating influence on both mind and body, of mountain and seaside rambles, many of our readers are no doubt practically aware; and we hold that it is most of all the plodding middle-aged folk who need now and then to lay aside their daily avocations, and, surrounded by a merry troop of the younger generation, enjoy, for a few hours at least, the fresh breezes from sea, moor, or hillside, and the blessed sense of freedom from the cares and conventionalities of daily life. Many are familiar with the English translation of Miss Bremer's pretty little Norwegian tale entitled, “Strife and Peace;” but the following passage, perhaps with one exception the most suggestive in the original, occurs in a chapter omitted by the translator:—“Is thy soul weary of the noise of the world,

or tired of the littlenesses of a poor every-day life? Is

it oppressed by the pent-up air of rooms, by dust of books, dust of society, or other dust? (there are in the world many sorts thereof and all cover the soul with a gray mantle of dust)—fly, fly to the heart of Norway and there listen, alone in the great stillness, to the mighty heart-throb of Nature, and thou wilt win new energy, new life.” Well it is for those—as is the case with the dwellers near many of our great cities—who have not far to fly to find themselves alone with Nature. The ever

lasting hills around them, and below, under a dig smoke cloud on the horizon, the restless, toiling, trafficking city. What fuller sense of rest is to be found than thus on a summer's day reclining among the ferns and heather on a mountain's side, with the blue sky above, and the country spread for many a mile below, ending perhaps in a long line of seacoast, rock and islet, with the boundless sea beyond 7 One gets to feel then, if ever, how poor and passing, are the little nothings of this earthly life—how vast and grand and eternal is the universe of God. And if a day thus spent be so valuable, what a boon it is when we can leave our homes and business for more distant travels; though even then, as Matthew Arnold warns us, we may carry our habits of hurry and preoccupation most detrimentally with us–

“We [English] who pursue

Our business with unslackening Stride,
Traverse in troops, with care-filled breast
The soft Mediterranean Side,
The Nile, the East.

And see all sights from pole to pole,
And glance and nod and bustle by,
And never once possess owr Soul
Before we die.”

Another suggestion which we would here make, is the advantage that it is to very busy practical people to possess some well-beloved private hobby ; all the better if it be an out-doors one, such as gardening, botanizing, or sketching; but carpentry, illuminating, poultry-rearing, or the like—anything in fact of a pleasantly engrossing nature, when enjoyed as an occasional relaxation, may prove a most valuable antidote to the weariness or insipidity of a life either too busy or too monotonous in its general course.

Lastly, if the busy, earnest middle-aged folk would keep their spirits aright and serene amidst life's cares and disappointments, unwarped by prejudice, and unchilled by worldliness, let them ever cultivate a warm and friendly interest in the pleasures and pursuits, and in the tone of thought and feeling, of the younger generation around them. This will be all the more easy, because middle life is pre-eminently the time for the growth of a large-hearted toleration. The old are apt to cling fondly to the beliefs and traditions of their earlier days; and the young in their zeal and ardor cannot bear doubt or compromise: “The truth !” they cry, “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth !” forgetting what we learn by the experience of later years, how difficult this same truth often is to recognize and to lay hold of

In youth we are the objects of the care and guidance of others, and our energies are chiefly directed to the development of our own powers, and the acquisition of such knowledge as may fit us for the coming years. In age, we may fairly rest from the strife and enjoy the fruits of our labors; but in middle life those who have families to care for, or engrossing public interest in church or society to attend to, are living and working rather for others than for themselves. This it is that makes losses by death from the ranks of the middle-aged often Iso profoundly melancholy and lasting in their consequences, and perhaps the chief personal drawback to the possession of great responsibility, is the dread of being called away ere our work be finished or our taust fulfilled. Be this as it may, however, and notwithstanding the burdens and cares of which so much is said, let it not be forgotten that the middle years of life have their compensating privileges too. Added power, influence, position, these are all advantages too obvious and too generally prized to need pointing out; but what pleasures can compare with those of arduous duties faithfully performed, and difficult undertakings brought to a successful issue; , or even the humbler satisfaction like that of the village blacksmith of whom the poet tells us: “Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees Some task bigun, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose ?”

And though we may sometimes feel inclined to pity the anxious, careworn mother, the toiling father, or the over-burdened teacher or pastor, yet surely it is not those who in any earnest way are living and working for others that most need our commiseration.

As we realize, how much}there is to be done in the

world around, and how little of all our hopes and |

aspirations we shall ever accomplish in these short lives, it is no small thing to hope that we shall leave behind us sons and daughters, or others whom our influence and example have stimulated, who may do more and better than ever we have done, and that thus “the lamp may be passed from hand to hand” to enlighten future ages and generations yet unborn. —Anna W. Shackleton, in Friends' Quarterly Easaminer (London).

STIMULANTS IN ARCTIC REGIONS.

Lieutenant Greely remarked that breathing air of such intense coldness had something of the effect produced by breathing pure oxygen. As for pulmonary troubles he heard no complaint of them while the party was at Fort Conger, in Lady Franklin Bay, at a latitude of 82.8, where the first two years were spent. Even simple catarrhs were unknown, the only thing from which the men suffered being occasional rheumatisms and stiffness of muscles and joints. The party had ferocious appetites during all this long sojourn in the North, each man eating with relish three meals of animal food and two lunches every day, and craving fat, though not to the extent which some arctic travelers report. Not even when the thermometer registered sixty degrees below zero did these men indulge in crude blubber or tallow candles, which tradition has designated as the customary food of arctic voyagers; nor was even pemmican regarded as a rare and dainty dish by them. Canned meats, of which they had an abundance during the first two years, and a steak or ragout from the walrus, seal or polar bear were prized as the essential conditions of well-being. As for spirituous liquors, they were used with great mode. ration, and doled out to the members of the expedition as occasion seemed to demand, and only when Some unusual exertion or exposure brought some extraordinary fatigue or prostration. As means to fortify the system against cold or brace it up for forced

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