Cyclopedia of illustrations for public speakers

by Unknown

D

DAILY CHARACTER WORK

In character-building, just as in housebuilding, every day’s work ought to count for good. If the house builders do one day’s work carelessly, dishonestly, or in violation of the architect’s plan, the result is liable to be serious, no matter how well the work is done thereafter. An unsound spot in the wall, a beam not properly placed, or any other feature of a misspent working day, will render questionable the soundness and safety of the entire structure when the strain of use and occupation comes. So the wasted day of one’s life may fix a flaw in the character, which will expose that character to grave perils, when certain temptations and trials assail it.—The Interior.

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Dancing—See [Degradation]; [Risk Shifted].

Danger—See [Love as a Siding]; [Quietness in Danger].

DANGER, AVOIDING

Birds who sleep on the water—and they are numerous—are always in danger of drifting to the shore, where lies their greatest danger. In the Zoological Gardens of London it has been discovered that ducks and other water-lovers have evolved a way of avoiding this danger. Tucking one foot up among their feathers, they keep the other in the water and gently paddle, with the result that they revolve in circles and keep at a safe distance from land, a kind of sleepwalking turned to good account.—Olive Thorne Miller, “The Bird Our Brother.”

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DANGER, COURTING

A few years ago a tenderfoot went out West looking for grizzly. He was all togged out in the newest style of hunting-suit, and dawned like an incredible vision, on the astonished inhabitants west of the Missouri. He asked them where he could find a grizzly, and they told him reverently that at a certain place not far from there grizzlies were numerous and would come if you whistled. Light-heartedly he took his way to the place indicated and two days later they buried his mangled remains in the local cemetery. Over his innocent young head they erected a tombstone whereon they rudely carved this epitaph:

“He whistled for the grizzly, and the grizzly came.”

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DANGER FROM BELOW

Moral disaster to character is often wrought by the inrush of animal tendencies stored in the lower nature of man.

At various times during the construction of the Simplon Tunnel work has been retarded by the influx of water from underground springs. In the autumn of 1901 a stream of water burst into the Italian workings, and, attaining a discharge of nearly 8,000 gallons per minute, speedily converted the two headings into canals. Several months elapsed before the flow could be overcome. (Text.)—The Scientific American.

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DANGER LESSENED

The danger of fire on the great transatlantic steamship is no longer to be dreaded. Fire in a compartment can be isolated by the closing of the bulkhead doors, and the flames may then be fought by forcing into the burning section of the hull carbonic-acid gas, steam and water. Fires occur from time to time on liners but they are extinguished so readily, and are so easily confined, that the passengers seldom know anything about them. Should an explosion take place in the engine-room of a modern steamship, the doors would close automatically, preventing the escape of steam and fire.

No such devices avail with the human soul. A man can not allow the fire of lust or sin in one compartment of his being and then keep it out of the remainder. The old doctrine of total depravity was based on this unity and totality of character, such that a taint at one point was believed to be a taint of the whole nature.

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Danger, Rushing Into—See [Wilfulness].

DANGER STIMULATING EXERTION

In the homeward voyage of the Atlantic fleet, on its cruise around the world, a historian of its experiences tells of a rescue of one of the sailors in a great storm that arose. The storm was at its height and there ran through the fleet a report that the Minnesota had lost a man overboard. The signal, indicating that fact, went up to the foremast and the fleet stopt.

Could they save the man? It was noticed that the Minnesota swung around a little, as if to afford a lee, and the Vermont following held true. A life-buoy had been thrown to the struggling man, and he, being a good swimmer, caught it, and drifted down toward the Vermont. Those on the Vermont saw him and ran their bow up close to him, turned it a little so as to afford shelter, and were preparing to lower a boat for him. A life-line was thrown overboard, and, to the astonishment of those on the Vermont, the man left the life-buoy and swam for the line. Those on board shouted to him not to do it; but he took the chance, swam to the life-line and wrapt it around his wrist and was drawn on board the Vermont. The next day we heard that there was a similar rescue by the Kentucky of a man lost from the Kearsarge.

The imminent danger caused strenuous exertion. Similarly the man in moral peril can only keep out of danger by exerting all his powers. (Text.)

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DARKNESS

It is one of the many marvels of wireless telegraphy that the ether waves which carry its messages, unlike light waves, suffer no absorption in mist or fog. Quite the opposite, in fact, is the case, for the effect on them of clear sunshine is so marked that they can be sent with equal initial power only less than half the distance by day as by night. For this reason press dispatches and long-distance messages sent by wireless telegraphy are, whenever possible, committed to the ether waves after sunset.

“He knoweth what is in the darkness.” This is what the prophet says in connection with the affirmation, “He revealeth the deep and secret things.” We must not imagine that darkness is symbolical only of evil. The shadow is as beneficent as the sunbeam. (Text.)

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The love of evil prowlers for the darkness is not confined to the insects named in the extract. It is also a characteristic of those who hunt men’s souls; the saloon-keeper thrives best by his night trade.

Tarantulas are night prowlers; they do all their hunting after dark, dig their holes, and, indeed, carry on all the various business of their life in the night-time. The occasional one found walking about in daytime has made a mistake, someway, and he blunders around quite like an owl in the sunshine. (Text.)—Vernon L. Kellogg, “Insect Stories.”

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A whimsical treatise entitled, “William Ramsay’s Vindication of Astrology,” propounds the absurd theory that the absence of the sun is not the cause of night, but that there are tenebrificous stars by whose influence night is brought on, and which ray out darkness and obscurity upon the earth as the sun does light.

Are there not some men and some institutions that shed darkness rather than light on the world? (Text.)

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Those who love darkness rather than light are morally blind. Here is a case of physical blindness:

Richmond, Va., has a nineteen-year-old boy, Audrey Wilson, who is totally blind in the day, but can see like a cat at night. He can speed a bicycle where ordinary persons have to walk with caution; but in the day he gropes about, able only vaguely to distinguish any object and with no discrimination as to colors. He is quite a possum hunter. He can easily distinguish the animals in the trees without the aid of a lantern. Needless to say, young Wilson is in great demand by possum hunters.—Leslie’s Weekly.

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See [Shadow]; [Solitude, Lesson of].

DARKNESS DEVELOPING CHARACTER

Darkness seems to be as necessary to life and growth in this world as is light. An earnest, tireless worker for Christ who has recently suffered through months of illness, writes a cheery word of sympathy to a fellow sufferer, and adds about herself: “It is a long time since I have done a day’s work; it is only a half-hour’s work, or maybe fifteen minutes at a time. And many days have been in a dark room. I wonder, sometimes, if a ‘dark room’ is as necessary for the developing of character as it is for the developing of negatives. If so, perhaps a time will come when I can look back upon the dark-room days with thankfulness. Just now, I want to work.” To wait and to trust, if God directs that, even while one longs to be out in the light and at work, is to gain and grow in the development which only the dark room can give. (Text.)

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Darkness Frightens—See [Fear of Man].

DARKNESS, GROWTH IN

There is a darkness which helps and sweetens. Disappointments, difficulties, discouragements, and all things dark, come to us apparently to depress us, but these are part of the experience which helps us. Black charcoal will keep water sweet. Bulbs must be buried in the darkness if they are to grow. In the winter a florist endeavored with success to grow some bulbs without placing them in the ground. He gathered some small stones and put them into basins, placing the bulbs on the top of the stones. Then he poured in sufficient water to touch the bulbs, and to conserve the sweetness of the water he introduced little pieces of charcoal among the stones. He then placed the basin in a dark cupboard and kept them there for ten weeks, and when he took them out the green leaves of the bulbs were showing. (Text.)

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DARKNESS, INFLUENCE OF

The nature of most birds seems so full of vitality and gladness that the nocturnal habits of certain species make a more melancholy impression than is their due. The nightingale’s song is essentially strong and spirited; but the bird has acquired a lasting reputation for dolorousness, partly owing to the influence of darkness and solitude on the mind of the midnight listener, but largely because of its apparent preference for night over day. Half the impression of melancholy vanishes from the nightingale’s nocturnal song, once the hearer has learned to recognize the same music in the confusing midday chorus. The owl’s reputation, which is sinister rather than merely mournful, is equally little deserved. We do not set down the jackdaw as a maleficent fowl for haunting church-yards and ruins, or the jay for its harshness of voice; but both these qualities have been enough to excite an historic prejudice against owls. Yet, if once the associations of old superstitions are dispelled, owls are recognized as among the most companionable of birds, and their cries in the winter nights as some of the most heartening sounds in nature.—London Times.

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DAUGHTERS ESTIMATED

The woman’s place in Korea is, first as daughter, one of contempt. A missionary’s little six-year-old once came to him with tears in her eyes and said: “Papa, I have a question.” “Yes, what is it?” “Are you sorry that I wasn’t a boy?” “Well, I should say not; I wouldn’t trade you for a dozen boys. But why do you ask?”

She said, “The Koreans were talking just now, and they pointed at me and said, ‘What a pity that she wasn’t a boy!’”—James S. Gale, “Korea in Transition.”

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Dawn Eternal—See [Soul Flight].

DAWN OF CHRISTIAN LIGHT

It is related that near the North Pole, the night lasting for months, when the people expect the day is about to dawn, some messengers go up to the highest point to watch; and when they see the first streak of day, they put on their brightest possible apparel, and embrace each other and say, “Behold the sun.” The cry goes all around the land, “Behold the sun.” We see signs and wonders being done through Jesus. And as we see the dawning of the light in almost every nation under heaven, let us cry out to every human soul, “Behold the sun.” (Text.)

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DAYBREAK

The poem found below, by P. Habberton Fulham, in London Outlook, gives a striking figure that would well symbolize a human experience in passing from a season of darkness and trouble into one of joy and light:

As some great captain, ere the morn be red,

Might watch his tired ranks sleeping in the dew,

Linger a moment, with some sense of rue,

Then bid réveillé sound o’er quick and dead—

So the loth sun-god leaves his cloudy bed,

Then, swift the heavy hangings striding through,

Bids the dawn’s silver bugles sound anew,

His golden banners streaming overhead—

Like camp-fire smoke the mist of morning stirs,

Like strewed arms seem the dewy glistenings,

And, as that shining clarion peals on high,

Up spring the trees like bright-faced warriors,

Behind him each his cloak of shadow flings,

And one great shout of color shakes the sky! (Text.)

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DAY BY DAY LIVING

These words found in the Church Advocate are by Adelaide A. Proctor:

Do not look at life’s long sorrow;

See how small each moment’s pain;

God will help thee for to-morrow,

So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly

Has its task to do or bear;

Luminous the crown and holy,

When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting,

Or for passing hours despond;

Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,

Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God’s token,

Reaching heaven; but, one by one,

Take them, lest the chain be broken

Ere the pilgrimage be done.

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DAY-BY-DAY VIRTUES

The prayer contained in these verses, by Ethelwyn Wetherald, is a good one for everybody to offer:

For strength we ask

For the ten thousand times repeated task,

The endless smallnesses of every day.

No, not to lay

My life down in the cause I cherish most,

That were too easy. But whate’er it cost,

To fail no more

In gentleness toward the ungentle, nor

In love toward the unlovely, and to give

Each day I live,

To every hour with outstretched hand its meed

Of not-to-be-regretted thought or deed.

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DAY, THE BASKET OF THE

Priscilla Leonard is the author of these lines found in the Pittsburg Christian Advocate:

Into the basket of thy day

Put each thing good and each thing gay

That thou canst find along thy way.

Neglect no joy, however small,

And it shall verily befall

Thy day can scarcely hold them all.

Within the basket of thy day

Let nothing evil find its way,

And let no frets and worries stay.

So shall each day be brave and fair,

Holding of joy its happy share,

And finding blessings everywhere.

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Deaconesses—See [Personal Work].

DEAD, INFLUENCE OF

Oh, tell me not that they are dead—that generous host, that airy army of invisible heroes! They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this nation. Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society, and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism? Every mountain and hill shall have its treasured name, every river shall keep some solemn title, every valley and every lake shall cherish its honored register; and, till the mountains are worn out, and the rivers forget to flow, till the clouds are weary of replenishing springs, and the springs forget to gush, and the rills to sing, shall their names be kept fresh with reverent honors which are inscribed upon the book of national remembrance.—Henry Ward Beecher, Evangelical Messenger.

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Dead, Number of the—See [Cemetery, The Earth as a].

DEAD, RESPECT FOR THE

The Chinese have such respect for the dead that they will live in poverty during life to pay for elaborate ceremonies at the time of death. An old carpenter whose shop adjoined the church in Tsicheo, in a time of business prosperity acquired for himself a beautiful coffin valued at four hundred thousand cash. (About $800.) Flood, disease and two worthless sons brought him to poverty, so that he was unable to pay the yearly rental of twenty-two dollars for his shop. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to part with his coffin, tho it would have given him a roof over his head for ten years.

In this same town a very poor Christian woman was forced to become a beneficiary of the church, because relatives who owed her a year’s wages would not pay. When she passed away, however, they paid their long-standing debt in a coffin and funeral accessories ungrudgingly.

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DEAD, THE, LIVE BEYOND

He is not dead, but only lieth sleeping

In the sweet refuge of his Master’s breast,

And far away from sorrow, toil, and weeping

He is not dead, but only taking rest.

What tho the highest hopes he dearly cherished

All faded gently as the setting sun;

What tho our own fond expectations perished

Ere yet life’s noblest labors seemed begun.

What tho he standeth at no earthly altar,

Yet in white raiment, on the golden floor,

Where love is perfect, and no step can falter,

He serveth as a priest for evermore!

O glorious end of life’s short day of sadness,

O blessed course so well and nobly run!

O home of true and everlasting gladness,

O crown unfading! and so early won!

Tho tears will fall we bless thee, O our Father,

For the dear one forever with the blest,

And wait the Easter dawn when thou shalt gather

Thine own, long parted, to their endless rest. (Text.)

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DEAD THO ALIVE

There are many “dead” men walking about who do not know they are dead.

An illustration of the logic of Judge O’Connor is best shown in the case of a man who had looked long and lovingly on the flowing bowl. He fell into a deep pit dug by workmen while fixing the bridge over the Mohawk River. Several policemen with ropes got the man out and he was arrested. Drunk and disorderly was the charge against him when he stood before Judge O’Connor somewhat sobered and chastened. “You were drunk last night,” said the court. “No, sir, your honor, I wasn’t drunk.” “Why, you must have been drunk,” said the court. “If you had not been, you would have been killed by that fall.” “Shure, I wazzent drunk,” persisted the culprit. “Then you are a dead man, so what are you doing here,” declared the judge; and the man, taking the hint, walked out somewhat amazed.

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A marvelous thing for these times is reported from Weathersfield, Conn. A convict who has served a sentence of fifty years in the State prison receives his liberty at this Christmas season (1909). In 1859, when he was twenty-one, he murdered his wife, who was only a young girl of eighteen. He is seventy-one now. Every one of the great occurrences in American life which make our modern civilization what it is belongs to that half-century for which this man has been behind prison bars. Into what a changed world he will come. What can he do? His friends are dead. His generation has passed. His own State does not know him. One would suppose he would almost want to commit some crime that would take him back to his home of fifty years. What can he do? Society punished him, now what will society do for him? There is no asylum for him. He knows nothing of the business methods of the day. He is a living dead man. Would it not have been more merciful for society by capital punishment to have made him a dead man fifty years ago?

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There is a very real “death” other than the merely natural, as the following paragraph from the Scrap Book will show:

Emperor Francis Joseph’s only surviving brother, Archduke Louis Victor, was confined a lunatic, in a mountain castle hidden away in one of the remotest corners of the Austrian Tyrol. He himself, to all intents, is dead as far as the imperial family and the great world at Vienna are concerned. (Text.)

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Dead Valued More than Living—See [Ancestor Worship].

Deafness—See [Articulation].

DEATH

We are too stupid about death. We will not learn

How it is wages paid to those who earn,

How it is the gift for which on earth we yearn,

To be set free from the bondage to the flesh;

How it is turning seed-corn into grain,

How it is winning heaven’s eternal gain,

How it means freedom evermore from pain,

How it untangles every mortal mesh.

We are so selfish about death. We count our grief

Far more than we consider their relief

Whom the great Reaper gathers in the sheaf,

No more to know the seasons’ constant change;

And we forget that it means only life,

Life with all joy, peace, rest, and glory rife,

The victory won, and ended all the strife,

And heaven no longer far away or strange.

Their Lent is over, and their Easter won,

Waiting till over paradise the sun

Shall rise in majesty, and life begun

Shall grow in glory, as the perfect day

Moves on, to hold its endless, deathless sway.

—William Croswell Doane, The Outlook.

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DEATH AS A SHADOW

Did not Jesus show us glimpses of what is behind the shadow into which our friends have gone?

My neighbor’s lamp, across the way,

Throws dancing lights upon my wall;

They come and go in passing play,

And then the sudden shadows fall.

My friend’s white soul through eyes and lips

Shone out on me but yesterday

In radiant warmth; now swift eclipse

Has left those windows cold and gray.

Ah, if I could but look behind

The still, dark barrier of that night,

And there-undimmed, unwavering-find

That life and love were all alight! (Text.)

—Charles Buxton Going, Munsey’s Magazine.

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DEATH-BED FAITH

John G. Paton tells in his autobiography of the death-bed of Nerwa, the converted chief of Aniwa.

On my last visit to Nerwa his strength had gone very low, but he drew me near his face and whispered, “Missi, my Missi, I am glad to see you. You see that group of young men? They came to sympathize with me, but they never once have spoken the name of Jesus, tho they have spoken about everything else. They could not have weakened me so if they had spoken about Jesus! Read me the story of Jesus. Pray for me to Jesus. No, stop, let us call them and let me speak with them before I go!” I called them all around him and he said, “After I am gone let there be no bad talk, no heathen ways. Sing Jehovah’s songs and pray to Jesus, and bury me as a Christian. Take good care of my Missi, and help him all you can. I am dying happy and going to be with Jesus, and it was Missi that showed me this way. And who among you will take my place in the village school and in the church? Who among you will stand up for Jesus?” Many were shedding tears, but there was no reply, after which the dying chief proceeded, “Now let my last work on earth be this: We will read a chapter of the Book, verse about, and then I will pray for you all, and the Missi will pray for me, and God will let me go while the song is still sounding in my heart.”

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DEATH, CHEERFULNESS BEFORE

The following is a glimpse of Maximilian on the day of his execution:

Miramon slept three hours; he then arose, drank a cup of chocolate, and drest himself with care; at six o’clock he was ready to start, accompanied by a priest, M. Ladron de Guevara. In the corridor he found Maximilian bidding his lawyer, Eulalio Ortega, farewell. The sun was already high in the heavens, and his warm beams shot down brilliantly on the Quaretaro Valley; flashes of sunlight penetrated into the narrow courtyard of the convent. “What a splendid day, Don Eulalio!” said Maximilian; “it is on such a day as this I should have chosen to die.” A few bugle-notes were heard, and Maximilian, not knowing how to interpret them, questioned Miramon: “Miguel, will that be for the execution?” “I have not the slightest idea, sire; it will be the first time I shall ever have been shot.” This reply brought a smile to the Emperor’s lips.—Paris Figaro.

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The officer in command of the file of execution approached Maximilian and asked his pardon for having to fulfil his duty. The Emperor distributed several pieces of gold bearing his effigy to the soldiers, recommending them not to aim at his face. He then embraced the Generals Mejia and Miramon, and, as the latter had placed himself on his right, he said to him aloud: “Brave men should be respected by their sovereigns to the brink of the grave. General, pass to the place of honor.” Miramon stept to the center. Then, with a firm voice, the Emperor addrest the crowd: “Mexicans! Men of my race and origin are born either to make a people’s happiness or to be martyrs. God grant that my blood may be the last shed for the redemption of this unhappy country. Long live Mexico!” Immediately General Miramon, at the top of his voice, as when he commanded his troops on the battle-field, cried: “Mexicans! Before the court-martial my defenders only sought to save my life. At the moment I am about to appear before my God I protest against the name of traitor, which they have thrown in my face to justify my condemnation. Let this spot of infamy be removed from my children’s name, and God grant that my country may be happy. Long live Mexico!” General Mejia raised his eyes toward the heavens: “Very Holy Mother, I beseech thy Son to pardon me, as I pardon those who are about to sacrifice me.” A volley rung out from the file of soldiers, and amidst the cloud of smoke, which slowly drifted away, Maximilian appeared writhing convulsively in a pool of blood, and groaning, “Hay Hombre!”—Paris Figaro.

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DEATH, CHRISTIAN ATTITUDE TOWARD

Prof. G. Currie Martin points out the difference between the Christian and the unchristian views of death.

In the old days, when the plague swept over Italy, the ladies and gentlemen of fashion used sometimes to withdraw into some beautiful country residence, with its surrounding park, and behind its high walls shut themselves off from all thought of the misery and sorrow that surrounded them. Death, they imagined, could no longer reach them, until suddenly the spectral figure stalked into their midst, no one knew whence, and the false safety was shattered at a blow. The power of Christianity is found in the fact that it can say such brave and hopeful words about life, while all the time it is perfectly conscious of death. (Text.)

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DEATH, CHRISTIAN VIEW OF

Death, ever present all the world over—how softened his grim visage is when associated with the name of Jesus, how awful when he appears alone. The writer still recalls one summer long ago, May, 1889, when funeral preparations were being made before a neighboring house. He made inquiry of An, his host: “I didn’t know that there was a death.” “Yes, the master of the house is dead; they will bury him.” “But when did he die? To-day when we were out?” “No, no, not to-day. He died before you came.” I had been there two months. They had a bier ornamented with dragons’ heads, painted in wild colors, that suggested skull and cross-bones. The funeral service was a fearful row; everybody was noisy, many were weeping, many were drunk. A more gruesome performance than that which I saw, over that horrible, unburied body, no one could imagine. To-day that same village sits as it did then, with background of mountain and foreground of sea, but how changed! All is Christian; Sunday is a day of rest, and every house is represented at the service in the chapel. They have lived down old-fashioned death in that village and exchanged it for quiet sleep.—James S. Gale, “Korea in Transition.”

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DEATH COMPELLING SINCERITY

When the great man comes to the hour of his death, we expect him to be natural, avoiding all sentiments that are forced or incongruous. That is the striking thing about the last words of Sir Walter Raleigh; they were the inevitable and necessary words. Looking down upon his enemies and his friends, Raleigh exclaimed about the executioner’s axe, “It is a sharp medicine, but it is a sure cure of all diseases.” When the sheriff asked if the niche in the block would fit his neck, Raleigh answered, “It matters not how the head lies, if only the heart be right.”—N. D. Hillis.

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DEATH DOES NOT CHANGE CHARACTER

When corn is cut down and is lying on the ground, and is afterward put into the granary, it is the very same corn as had grown up to full maturity in the earth. So also the souls in the granary above are the very same souls as had grown up to maturity in heaven on earth. When they are transferred to heaven above, they are not tares which had been cut down on earth, and which somehow in the process of cutting had been transformed into corn or wheat. Unless wheat will grow up as wheat in the earth, and be harvested as wheat, it will not turn into wheat in the act of cutting, or while it is being removed to the granary.—Alexander Miller, “Heaven and Hell Here.”

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DEATH MADE PLAIN

To Paul Laurence Dunbar the secret of death has already been made plain, of which before he died he wrote as follows:

The smell of the sea in my nostrils,

The sound of the sea in mine ears;

The touch of the spray on my burning face,

Like the mist of reluctant tears;

The blue of the sky above me,

The green of the waves beneath;

The sun flashing down on a gray-white sail

Like a simitar from its sheath.

So I said to my heart, “Be silent;

The mystery of time is here;

Death’s way will be plain when we fathom the main,

And the secret of life be clear.”

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DEATH MASKED IN BEAUTY

A news item from Chicago says:

Robert Wahl, one of the foremost chemists in the United States, with a knowledge of drugs and subtle poisons far beyond the ken of the average alchemist, is charged with threatening to kill his wife by giving her a flower to smell.

It would have been a murder that no latter-day coroner or detective could have proved—something unheard of since the days of the Borgias.

The deadliest influence may be conveyed to the mind and soul as well as to the senses by the most delicate and apparently beautiful means.

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DEATH NOT TO BE FEARED

The following lines by Maltbie D. Babcock were read by him just before sailing abroad on the voyage from which he never returned:

Why be afraid of death as tho your life were breath?

Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O, glad surprize!

Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.

Why should you fear to meet the Thresher of the wheat?

Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping you are dead

Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.

Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench?

Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?

The dear ones left behind—O foolish one and blind.

A day, and you will meet—a night, and you will greet.

This is the death of death, to breathe away a breath

And know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life,

And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,

And work, nor care to rest, and find the last the best.

(691)

Death-rate Reduced—See [Improved Conditions].

Death, Religion in—See [Religion to Die By].

DEATH, SPIRITUAL

Says a writer in the North China Herald:

One of the facts that ineffaceably cut into my memory during my first winter in New-chwang was the finding on one morning about New Year’s time thirty-five masses of ice, each mass having been a living man at 10 o’clock the preceding night. The thermometer was a good bit below zero. The men had just left the opium dens, where they had been enjoying themselves. The keen air sent them to sleep, and they never wakened.

The freezing was only the external manifestation of a spiritual benumbing that long before existed within. (Text.)

(692)

Death Swifter than Justice—See [Justice Delayed].

DEATH, THE CHRISTIAN’S

For centuries the world has admired the calmness and fortitude of Socrates in the presence of death, but if Socrates died like a philosopher, Patrick Henry died like a Christian. In his last illness, all other remedies having failed, his physician, Doctor Cobell, proceeded to administer to him a dose of liquid mercury. Taking the vial in his hand, and looking at it for a moment, the dying man said:

“I suppose, doctor, this is your last resort?”

“I am sorry to say, governor, that it is.”

“What will be the effect of this medicine?”

“It will give you immediate relief, or—” The doctor could not finish the sentence.

His patient took up the word: “You mean, doctor, that it will give relief or will prove fatal immediately?”

“You can live only a very short time without it,” the doctor answered, “and it may possibly relieve you.”

Then the old statesman said:

“Excuse me, doctor, for a few minutes,” and drawing over his eyes a silken cap which he usually wore, and still holding the vial in his hand, he prayed in clear words a simple, childlike prayer for his family, for his country, and for his own soul, then in the presence of death. Afterward, in perfect calmness, he swallowed the medicine.

Meanwhile Doctor Cobell, who greatly loved him, went out upon the lawn, and in his grief threw himself down upon the earth under one of the trees, and wept bitterly. Soon, when he had sufficiently mastered himself, the doctor returned to his patient, whom he found calmly watching the congealing of the blood under his finger-nails, and speaking words of love and peace to his family, who were weeping round his chair.

Among other things, he told them that he was thankful for that goodness of God which, having blest him through all his life, was then permitting him to die without any pain. Finally fixing his eyes with much tenderness upon his dear friend, Doctor Cobell, with whom he had formerly held many arguments respecting the Christian religion, he asked the doctor to observe how great a reality and benefit that religion was to a man about to die.

And after Patrick Henry had spoken these few words in praise of something which, having never failed him in his life before, did not then fail him in his very last need of it, he continued to breathe very softly for some moments, after which they who were looking upon him saw that his life had departed.—The Youth’s Companion.

(693)

DEATH, THE RING OF

The whole world hates death. In Madrid, the Spanish capital, in one of its beautiful parks, stands a statue of its patron saint, about whose neck hangs a rare and valuable ring set with pearls and diamonds. It is never stolen, for nobody wants it. The reason is that a tragic story hangs about it. Every one who ever wore it died—Mercedes, Queen Christina, Infanta del Pillar, and others. It is known as “The Ring of Death.” (Text.)

(694)

DEATH, UNTIMELY

Louis Albert Banks tells this story of a young girl cut off just after her graduation from school:

And there is her diploma, lying just as she threw it there, when she came home from college, but a few days before she was taken ill. I came up with her to the room, and she flung the diploma in there with a sort of girlish glee, and it stuck at an angle across the compartment of the bookcase. She closed the door on it and said, “Well, I’m glad I’ve got you anyhow!” and it has never been touched since. Two weeks later, we went with her over to the cemetery and laid her beside her father; and there lies her unused diploma that cost her so much hard work and that she was so proud to obtain. (Text.)

(695)

DEATH USUALLY PAINLESS

Sudden and violent death, shocking to the senses, may not be, probably is not, painful to the victim. Drowning, hanging, freezing, shooting, falling from a height, poisoning of many kinds, beget stupor or numbness of the nerves which is incompatible with sensation. Persons who have met with such accidents, and survived them, testify to this. Records to this effect are numberless. Death from fire dismays us; we can scarcely conceive aught more distressing. In all likelihood, however, it appears far worse than it is. Fire probably causes suffocation from smoke, or insensibility from inhaling flame, so that the agony we imagine is not felt. They who have been near their end have experienced more pain on returning, so to speak, from their grave, than if they had gone to it. They have endured all the pangs, corporeal and mental, of death, without actually dying. It is an error, therefore, to suppose that men may not have tasted the bitterness of death, and yet be alive and in good health.—Junius Henry Browne, The Forum.

(696)

Death Valley Conquered—See [Conquest, Severe].

DEATH WITH SAVAGES

H. M. Stanley relates that an African king, as a delicate compliment, presented him with the heads of a dozen of his own subjects whom he had just killed in his guest’s honor; and these twelve unfortunates accepted death as stolidly as a matter of course, and the incident made no sensation whatever.—Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen, Chautauquan.

(697)

DEBAUCH, FATAL

A twisted auto on a dead man’s chest—

Ye ho, and a bottle of rum!

Drink and the devil had done their best—

Ye ho! and a bottle of rum!

The roadhouse bar and the “lady friend”—

Ye ho! and a bottle of rum!

And at eighty miles they took the bend—

Ye ho! and a bottle of rum!

A swerve that mocked their drunken wills,

A crash and a shriek through the darkness thrills;

“Joy riding” is the pace that kills—

Ye ho! and a bottle of rum!

—New York World.

(698)

Debt Paid—See [Kindness].

Debt-paying Converts—See [Testimony, Indisputable].

Debts, Payment of—See [Payment of Debts].

Debtors to All—See [Mutualism].

Decadence, National—See [Retribution Inevitable].

DECAY

Old ships lying at anchor may have the appearance of soundness and the outward evidence of strength, usefulness, and sea-going qualities, but, when carefully examined for a sea voyage, are often found to be covered with barnacles and to be affected with dry rot. When such a vessel, no matter what good it has done or what use it has been in the traffic and carrying trade, is condemned, it is at once replaced by a new or more modern one that is in perfect order and fully seaworthy. What is true of vessels is often true of men also.—American Artisan.

(699)

See [Judgment, Gradual].

Deceit—See [Enticement]; [Untruthfulness].

Deceit Discovered—See [Falsehood].

DECEIT WITH GOD

Rev. F. W. Hinton, of Allahabad, relates this story in the C. M. S. Gazette:

A young Bengali student came to me to ask for an explanation of difficult passages in a book he was reading. He said his name was “Sat Kori,” which means “seven cowry-shells,” and explained the reason for his curious name. His mother had borne several children before him, but all had died; so, like many other Hindu mothers, she thought God or the Evil One had a grudge against her, and if he could, he would take this last little one also. So she called the nurse who attended her in her illness, and made pretense to sell the baby to her for seven cowry-shells, and gave the boy the name of Seven Cowries to deceive the God into thinking he was of little worth. I asked the student if he thought the ruse had made any difference, and he replied, “Perhaps—at any rate, I did not die as the others had done.” So, a university student more than half believes that one can cheat God by a trick like that!

(700)

DECEPTION

John Mitchell, president of the United Mine Workers, talking about unfair methods in use at the mines for weighing coal, said:

This method is most unfair. The fist-and-pound method, in fact, was scarcely worse. The fist-and-pound method originated, they say, in Scranton. A simple-minded old lady ran a grocery store there. A man came in one day and asked for a pound of bacon. The old lady cut off a generous chunk of bacon, and then, going to weigh it, found that she had mislaid her pound weight. “Dear me,” she said, “I can’t find my pound-weight anywhere.” The man, seeing that there was about two pounds in the chunk cut off, said hastily: “Never mind. My fist weighs a pound.” And he put the bacon on one side of the scales and his fist on the other. The two, of course, just balanced. “It looks kind o’ large for a pound, don’t it?” asked the old lady as she wrapt the bacon up. “It does look large,” said the man, as he tucked the meat under his arm. “Still—” But just then the old lady found her pound-weight. “Ah,” she said in a relieved voice, “now we can prove this business. Put it on here again.” But the man wisely refrained from putting the bacon on the scales to be tested. He put on his fist again instead. And his fist, you may be sure, just balanced the pound-weight. The old lady was much pleased. “Well done,” she said, “and here’s a couple o’ red herrin’ for yer skill and honesty.” (Text.)—New York Sun.

(701)

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One evening, as Vincent de Paul, the distinguished French priest, was returning from a mission, he found a beggar lying against the wall. The wretch was engaged in maiming an infant, in order to excite more compassion from the public when he went to beg. Vincent, horror-struck at the sight, cried, “Ah, you savage! you have deceived me. At a distance I mistook you for a man.” Then he took the little victim in his arms and carried him to the crèche, where foundlings were kept.—Edward Gilliat, “Heroes of Modern Crusades.”

(702)

See [Sampling].

DECEPTION EXPOSED

“Don’t try to make musicians out of all children indiscriminately and thus you will avoid such household conversations as one I overheard the other day,” said Baron Kaneko of Japan, who has been spending the summer in the Maine woods.

“I was on a train and a father and his young son sat near me. The father said: ‘John, do you practise regularly on the piano while I am away at business?’—‘Yes, father,’ replied the boy. ‘Every day?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘How long did you practise to-day?’ ‘Three hours.’ ‘And how long yesterday?’ ‘Two hours and a half.’ ‘Well, I’m glad to hear that you are so regular.’ ‘Yes, father.’ And the next time you practise be sure to unlock the piano. Here is the key. I locked the instrument last week and I have been carrying the key in my pocket ever since.’” (Text.)—Buffalo Enquirer.

(703)

DECEPTION JUSTIFIED

Truth in the abstract is perhaps made too much of as compared to certain other laws established by as high authority. If the Creator made the tree-toad so like the moss-covered bark to which it clings, and the larva of a sphinx so like the elm-leaf on which it lives, and that other larva so exquisitely like a broken twig, not only in color, but in the angle at which it stands from the branch to which it holds, with the obvious end of deceiving their natural enemies, are not these examples which man may follow? The Tibbu, when he sees his enemy in the distance, shrinks into a motionless heap, trusting that he may be taken for a lump of black basalt, such as is frequently met with in his native desert. The Australian, following the same instinct, crouches in such forms that he may be taken for one of the burnt stumps common in his forest region. Are they not right in deceiving, or lying, to save their lives? or would a Christian missionary forbid their saving them by such a trick? If an English lady were chased by a gang of murdering and worse than murdering Sepoys, would she not have a right to cheat their pursuit by covering herself with leaves, so as to be taken for a heap of them? If you were starving on a wreck, would you die of hunger rather than cheat a fish out of the water by an artificial bait? If a schoolhouse were on fire, would you get the children down-stairs under any convenient pretense, or tell them the precise truth, and so have a rush and a score or two of them crusht to death in five minutes?—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

(704)

Decision Dependent Upon Call—See [Testimony, a Sheep’s].

Decisive Deeds—See [Opportunity].

DECORATING SOLDIERS’ GRAVES

Strew flowers, sweet flowers, on the soldiers’ graves,

For the death they died the nation saves,

’Tis sweet and glorious thus to die—

Hallowed the spot where their ashes lie.

On Fame’s eternal camping-ground

Their martial tents are spread,

While glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead.

—Evangelical Messenger.

(705)

Decoration Day—See [Honor’s Roll-call].

DECREES

A minister esteemed it his religious duty to visit an extreme frontier settlement to preach. To reach that settlement he had to pass through a wilderness infested with hostile Indians. When about to start on one of these journeys, he took his rifle from its rack and was about to depart with it on his shoulder when his good wife said to him: “My dear husband, why do you carry that great, heavy rifle on these long journeys? Don’t you know that the time and manner of your taking off has been decreed from the beginning of time, and that rifle can not vary the decree one hair’s breadth?” “That is true, my dear wife, and I don’t take my rifle to vary, but to execute the decree. What if I should meet an Indian whose time had come according to the decree and I didn’t have my rifle?”—Henry C. Caldwell.

(706)

DEED, THE GOOD

A man walked south on Main Street one afternoon recently. He had no overcoat and he shivered as the north wind struck him. Near the junction he stopped and picked something up. It was a bright silver dime.

“Wasn’t I lucky,” he said to a man who had seen the episode, who related the story to a reporter on the Kansas City Times. “I haven’t a cent and have had nothing to eat since yesterday noon. Now for the nearest lunch-wagon.”

A little girl came along at that moment. She, too, was poorly drest.

“I’ve lost a dime,” she half sobbed, as she inspected the pavement.

“I guess I’ve got what you were looking for,” said the man, as he handed the dime to the child, who danced away with only a “Thank you, mister.”

“Just my luck,” said the man with the stomach.

(707)

DEEDS, BRAVE

This prayer in verse is by Harry P. Ford:

Our Father, God, while life is sweet

With earthly joys that round it cling,

Grant us brave deeds, for heaven meet,

To shape the dreams that death may bring.

(708)

DEEDS, HEAVENLY

A cripple girl on a train was presented with a bunch of roses by another girl on board. She held them to her lips, and prest them to her bosom, and fell asleep. Later her father came in from the smoker, and took his little daughter in his arms. Waking up, she said: “Oh, father—I’ve—been—in—heaven—and—I’ve—got—some—roses.”

Deeds of love make a heaven.

(709)

DEEDS, NOT APPEARANCES

The Orientals have a proverb which says: “Provided that beneficence have long fingers and rapid steps, what does it matter if its wry faces displease thee? Don’t look at its face.” (Text.)—Revue des Deux Mondes.

(710)

DEEDS THAT TALK

At a laymen’s meeting of Southern Baptists held in Richmond, Mr. R. E. Breit, president of a Texas oil company, was called upon for an address. He said, “Brethren, I never made a speech in my life and I can’t make one now; but if Brother Willingham (secretary of the missionary society) will send ten men to China, he can send the bill to me.” (Text.)

(711)

DEEDS VERSUS WORDS

A boy was pushing a heavily loaded barrow up a steep hill, using every ounce of energy. “Hi, boy,” called out a benevolent-looking old gentleman, “if you push that zigzag, you’ll find it go up more easily.” “That’s all right, sir,” responded the boy, rather crisply, “but if you’d give me less advice and more shoving, I’d like it better.”

(712)

DEEP-DOWN THINGS

Sam Walter Foss, in “Songs of the Average Man,” is the author of this assuring verse:

The deep-down things are strong and great,

Firm-fixt, unchangeable as fate,

Inevitable, inviolate,

The deep-down things.

The deep-down things! All winds that blow,

All seething tides that foam and flow

May smite but can not overflow

The deep-down things.

The surge of years engulfs the land

And crumbles mountains into sand,

But yet the deep-down things withstand

The surge of years.

Behind the years that waste and smite,

And topple empires into night,

God dwells unchanged in changeless light

Behind the years. (Text.)

(713)

DEEP THINGS

It is folly to think that only those things are of value to us which we can intellectually understand. Is the vast deep of the ocean nothing to me, since I can not move about freely and closely examine its depths? And if I must confess that ’way down are untold mysteries which human eye has never seen, what matters it? Can not I rejoice in the roar of the waves, in the ebb and flow of the tides, and in the flight of the clouds? Why will men insist, with their poor, finite reasoning, on fathoming the deep things of God, instead of drinking to the full from the inexhaustible source of assurance and consolation? (Text.)—E. F. Stroter, “The Glory of the Body of Christ.”

(714)

DEFACEMENT OF SOUL

If a drunkard knew that a certain number of drinks would make his face permanently black, how many men would drink? And shall we be less careful about the face of our soul?

(715)

DEFEAT

This incident corroborates the truth of the poet’s thought, “We rise on stepping-stones of our dead selves to higher things.”

A young Englishman once failed to pass the medical examination on which he thought his future depended.

“Never mind,” he said to himself. “What is the next thing to be done?” and he found that policy of “never minding,” and going on to the next thing, the most important of all policies for practical life. When he had become one of the greatest scientists of the age, Huxley looked back upon his early defeat and wrote:

“It does not matter how many tumbles you have in life, so long as you do not get dirty when you tumble. It is only the people who have to stop and be washed who must lose the race.”

(716)

See [Success in Failure].

Defective Memory—See [Memory and Disease].

DEFECTS OF THE GREAT

Handel, whose seraphic music lifts us to the gate of heaven, and whose faith was so clear that when he was dying, on Good Friday, said that his wish was fulfilled, and that he looked forward to meeting his good God, his sweet Lord and Savior, on Easter day, was yet a man with a very earthly, irritable temper—so much so that he had a quarrel with a brother composer which ended in a duel.

(717)

Defense—See [Resistance].

DEFORMITY

There died recently in Stockerau, Bavaria, at the age of twenty-eight years, a dwarf, Maria Schuman, who was at one time a celebrity, says La Nature. She passed her whole life in the cradle where she slept her first sleep, twenty-eight years ago. Up to the day of her death, this strange creature preserved the height and general appearance of an infant of a few months; but, wonderful to say, her intellect was normally developed and nothing could have been odder than to hear this tiny baby in the cradle talk like an adult, with much vivacity and intelligence! Maria was born in 1875, at Brigittenan, near Vienna. Her parents were of normal development, and so were her brothers and sisters. (Text.)

(718)

DEGENERACY

Before Lord Shaftesbury began his work among the poor of England, he tells us that he witnessed this occurrence:

I must have been fourteen years old, or a little more, and I was walking down from the churchyard, just as we are to-day, when I was startled by hearing a sudden yell, a drunken voice singing, and a noisy sound of laughter coming up from the main road below; then they turned the corner, and I saw four men staggering along under a coffin, and jesting with song and horrible laughter as they drew near me. I looked at the coffin. I could see the rough boards were hastily nailed together; great cracks half revealed what was inside. Just as they passed me one of the men slipt, and the coffin fell from their shoulders and rolled over into the road. It was horrifying to me; and then they began to swear at one another, using foul language. I thought they would have fought over the poor dead creature’s corpse. I came away feeling that if God preserved my life I would do something to help the poor and him that had no friend.

(719)

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Perhaps too much attention is being paid to various theories concerning evolution and development. It might be well sometimes to devote at least a little consideration to the serious possibilities of devolution and degeneracy.

Dr. Carpenter, a London zoologist, speaks thus of certain organisms brought to light by the scientific Atlantic dredging expedition: “This little organism is clearly a dwarfed and deformed representative of the highly developed Apiocrinus of the Bradford clay, which, as my friend Wyville Thomson said, seems to have been going to the bad for millions of years.” Thus we learn that a lowly creature living on the ocean floor is the degenerate result of that which has been going to the bad for millions of years.

But if such a vast course of degradation is possible in a sea-worm, what are the possibilities of degradation in a soul?

(720)

See [Degradation]; [Early Promise]; [Selfishness].

Degeneracy, a Figment—See [Science Shattering Superstitions].

DEGENERACY THROUGH DISUSE

It is a recognized fact that the disuse of faculties inevitably leads to deterioration.

There is a curious little plant called the sundew which grows in marshes. A small fly alights on one of the leaves attracted by the crimson hairs, and by the sticky liquid called the “dew.” When the fly struggles to get free the hairs slowly curve round him and trap him, at the same time pouring out more of the dew. Presently the poor insect dies in that trap. Why does the plant do this? Simply because it wants to eat the fly. The dew is acid and dissolves the insect’s body, so that the plant can absorb the nitrogen which it contains. The sundew once lived in harmless plant fashion, for it belongs to the saxifrage family, of which the other members are quite respectable and hard-working plants, getting their living by honest root-work in extracting their nitrogen out of the ground. When we examine the sundew we find it has scarcely anything worthy the name of a root. Long ago it seemed to dislike the wear and tear of thrusting rootlets into the ground and seeking for food, so it settled into a bog, where it could get water at least without any trouble. There, as the roots had next to nothing to do, they slowly dwindled away, as all things will dwindle which are not used, whether they be plant-roots, or the limbs of animals, or the minds of men.—“A Mountain Path.”

(721)

DEGRADATION

A doctor was once riding from Yezd to Kerman, in Persia, to make a visit. Arriving at a post-house, and finding no horse, he demanded a mule. On this beast he made the next stage, to be told on arrival that there was only a donkey available. Accepting this mount from necessity, he reached in time another stage, where he met the announcement that nothing in the shape of an animal was obtainable but a cow! The story stops there, drawing the veil of silence over the rest of the journey.

An evil life is successively degraded, declining in guilt and misery to depths lower than the brute. (Text.)

(722)

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The early Christians did not despise the dance; but as monkish asceticism drew away from the simple, natural teaching of Christ, the dance fell into disfavor and was frowned upon as a manifestation of the evil one. And just so it was with artistic perception and artistic appreciation. Where they were highest, in Hellenic antiquity, dancing had its place among the arts and was revered as the oldest of them all, that art upon which all the others were based. Dragged down to pander to luxury and profligacy, as were all the arts during the period of Roman triumph and Roman decadence, the dance fell under a cloud with the rest, and seemed to disappear during the dark ages, as did the others. (Text.)—Grace Isabel Colbron, The Cosmopolitan.

(723)

Degradation Inciting Philanthropy—See [Degeneracy].

Degradation versus Transformation—See [Missionary Results].

Degrees, Honorary—See [Labels, Misleading].

DEISM

Deism of any type is morally impotent; and deism of the eighteenth-century type is nothing but a little patch of uncertain quicksand set in a black sea of atheism. It does not deny God’s existence, but it cancels Him out as a force in human life. It breaks the golden ladder of revelation between heaven and earth. It leaves the Bible discredited, duty a guess, heaven a freak of the uncharted imagination, and God a vague and far-off shadow. Men were left by it to climb into a shadowy heaven on some frail ladder of human logic.—Rev. W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

(724)

DELAY

The limited express that spans the distance between New York and Chicago in twenty-four hours accomplishes the feat not so much by increasing the speed as by reducing the delays. In the main the train does not travel much faster than the other trains that take a third more time do at their maximum; but it makes fewer stops, it attends more strictly to its through business. Chicago is its objective point.

It is much so on the railroad of life. How young we would all be at sixty—ay, at eighty—if we would avoid the petty, useless, the unnecessary delays, the unprofitable business at the side-stations along the road. (Text.)—Vyrnwy Morgan, “The Cambro-American Pulpit.”

(725)

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A newspaper item has the following:

At an annual dinner of the Architectural League of New York the venerable artist, John La Farge—who certainly belongs among the first half-score of painters that America has produced—was presented with a medal of honor.

Then a singular thing happened.

Mr. La Farge got upon his feet and, in a gentle tone of expostulation, protested that the honors now offered him were a little empty—and very much belated.

He said he had “only three or four more years left to work in,” and that through all the years of his vigorous manhood the great city of New York, with all its vast enterprise of building, had offered little opportunity to his hand.

The kind word should be spoken to the friend and not engraved on his tombstone. The work that is thought of should be performed in the day of opportunity, for it may be so belated as to lose much of its meaning.

(726)

Delay, Expensive—See [Naturalization].

Delay in Religious Instruction—See [Religious Instruction].

DELAY, THE TRAGEDY OF

Charles Biedinger, an inventor, was found dead in his room in a cheap lodging-house. He had been in extreme want, and had learned that the Superior Court at Cincinnati had decided a patent-right claim in his favor, awarding him $93,000 and interest upon it for several years. His invention, a machine for making paper wrappers, was patented while he was in a sanatorium by his financial backer, who refused an accounting when the inventor was discharged from the sanatorium. The suit followed, with the verdict of a fortune which came too late. Biedinger was so reduced in circumstances that he was recently employed as a dish-washer in a restaurant. (Text.)

(727)

Delaying Religious Instruction—See [Religious Instruction].

Delaying the Gospel—See [Father, Our].

Deliberation—See [Painstaking].

Deliverance—See [Transformation].

DEMAGOGY

“Yes,” said the candidate, “I’m going out among the farmers to-day—to a pumpkin show, or jackass show, or something of that sort. Not that I care for pumpkins or jackasses, but I want to show the people that I am one of them.”

(728)

DEMONOLOGY

St. Thomas Aquinas used to hold that angels and devils made the atmosphere their battle-ground—the angels that live in the calm upper spheres, the devils that fill the immensity of space; and thus he accounted for the injurious changes of weather to be experienced in certain countries. For the mortification and the rout of these demons bells were consecrated and hung in the church-spires, usually inscribed, “Vivos voco, mortuos plango, fulgura frango” (I summon the living, I mourn the dead, I scatter the thunder-storm); and their ringing was thenceforth considered to be one of the potent means of dispelling evil influences and of abating tempests. These evil powers, according to medieval legend and belief, were able to produce hail, thunder, and storms at their will, and those among them called witches took aerial voyages exactly as the witches of much later days were held to do, altho more particular detail is given of their operations, as it is known that they smeared their broomsticks with witch-salve, after which mounting them, they could sail where they would through so much of this atmosphere as was within their jurisdiction. “The air,” says Rydberg, speaking of those days of the Dark Ages, “was saturated with demoniacal vapors,” and specters, ghosts, and vampires multitudinous added their horrors to the fertile imaginations of the people.—Harper’s Bazar.

(729)

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In the Kongo district insane people are treated by the native doctors in the following manner: The patient’s hands are secured by stout cords, and he is led to the doctor with a fowl and a lighted firebrand balanced on his head. The doctor takes five twigs from five different trees and strikes the patient with each in turn, bidding the evil spirit depart from him. The lighted stick is then plunged into some water, and as the fire is quenched the evil spirit is supposed to leave the man’s body. He may reenter it, however, so the fowl is killed and placed on a stick at a cross-roads for an offering to the deposited spirit. Then the man’s bands are loosened and he is free to go as he chooses; but if he shows signs of the demon appearing in him again, any one may kill him if his relatives do not object.

(730)

DEMONSTRATION

John W. Gates, the “Wire King,” is described as “an extreme type of the American ‘hustler.’” The Texas cattlemen had never seen barbed wire before, and they ridiculed it.

“That stuff wouldn’t hold a Texas steer a holy minute,” said they.

Gates was put on his mettle. “I’ll show you whether it will or not,” said he.

This was in the picturesque town of San Antonio, which is dotted liberally with small open spaces, or plazas. Gates hired the nearest plaza, and got together a drove of twenty-five of the wildest Texas steers that could be found. Then he fenced his plaza with barbed wire, put the steers inside, and gave the cattlemen a free show. The steers charged the wire, and were pricked by the barbs. They shook their heads and charged again, with the same result. After two or three of these defeats they huddled together on the inside and tried to think it over. Gates sold hundreds of miles of his wire that day at eighteen cents a pound.—Munsey’s.

(731)

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Men are sometimes condemned on hearsay, who would be approved if their critics gave them an actual and fair hearing.

When Chief Justice Holt was on the bench, a society had sprung up called “The Society for the Suppression of Vice or the Reformation of manners” (and probably it still exists), and they resolved to prosecute for indecency one of the famous singers of the day named Leveridge. This artist used to sing Dryden’s ode, “The Praise of Love and Wine,” so as to excite great enthusiasm among the depraved votaries of the theater by his peculiar manner of execution. The judge saw the craze under which the prosecutor acted, and resolved to defeat them by the following course: He said to the jury that he had read carefully the words of the song, and he could see nothing very culpable in the words, and therefore he could only come to the conclusion that it must be the manner in which the ode was sung that had occasioned this prosecution. The fairest manner, therefore, to all parties would be for the defendant to sing the song in presence of the court and jury, when they could readily determine the matter in a satisfactory way. The performer took this hint, and, of course, sang with his very greatest power and good taste, so that not only the jury, without leaving the box, acquitted him, but the mob insisted on carrying him home on their shoulders. (Text.)—Croake James, “Curiosities of Law and Lawyers.”

(732)

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Tolstoy, in his “Coffee-house Parable,” tells of how some men of different faiths had met in a place of public resort and had, after a time, begun to argue about God, each claiming alone to possess a true knowledge of Him, to have alone received His revelation. One, wiser than the others, led them all forth at last till they stood in the sunlight. That sun is a great fact and manifests itself to every creature on earth. Man sees it, or does not see it, being blind, yet is ever cheered by it; the earth is kissed by its rays till it blossoms and brings forth its fruit; even the hard, inanimate things, like the rocks, are warmed by the sun’s rays. And God is the great central fact of life.

(733)

See [Appeal, A Living]; [Proof].

DEPENDENCE

There are many, like John Wesley, who fear to trust their Christian faith to guide them, but must lean on the faith and strength of others. But faith thus treated is certain to fail the soul in any great crisis.

Wesley’s first consideration, he declares, is “which way of life will conduce most to my own improvement?” He needs daily converse with his friends, and he knows “no other place under heaven, save Oxford, where I can have always at hand half-a-dozen persons of my own judgment and engaged in the same studies. To have such a number of such friends constantly watching over my soul” is a blessing which, in a word, Wesley can not bring himself to give up. “Half Christians,” he declares, would kill him. “They undermine insensibly all my resolutions and quite steal from me the little fervor I have. I never come from among these ‘saints of the world’ but faint, dissipated, and shorn of all my strength.” Except he can crouch beneath the shelter of a stronger faith than his own, John Wesley protests he must die; so he will not venture from Oxford.—W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

(734)

DEPENDENCE ON GOD

The will of God is like a rope thrown to us as we struggle among the untamed waves. To remain “independent” is to repulse all succor, all salvation; it is to wander without a compass and without a chart through the fury of the storm. To obey is to seize the rope, to face the blast, to brave the storm, to advance against the confederate waves, to let oneself be irresistibly drawn toward the invisible harbor where our heavenly Father awaits us.—Monroe.

(735)

Depopulation—See [Birth-rate in France].

DEPORTMENT

One effect of the high standard of deportment enforced by the railroads is seen in the extent to which women and children travel alone, without fear. An illustration of this is the experience of a Western woman who was coming to New York for the first time. With her husband, she left Buffalo for New York on the Lehigh Valley Railroad. When they reached Mauch Chunk, Pa., the husband got out to walk up and down the platform, and somehow the train pulled out without him. The woman, left alone, never having been east of Chicago before, was on the verge of panic. Her husband had all the money; the train was to reach New York in the night; she didn’t know what hotel to go to, and, if she had known, couldn’t have found her way there. So the conductor took her in charge, had her carried to a good hotel, and arranged to have the bill guaranteed. The husband, when he arrived, was so grateful that he hunted up the conductor and presented to him a handsome ring.—Buffalo Evening News.

(736)

DEPRAVITY

That sin so easily besets and so dangerously deceives its subjects is accounted for by the declaration that “the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.”

The anemone, or “windflower,” as its Greek name means, is fascinating to botanists and to all lovers of flowers because of two highly contrasted characteristics. One of these is what gardeners call its “sporting” tendency in color. The other is a constant quantity, which never varies. As for the former, all who know the anemone are well aware that this flower is so variable that the cultivator never knows what will be the tint of the blossoms on any plant. But the constant quantity is the great black spot in the heart of the flower. No matter what may happen to be the color of the petals, the dense dark center is always there. So it is with this our human nature. Education, culture, refinement, high accomplishments, hereditary advantages, natural amiability, may and do contribute toward the charm of many a personality; but the black spot of the depravity which is innate is not expunged by any of these expedients. (Text.)

(737)

See [Bible and Human Nature].

Depravity a Disease—See [Character Conditioned by the Physical].

DEPRIVATION

We can best estimate the value of common blessings by imagining ourselves deprived of them.

What would it mean for you and me

If dawn should come no more;

Think of its gold along the sea,

Its rose above the shore!

That rose of awful mystery,

Our souls bow down before.

Think what it means to see the dawn!

The dawn, that comes each day!

What if the East should ne’er grow wan,

Should never more grow gray!

That line of rose no more be drawn

Above the ocean’s spray! (Text.)

—Madison Cawein, Ainslee’s Magazine.

(738)

DEPTH OF RESOURCES

Some splendid pines were found, after a heavy gale, lying prostrate, tho they were strong trees in their full prime. To a questioner an old woodman said: “They got their water far too near the surface. If they had had to strike their roots deeper for moisture no winds could ever have uprooted them.”

Many folks are easily upset because all life has been too easy with them. Their roots have never struck deep because there was no great compulsion to make them go deeper for the sources of life. Our very wants, if we do not succumb to them, but go deeper until we find the heart’s need, may become the means of our strength. (Text.)

(739)

DEPTH, THE SECOND

As we drift along in a boat on the smooth surface of a river, we note many familiar appearances. Delicate winged creatures dart about, swallows flash to and fro, here and there fishes leap up, and zephyrs waft petals of flowers and seeds of plants over the placid mirror. In the shallow pool we note aquatic creatures and weeds growing among the pebbles, and thus we see the material depth. But suddenly there is a change. The bottom of the river vanishes, and there comes into view a second depth. The arched heavens are mirrored there, and we look down into measureless azure. When darkness comes the moon and stars are reflected in the depths.

It is so when we come under higher spiritual influences. These soon supersede the view of the things that are merely of the earth earthy. There is a second and heavenly depth of meaning below the whole superficies of this mundane sphere of experience.

(740)

Derelicts—See [Conservation].

Descent to Evil—See [Evil, Beginnings of].

Design—See [Voice, The Human].

Design, A, Removed—See [Reminders, Unpleasant].

DESIGN IN MAN’S ACTIVITY

The fin of the fish does not more evidently convey the power and betoken the function of moving in the sea or the wing of the bird that of sailing on the air, than do these quickening and propellent forces, inherent in man’s being, proclaim him ordained for wide-reaching operation.—Richard S. Storrs.

(741)

DESIGN IN NATURE

A student of the phenomena of vision, Professor Pritchard, speaks thus of the argument from the structure of the human eye:

From what I know, through my own specialty, both geometry and experiment, of the structure of lenses and the human eye, I do not believe that any amount of evolution, extending through any amount of time consistent with the requirements of our astronomical knowledge, could have issued in the production of that most beautiful and complicated instrument, the human eye. There are too many curved surfaces, too many distances, too many densities of the media, each essential to the other; too great a facility of ruin by slight disarrangement, to admit of anything short of the intervention of an intelligent Will at some stage of the evolutionary process. (Text.)

(742)

Design in the Soul—See [Work Divinely Intended].

DESIGN OF GOD

We are told that on one occasion Napoleon was shut up in an island of the Danube, hemmed in by the Archduke Charles. He was able to maintain himself there, but he sent word to Italy and Spain and France, and he ordered his marshal with such minuteness that every day’s march was perfect. All over the north of France, and from the extreme south of Spain and Portugal, the corps were, all of them, advancing, and day by day, coming nearer and nearer. Not one of them, on the march, had any idea what was the final purpose, and why they were being ordered to the central point. But on the day the master appointed the heads of the columns appeared in every direction. Then it was that he was able to break forth from his bondage and roll back the tide of war.

How like our life, as it moves on, to the command of the Master. Its forces seem confused to us, without cohesion, ofttimes antagonistic. Joy and sorrow, health and sickness, prosperity and adversity—all march in their appointed paths and to their appointed ends. But at last we shall see behind them all the one will and the one power, and we shall be able to say on the day of final emancipation and victory, as said Joseph of old, God meant it unto good, to bring it to pass.—John Coleman Adams.

(743)

DESIRES INORDINATE

An adventurer waits upon you one of these days and offers you on terms absurdly easy some diamond-field in Africa, or silver-mine in Nevada, or ruby-mine in Burmah—a few shares at a trifling cost will make you a millionaire. You are smitten; your brain is filled with pleasant dreams; and without the least investigation, you invest your good money to find ere long that you have been cruelly deceived. Will the public greatly pity you? They will not. There was a personal moral fault at the bottom of your misfortune. You were willingly ignorant, you were easily blinded, because of your inordinate desires. So is it in all temptations of life to which we fall a prey. A certain morbid disposition of soul is the secret of our loss or ruin.—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”

(744)

Despair Relieved—See [Extremity Not Final].

Desperate Remedy—See [Last Resort of a Woman].

DESTINY

The tissue of the life to be

We weave with colors all our own,

And in the fields of destiny

We reap as we have sown;

Still shall the soul around it call

The shadows which it gathered here,

And painted on the eternal wall

The past shall reappear.

(745)

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Rev. Frederick Lynch tells in Christian Work the following story of Henry Ward Beecher:

In a public assembly a minister arose and said: “Mr. Beecher, my congregation has delegated me to ask this question of you: We have in our congregation one of the purest and most lovable men you ever saw. He is upright, honest, generous, the heartiest supporter of the church we have—the friend of the poor, the beloved of little children, a veritable saint—but he does not believe the doctrine of the Trinity. Now, where do you think he will go after death?” Mr. Beecher was equal to the occasion. Hesitating a moment, he said: “I never dare say where any man will go after death, but wherever this man goes, he certainly has my best wishes.”

(746)

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A polliwig swims about in a muddy pool and appears happy and contented. It is in its element. After a while it develops into a frog and climbs up on the bank. Altho it has attained to a higher state of existence, it has a tendency for the old life. It does not go very far away from the muddy pool. It stays near it, that it may take an occasional dip. A boy comes along and stones it, and it leaps back into the muddy pool. The boy looks about for some other moving object. He sees a lark not far away and hurls a stone at it. The skylark spreads its wings for flight. As it soars upward, it sings clearer and sweeter until it is far above the reach of its tormentor.

The contrasted tendencies of men resemble those of the polliwig and the lark. There is a world of meaning in the brief statement about Judas, “that he might go to his own place.” (Text.)

(747)

DESTINY OF NATIONS

The destiny of nations! They arise,

Have their heyday of triumph, and in turn

Sink upon silence, and the lidless eyes

Of fate salute them from their final urn.

How splendid-sad the story! How the gust

And pain and bliss of living transient seem!

Cities and pomps and glories shrunk to dust,

And all that ancient opulence a dream.

Must a majestic rhythm of rise and fall

Conquer the peoples once so proud on earth?

Does man but march in circles, after all,

Playing his curious game of death and birth?

Or shall an ultimate nation, God’s own child,

Arise and rule, nor ever conquered be;

Untouched of time because, all undefiled,

She makes His ways her ways eternally?

—Richard Burton, The Century Magazine.

(748)

DESTRUCTION, GRADUAL

One morning visitors staying in Venice were told that an ominous report was in circulation concerning the Campanile, and that so certainly was a disaster expected that the old architect who had charge of the Palace of the Doges and of the tower of St. Mark’s Cathedral had stolen out of the city, unable to bear the thought of the approaching catastrophe. A guide took visitors to the tower and pointed out little piles of sand that had trickled down from between the bricks. It was dangerous to stand there and the party retreated. The next night news went all over the world that the Campanile had fallen. But the accident had not happened suddenly. The Campanile had been through centuries preparing for its fall. Slowly the moist air of the lagoon had slaked the lime, and the acid of the smoke had disintegrated the mortar. A thousand minute injuries were slowly inflicted, and gradually the foundations settled and cracked.

So it is with character in individuals and communities. Falsehood, insincerity, vanity, dishonesty, selfishness and infidelity pull down institutions and bring even empires crashing in ruins.

(749)

DESTRUCTION NECESSARY

It has been calculated that, as fish produce so many eggs, if vast numbers of the latter and of the fish themselves were not continually destroyed and taken they would soon fill up every available space in the seas. For instance, from 60,000,000 to 70,000,000 codfish are annually caught on the shores of Newfoundland. But even that quantity seems small when it is considered that each cod yields about 4,500,000 eggs every season, and that even 8,000,000 have been found in the roe of a single cod. Were the 60,000,000 cod taken on the coast of Newfoundland left to breed, the 30,000,000 females producing 5,000,000 eggs every year, it would give a yearly addition of 150,000,000,000,000 young codfish.—Public Opinion.

(750)

Destructive Criticism—See [Satire].

DESTRUCTIVENESS

The size of a thing is not always the measure of its destructiveness. We look at a big battleship and exclaim what a huge instrument of destruction. Yet the tiny germ called the tubercle bacillus is so small that it is said that 900 can find room on the point of a small sewing-needle, and these germs destroy more lives each year than the mightiest warship could possibly do in action.

(751)

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Sins and faults gradually ruin character, once they begin to ravage, as the bee-moths ruin the hive of bees:

Death and destruction of the community follow in the train of the bee-moth. From the eggs hatch little sixteen-footed grubs that keep well hidden in the cracks, only venturing out to feed on the wax of the comb nearest them. As they grow they need more and more wax, but they protect themselves while getting it by spinning a silken web which prevents the bees from getting at them. Wherever they go they spin silken lines and little webs until, if several bee-moths have managed to lay their eggs in the hive and several hundred of their voracious wax-eating grubs are spinning tough silken lines and webs through all the corridors and rooms of the bees’ house, the household duties get so difficult to carry on that the bee community begins to dwindle; the unfed young die in their cells, the indoor workers starve, and the breakdown of the whole hive occurs.—Vernon L. Kellogg, “Insect Stories.”

(752)

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Character, like corn, may be destroyed, not by the assault of a single great evil, but by many minute sins and faults. Vernon L. Kellogg writes thus of corn-root aphids:

I forget how many millions of bushels of corn were raised in the State of Illinois last year, but there were very many. And that means thousands and thousands of acres of corn-fields. Now in all these corn-fields there live certain tiny soft-bodied insects called corn-root aphids. Their food is the sap of the growing corn-plants, which they suck from the roots. Altho each corn-root aphid is only about one-twentieth of an inch long and one-twenty-fifth of an inch wide, and has a sucking-beak simply microscopic in size, yet there are so many millions of these little insects, all with their microscopic little beaks stuck into the corn-roots, and all the time drinking, drinking the sap, which is the life-blood of the corn-plants, that they do a great deal of injury to the corn-fields of Illinois and cause a great loss in money to the farmers.—“Insect Stories.”

(753)

See [Vandalism].

Detachment—See [Absent-mindedness].

DETAILS, PERIL OF

It is said of General Grant, when he was approaching Vicksburg, that his officers, brave enough and willing enough, had so little military experience that his orders to them were not mere directions as to what they should do, but instruction in detail as to the manner in which it should be done. It is said that a collection of those orders would form a compendium or handbook of the military art. The man of liberal training with us has always much of that experience. The sculptor in America can confide nothing to his workman. The editor often needs to know how to set type. Many a time will you have to instruct your bookbinder. Wo to you if you expect to hire a competent translator! The educated man in America is only a helpless Dominie Sampson if he can not harness his own horse, and on occasion shoe him. He must in a thousand exigencies paddle his own canoe. And the first danger which comes to him is that in all these side duties he will forget the great central object to which his life is consecrated.—Edward Everett Hale.

(754)

Detected, Loss—See [Theft, A Check on].

DETECTION

One M. Le Roux demonstrated the value of the X-ray in detecting smuggled goods recently at the New York custom-house:

With every country using the X-ray at the custom-house and post-office smuggling would soon cease, for there seems to be no way to fool this little agent. Every means of baffling it were tried at M. Le Roux’s test. Articles were wrapt in many thicknesses of paper and woolen fabrics, and they were hidden in all sorts of queer places, but once the X-ray got busy they might just as well have shouted out their whereabouts, for not a single hidden article escaped detection.—The Technical World Magazine.

(755)

---

The high prices of meat were indirectly responsible for the arrest of Elmer McClain, a workman in a local factory, in Kokomo, Ind. At the noon-hour McClain sat down with his lunch-pail among his fellow employees and brought forth a piece of fried chicken. The presence of such a high-priced article of food in the lunch-pail of a man of McClain’s circumstances created much comment among the other workmen.

The report spread to the street, and in a little while had been circulated throughout the city, finally reaching the ears of Schuyler Stevens, who had lost some chickens by theft the night before.

Stevens informed the police, who, after an investigation, arrested McClain, who admitted that he had stolen four pullets from Stevens.

(756)

See [Evidence, Providential]; [Theft, A Check on].

DETERIORATION BY DISUSE

Among the many startling disclosures with which scientific investigation has made us familiar, one of the most extravagant is the discovery according to which the nose is said to be gradually losing its power to discharge its traditional function in the case of the civilized peoples. When the sense of smell vanishes altogether—as, it is affirmed, will infallibly be the case one day—the organ itself is bound to follow its example sooner or later. It is, no doubt, a fact that the olfactory sense is much keener in the savage than in the civilized man, and it is reasonable to conclude that the more we progress in civilization the duller the sense will grow, and as nature never preserves useless organs, when the nose loses its power of smelling the nose “must go.”—London Iron.

(757)

Determination—See [Ability, Gage of].

Determining Factor Unknown—See [Mystery of Nature].

DEVASTATION

What a pity it is to see a garden given over to a herd of swine that tear up the beds, trample on the seeds, wallow among the flowers, spoil the fruits! This is the spectacle that is offered our eyes every day by that beautiful and divine garden of Youth when it is occupied, devastated, pillaged, by the lower instincts, the coarser appetites.—Charles Wagner, “The Gospel of Life.”

(758)

Development, Arrested—See [Deformity].

Development of the Ear—See [Practise].

Development, Slow—See [Retardation].

Device for Safeguarding Freight—See [Theft, A Check on].

DEVICE THAT DECOYS

Several years ago The National Geographic Magazine published a description of the angler fish, well known along the New England coast because of a device by means of which it lures and catches other fish. This device consists of filaments or tendrils resembling seaweed, which are attached to the head.

When the angler is hungry, it hunts out a convenient place in shallow waters, where its color and markings make the fish indistinguishable from the sea-bottom. Here it lies quietly, often as if dead, while its floating filaments, kept in motion by the tide, decoy other fish, which never discover their mistake until too late to escape from the angler’s merciless jaws.

A bulletin by Theodore Gill, “Angler Fishes, Their Kinds and Ways,” recently published by the Smithsonian Institution, and from which these notes are obtained, says that the most extraordinary of all the anglers are those that carry lanterns to see with.

“Some stout-bodied anglers resorted to deep and deeper waters, where the light from the sun was faint or even ceased, and a wonderful provision was at last developed by kindly nature, which replaced the sun’s rays by some reflected from the fish itself. In fact, the illicium (a prolongation of the spine) has developed into a rod with a bulb having a phosphorescent terminal portion, and the “bait” round it has been also modified and variously added to; the fish has also had superadded to its fishing apparatus a lantern and worm-like lures galore.

“How efficient such an apparatus must be in the dark depths where these angler fishes dwell may be judged from the fact that special laws have been enacted in some countries against the use of torches and other lights for night fishing because of their deadly attractiveness. Not only the curiosity of the little deep-sea fishes, but their appetite is appealed to by the worm-like objects close to or in relief against the phosphorescent bulb of the anglers.”

(759)

DEVICES, FATAL

It is easy to go into evil by the trapdoor of temptation; it is not so easy to retrace the steps.

The bladderwort is a water-plant and catches much of its food. Underneath the surface of the water in which the plant floats are a number of lax, leafy branches spread out in all directions, and attached to these are large numbers of little flattened sacks or bladders, sometimes one-sixth of an inch long. The small end of each little bladder is surrounded by a cluster of bristles, forming a sort of hollow funnel leading into the mouth below, and this is covered inside by a perfect little trapdoor, which fits closely, but opens with the least pressure from without. A little worm or insect, or even a very small fish, can pass within, but never back again. The sack acts like an eel-trap or a catch-’em-alive mouse-trap. These little sacks actually allure very small animals by displaying glandular hairs about the entrance. The small animals are imprisoned and soon perish and decay to nourish the wicked plant. (Text.)—Prof. W. J. Beal, The Popular Science Monthly.

(760)

Devil, A Prayer to the—See [Children’s Religious Ideas].

Devil’s Slide—See [Evil, Beginnings of].

DEVIL, THE, CHOSEN

The course of some men makes it seem as if they had chosen the devil with more purpose than did this lawyer:

St. Evona, or Ives, of Brittany, a famous lawyer in 1300, was lamenting that his profession had not a patron saint to look up to. The physicians had St. Luke; the champions had St. George; the artists each had one; but the lawyers had none. Thinking that the Pope ought to bestow a saint, he went to Rome, and requested his Holiness to give the lawyers of Brittany a patron. The Pope, rather puzzled, proposed to St. Evona that he should go round the church of St. John de Lateran blindfold, and after he had said so many Ave Marias, the first saint he laid hold of should be his patron; and this solution of the difficulty the good old lawyer willingly undertook. When he had finished his Ave Marias, he stopt short, and laid his hands on the first image he came to, and cried out with joy, “This is our saint—this be our patron.” But when the bandage was taken from his eyes, what was his astonishment to find that, tho he had stopt at St. Michael’s altar, he had all the while laid hold, not of St. Michael, but of the figure under St. Michael’s feet—the devil! (Text.)—Croake James, “Curiosities of Law and Lawyers.”

(761)

Devolution—See [Down Grade, The].

Devotion to a Leader—See [Kindness Stimulating Devotion].

Devotion to Christ—See [Christ’s Face].

Devotion to Duty—See [Faithfulness]; [Life, A Devoted].

Devotion to Science—See [Science, Devotion to].

DEVOTION TO THE HELPLESS

In a newspaper account of a shipwreck, a touching incident is thus described by a survivor:

There was one incident which came particularly to my notice—the devotion of a woman to her blind husband. With her arm linked in his, she sought the rail of the Florida to be transferred to the Baltic.

An officer grabbed the man and hurled him to the rear. “Women and children only in these boats,” he yelled, as the man tumbled backward. The wife ran to her husband’s side and, again taking his arm, she appealed to the officer.

“He is blind! Can’t you see he is helpless?” she said. “I have never left him. If he can not go in the boat with me, I will stay here until this ship sinks under me.”

The unwritten law of the sea was waived before this plea, and that lone man, sightless and helpless, was permitted to accompany his wife, who would not leave the Florida until her husband was permitted to go with her.

(762)

Dew, The Existence of the—See [Separation].

DIABOLICAL POSSESSION

An old man, nearly octogenarian, who has been in bed for twenty-seven years, being a harmless monomaniac, having the delusion that his Satanic majesty always stood at his door to prevent him from going out, suddenly one morning, early in June, took it into his head that the devil was gone, whereupon he got out of bed, and, with nothing on but his shirt walked down to the quay (nearly a quarter of a mile) and jumped over. Having been a good swimmer in his early days, he struck out, and altho a boat put off from a vessel, he swam ashore.—Public Opinion.

(763)

Diet—See [Meals, Simplicity in].

DIET AND ENDURANCE

The Roman soldiers who built such wonderful roads and carried a weight of armor and luggage that would crush the average farmhand, lived on coarse brown bread and sour wine. They were temperate in their diet, and regular and constant in exercise. The Spanish peasant works every day and dances half the night, yet eats only his black bread, onion, and watermelon. The Smyrna porter eats only a little fruit and some olives, yet he walks off with his load of a hundred pounds. The coolie, fed on rice, is more active and can endure more than the negro fed on fat meat. The heavy work of the world is not done by men who eat the greatest quantity. Moderation in diet seems to be the prerequisite of endurance.—Public Opinion.

(764)

Differences of Opinion—See [Opinions].

DIFFICULTIES, DISPERSING

An old man once said: “I have had a long life full of troubles; most of them never happened.” So most of the giants in the way, if we do not fear them, turn out as in this dream related by the Rev. S. Benson Phillips:

When I first heard the call to the ministry I was about twelve years old. From that time until I was twenty-four years old, it was a question in my mind as to whether I was equal to the responsibilities and requirements of this holy calling. It was one night, after I had been thinking of these things, that I had the following dream: I thought that I was camping by the roadside, and had retired for the night. A great giant stood by my bedside. He offered to do me no harm, but simply stood by my bed. I begged him to go away. This he would not do until I arose and prepared to battle with him. Seeing my intention, he began to walk slowly away. I followed him. To my delight, he became smaller and smaller until he was nothing but a little boy, and unable to do me any harm.

(765)

DIFFICULTIES, OVERCOMING

The difficulties encountered by the Prussians on their march from Havre, by St. Lambert, to the field of Waterloo would have put the endurance of any troops to the test. The roads were ankle-deep from the heavy rains, and the defiles of St. Lambert turned into a regular swamp, almost impassable for men and horses; still worse for the guns and tumbrels of ammunition. These were very numerous and far from being well horsed, sinking at intervals up to the axle-trees. The horses’ floundering caused a stoppage, and the most robust soldiers in endeavoring to extricate the guns and ammunition wagons would drop down, overcome by the fatigue of their exertions, and declare “they could not get on.” “But we must get on,” replied their veteran commander, who seemed to multiply himself, and might be seen at different points along the line of march, exciting his men to exertion by words of encouragement. “I have promised Wellington to be up,” said Blücher, “and up we must get. Surely you will not make me forfeit my word. Exert yourselves a little more, and victory is certain.”—Edward Cotton, “A Voice from Waterloo.”

(766)

See [Illiteracy].

DIFFICULTIES, SOCIAL

The only way to get De Quincey to a dinner-party was to send an able-bodied man to find him and bring him by force. Occasionally he revenged himself by making a stay of several weeks, so that the difficulty of getting him into a friend’s house was forgotten in the more appalling difficulty of how to get him out again.—W. J. Dawson, “The Makers of English Prose.”

(767)

Difficulty Aiding Achievement—See [Adversity Helping Genius].

Dilemma—See [Simple-mindedness].

Dimensions—See [Upward Look].

Diminishing Numbers—See [Seasickness].

DIMINUTIVES

Some years ago, when the bedding was not supposed to be as fat as it ought to be, and the pillows were accused of being constructed upon the homeopathic principle, a New Englander got on a railroad car one night. Now, it is a remarkable fact that a New Englander never goes to sleep in one of these cars. He lies awake all night, thinking how he can improve upon every device and patent in sight. He poked his head out of the upper berth at midnight, hailed a porter and said, “Say, have you got such a thing as a corkscrew about you?” “We don’t ’low no drinkin’ sperits aboa’d these yer cars, sah,” was the reply. “’Tain’t that,” said the Yankee, “but I want to get hold on to one of your pillows that has kind of worked its way into my ear.”—Horace Porter.

(768)

Diploma Valueless—See [College or Experience].

DIPLOMACY, COWARDLY

A distinguished divine was called upon to offer prayer in a mixed company, when in accordance with the custom of the times, he included in his petition to the Almighty a large measure of anathema, as “We beseech thee, O Lord! to overwhelm the tyrant! We beseech thee to overwhelm and to pull down the oppressor! We beseech thee to overwhelm and pull down the Papist!” And then opening his eyes, and seeing that a Roman Catholic archbishop and his secretary were present, he saw he must change the current of his petitions if he would be courteous to his audience, and said vehemently, “We beseech thee, O Lord! we beseech thee—we beseech thee—we beseech thee to pull down and overwhelm the Hottentot!” Said some one to him when the prayer was over, “My dear brother, why were you so hard upon the Hottentot?” “Well,” said he, “the fact is, when I opened my eyes and looked around, between the paragraphs in the prayer, at the assembled guests, I found that the Hottentots were the only people who had not some friends among the company.”—Henry Codman Potter.

(769)

DIPLOMAT, A, AND MISSIONS

Sir Henry Mortimer Durand, at one time ambassador of Great Britain to the United States, gave the following advice to missionaries before the Fifth International Convention of the Student Volunteer Movement, held at Nashville, in 1906:

I beg you to consider earnestly before you go whether you are really fitted for the task before you. Do not be misled by love of excitement or adventure, or by the glamour of the East. It has a wonderful glamour, and any man of thought and feeling who has been out there will “hear the East a-calling” for many a year. But a great part of a missionary’s work, as indeed a great part of the work of every profession, is hard drudgery. To master an Oriental language, as you must master it if you are to be of any use, is itself a labor of years. Judson used often to sit and study his Burmese for twelve hours out of the twenty-four, and, as I have said, it took him twenty-seven years to complete his translation of the Bible. That is the kind of toil you must be ready to face. I once saw a missionary attempt to convert an Afghan. His manner of doing so was to walk up to the Afghan on the road and say in very bad Persian, which was not really the Afghan’s language, “Christ is the Son of God.” He repeated the remark twice, receiving each time a monosyllabic answer, and then he sheered off, having apparently no more Persian at his command. This is the sort of thing which causes the enemy to blaspheme. And remember Judson’s warning. Do not be tempted to spiritual pride. Do not stand aloof and condemn the diplomatist, or the administrator, or the soldier, because their lives and their views are not what yours are. They, too, know some things—some things which you can not know—and they, too, are trying to do their duty. Above all, never look down on the soldier. He may be rough and reckless at times, but he is always ready to lay down his life for his country, and all good missionaries should honor the soldier’s uniform.

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DIRECTION

All life is short in itself. But we do not complain that the night is short if we are looking for the dawn, nor that the winter is short if we are eager for the spring. A short life is long enough to take the right direction, and direction is the main fact about our life. For our children we ask: How are they coming out?—Franklin Noble, “Sermon in Illustration.”

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“I’d have you know, sir,” said the Congressman from one of the tall-grass districts, “that I am walking in the footsteps of George Washington.”

“I see you are,” rejoined the wise guy, “but for some reason unknown to me, you are headed the wrong way.” (Text.)—Chicago News.

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The following verses from an unidentified source carry their own lesson:

One ship drives east and another drives west,

While the selfsame breezes blow;

It’s the set of the sails and not the gales

That bids them where to go.

Like the winds of the seas are the ways of the fates,

As we voyage along through life;

It’s the set of the soul that decides the goal,

And not the storm or strife.

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See [Destiny]; [Facing Right]; [Tendency].

DIRECTION, SENSE OF

No one would suppose that a calf possest any extraordinary amount of intelligence, but that one of these animals had a well-developed bump of location is proven by the facility with which this particular animal found its way home after it had been taken away. A college professor writes of this incident which came under his personal observation:

“I spent my vacation the past summer at my mother’s, three miles from Siler City, N. C. My brother, who lived at Siler City, had a three-months-old calf which he wanted to pasture at my mother’s farm. Accordingly the calf was brought along the road from the town. The next day the animal got out of the open gate and returned home. I followed its trail; it had recently rained. The calf first took almost a bee-line for its home; crossed a small ditch, then came to a large ditch, which it wandered down some distance, but returned and crossed near its direct line. This was at a distance of a quarter of a mile from the road by which it had been delivered, and all the space is covered by thick forest.

“When the calf struck the main road it proceeded along this to its home. This animal never had been out of its lot until it was brought to my mother’s, and yet its sense of direction was so accurate that it took a straight line for home until it reached the road by which it had been brought. Then it depended upon its memory of the road, altho it might have followed a path in a much more direct line.”—Harper’s Weekly.

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DIRECTIONS

Cora S. Day, in The Interior, illustrates in the following paragraphs the value of the Bible as a book of directions:

They were looking through the medicine-chest in search of a needed remedy when there came to light a half-filled vial, whose torn label held but a part of the directions for use.

“Might as well throw this away. I have forgotten what it is, what it is for and how to take it,” said the finder.

“Yes, take it out. It is no good without the directions,” agreed the other. So the medicine was set aside.

There are a good many things that are no good to us without the directions. Without the knowledge of how to use it, the most useful tool or machine is of no more value to a man than so much junk. With the directions, it becomes his assistant, his servant, and does good work for him.

If you buy a sewing-machine, or a typewriter, for instance, you are given a book of instructions which tells how to use it. In addition, the agent usually gives you personal instructions in its operation, making its ordinary workings plain to you. But some day, when you are trying to run it alone, there comes a hitch perhaps—something you do not understand, some new development or complication. Then you are glad to turn to the book of directions for help.

How about the book which gives directions for right living? Preachers and teachers and parents can tell you many good things when they are at hand; but the book can help you at all times. Full of directions for every difficulty and sure to point the way and lead you aright, it can be always near, ready to help in all perplexities. (Text.)

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DIRECTIONS, CONTRASTED

Russell Sage, it is said, directed by his will that his body should be placed in a steel casket, weighing three tons, made burglar-proof, locked and sealed. He made this bequest to himself through fear that his physical remains might be stolen for the sake of getting a ransom. During his long life he accumulated a vast fortune and kept it. He probably spent no more, fared no better, did no more service to his fellow men than many a business man or employee of modest income.

The late Governor Hogg, of Texas, left no fortune to relatives or to charity. He directed that a pecan-tree should be planted at the head of his grave and a walnut-tree at its foot. His purpose was to teach thrift to the people of his State. These fruit-bearing trees suggest comfort and prosperity. There is no fear that any one will steal his body, but a message of wisdom and affection will continue to go out from it after the remains have returned to dust. (Text.)

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Directness—See [Singleness of Purpose].

Dirtiness, Removing—See [Discipline from Change].

DISAPPOINTMENT

There are thousands upon thousands of models at the Patent-office of inventions that are of absolutely no use whatever. They represent the blasted hopes and often the ruined fortunes of innumerable inventors who invested their time and money in worthless ideas. The models forwarded by these inventors to the Patent-office form a sort of museum by themselves, and those who wish to look a bit beneath the surface can find a story abounding in genuine pathos lurking in pretty nearly every one of these foolish inventions. (Text.)—New York Evening Sun.

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See [Appointment].

Discernment—See [Interpretation by Experience].

DISCERNMENT, LACK OF SPIRITUAL

You might as well talk to a child of the African jungle about the glitter of New York’s Vanity Fair and expect him to understand you as to talk to an unregenerate person about the Kingdom of God and hope to make him comprehend the mysteries of which you speak. He wouldn’t say or do anything to wound your feelings for the world—he is too much of a gentleman for that; but at the same time he gives you to distinctly understand that the things of the Spirit of God are foolishness to him. And tho, after all, he may appear a much bigger fool to you than you do to him, you must at least admit that his attitude is thoroughly Scriptural.—F. F. Shannon.

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DISCIPLINE

A visitor to a pottery establishment was puzzled by an operation that seemed aimless. In one room there was a mass of clay beside a workman. Every now and then he took up a mallet and struck several smart blows on the surface of the lump. Curiosity led to the question, “Why do you do that?” “Wait a bit, sir, and watch it,” was the answer. The stranger obeyed, and soon the top of the mass began to heave and swell. Bubbles formed upon its face. “Now, sir, you see,” said the modeler, “I could never shape the clay into a vase if these air-bubbles were in it, therefore I gradually beat them out.”

Is not the discipline of life just a beating out of the bubbles of pride and self-will, so that God may form a vessel of earth to hold heavenly treasures? (Text.)

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See [Success in Failure].

DISCIPLINE AMONG CHILDREN

It required just one minute and fifteen seconds for three thousand pupils and teachers of Public School 22, at Sheriff and Stanton Streets (New York), to file into the streets after the “four taps signal,” indicating that the building must be vacated with haste, a few minutes after a fire had been discovered. One incident indicated particularly the degree of discipline instilled into the children.

Harry Kagel, one of the smallest boys in the primary department, asked permission to go down-stairs just after the pupils had assembled for the afternoon session. As the boy was passing a room near the vestibule on the ground floor, he scented smoke. Opening the door, he found a fire blazing in waste paper and baskets. He did not cry out or run with fear from the building, but, remembering what his teachers had told him again and again, he ran quietly up-stairs to his class-room and whispered about the fire in the ear of the teacher, Miss Dixey.

She called an older boy and sent him to investigate. In a minute he was back with a verification. Then Miss Dixey hurried to Miss C. Knowl, principal of the primary department, and to John P. Townley, principal of the school, and the signal was sounded.

At once every child in the school went to his or her station, and all were in line or at the post assigned in a few seconds. Altho the thin smoke in the hallways, creeping into the sixty-six classrooms of the four-story building, indicated to pupils and teachers that this was not one of the regular drills, there was no confusion, and with the exception of the faces of pupils and teachers, which were a trifle more serious than at daily drill, the program was carried out perfectly.

One of the teachers, assigned to the piano, began the march, and the pupils began to file out of the rooms after the last bell. Monitors took their places on the stone steps to guard against confusion near the exits. Every door in the building was thrown open by those assigned to that duty.

As soon as they were in the streets, the classes hurried away from the exits, so that the march of those in the rear would not be hampered.

In the meantime the janitor, Duncan Robinson, had gathered a number of large boys of the grammar department and formed a bucket brigade. They made short work of the flames. There was no call sent in for the fire department.

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Discipline, Easy—See [Slackness].

DISCIPLINE EVADED

Kassim Pasha, when Minister of War for Egypt, was very particular in regard to the personal appearance of his officers and issued stringent orders that they should never appear unshaven in public. One day he met upon the street a lieutenant who had bearded the pasha and disregarded his orders. “To what regiment do you belong?” demanded the indignant minister. “To the —— regiment, at Abasseuh,” replied the frightened lieutenant. “Get into my carriage at once so that I can carry you to the encampment and have you publicly punished,” was the stern command which followed.

The young man obeyed, and the twain rode along gloomily enough for some time, when the pasha stopt his carriage and entered an office where he would be detained for some time on business. Seizing the opportunity, the culprit sprang from the vehicle, darted into a neighboring barber’s stall and regained his post before the return of his jailer minus his beard. For the remainder of the route the officer buried his face in his hands and seemed the picture of apprehension.

Abasseuh was reached at last, and all the officers were assembled to witness the degradation of their comrade, who all the while kept well in the rear of his chief. “Come forward, you son of a dog!” cried the irate pasha, when there stept before him an officer with a face as clean as a baby’s and a look of the most supreme innocence. His excellency gave one look of blank astonishment and then, with an appreciative smile breaking over his war-worn features, turned to the assembled officers and said, “Here, gentlemen, your old minister is a fool, and your young lieutenant is a captain.”—Pitston Gazette.

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DISCIPLINE FROM CHANGE

God frequently improves men by shaking them up and running them through scouring-machines of misfortune, like the wheat mentioned in this extract:

The grain reaches Port Arthur in carloads, and is examined by a grain-inspector in the service of the Dominion Government. If found to be suffering from smut, it is separated into three grades, according to the amount of smut adhering to it. That which is least dirty is scoured and brushed until all vestige of smut is removed, while the dirtier grain is thoroughly washed and dried before being cleaned. The scouring-machine turns and tosses the wheat so vigorously that every grain becomes highly polished, and is said to be in a better condition for milling than ordinary wheat, since it has lost part of its outer integument, which would have to be removed. (Text.)—Arthur Inkersley, The American Inventor.

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Discipline, Military—See [Obedience].

Disclosure—See [Utterance].

DISCONTENT, DIVINE

An unidentified author writes thus of discontent:

When the world was formed and the morning stars

Upon their paths were sent,

The loftiest-browed of the angels was named

The Angel of Discontent.

And he dwelt with man in the caves of the hills,

Where the crested serpent stings,

And the tiger tears and the she-wolf howls,

And he told of better things.

And he led man forth to the towered town,

And forth to the fields of corn;

And he told of the ampler work ahead

For which the race was born.

And he whispers to men of those hills he sees

In the blush of the golden west;

And they look to the light of his lifted eye

And they hate the name of rest.

In the light of that eye doth the slave behold

A hope that is high and brave,

And the madness of war comes into his blood

For he knows himself a slave.

The serfs of wrong in the light of that eye

March on with victorious songs;

For the strength of their right comes into their hearts

When they behold their wrongs.

’Tis by the light of that lifted eye

That error’s mists are rent—

A guide to the table-land of Truth

Is the Angel of Discontent.

And still he looks with his lifted eye,

And his glance is far away

On a light that shines on the glimmering hills

Of a diviner day. (Text.)

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Discourtesy—See [Bargain-making].

DISCOVERY, ACCIDENTAL

Blotting-paper was discovered purely by accident. Some ordinary paper was being made one day at a mill in Berkshire when a careless workman forgot to put in the sizing material. It may be imagined what angry scenes would take place in that mill, as the whole of the paper made was regarded as being quite useless. The proprietor of the mill desired to write a note shortly afterward, and he took a piece of waste paper, thinking it was good enough for the purpose. To his intense annoyance, the ink spread all over the paper. All of a sudden there flashed over his mind the thought that this paper would do instead of sand for drying ink, and he at once advertised his waste paper as “blotting.”

There was such a big demand that the mill ceased to make ordinary paper and was soon occupied making blotting only, the use of which spread to all countries. The result now is that the descendant of the discoverer owns the largest mills in the world for the manufacture of the special kind of paper. The reason the paper is of use in drying ink is that really it is a mass of hair-like tubes, which suck up liquid by capillary attraction. If a very fine glass tube is put into water the liquid will rise in it owing to capillary attraction. The art of manufacturing blotting-paper has been carried to such a degree that the product has wonderful absorbent qualities.—Boston Herald.

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Whether this story be true or legendary, it is a fact that many great discoveries have been the result of happy accident; or, as the Christian will prefer to say, the result of Providence:

It is said that the two Jansen boys had placed the spectacle lenses, with which they were playing, at the proper distances apart and were looking through them at the weather-cock on the top of a distant church steeple. They were surprized at discovering two things; first, that the weather-cock appeared upside down; and, second, it could be seen much more distinctly through the glasses than with the naked eye. Of course, they called the attention of their father to this curious discovery. Jansen, who was an intelligent man, and well acquainted with the properties of lenses as they were known at that early time, constructed a telescope based on the discovery of his sons.—Edwin J. Houston, “The Wonder-book of Light.”

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DISCOVERY, BENEFITS FROM

In the development of mineral resources and in manufactures, higher education is paying even larger proportionate returns than in agriculture. Practically the entire $2,000,000,000 yearly mineral production of the United States is directly due to a few chemical and electrical processes which were worked out by highly educated scientists. For example, the cyanide process of extracting gold, worked out in the laboratory in 1880 by McArthur and Forrest, is responsible for fully one-third of the world’s gold production, making possible the five million annual production of the Homestake mine in North Dakota and the one hundred and forty-five million of South Africa, and many other similar cases. The Elkinton electrolytic process of refining copper is in the same way used now in producing 700,000,000 pounds of copper annually in the United States. The Bessemer and the open-hearth processes of producing steel, by which nearly all of our 23,000,000 tons are produced annually, are due to the scientific researches of Sir Henry Bessemer, of Thomas and Gilchrist, and of Siemens. Birmingham, Pittsburg, and a host of wealthy cities could never have come into being but for these discoveries. James Gayley’s discovery taught the practical steelworkers how they could save one-third of their coke and at the same time increase the output of their furnaces by a new process of extracting the moisture from the blast. This alone means the saving from now on of 10,000,000 tons of coal annually in the United States.—New York Evening Post.

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DISCOVERY, FORTUNATE

“Here’s the last quarter I’ve got in the world. Give me some oysters, and go as far as you like,” was the combination of announcement and request with which John Olson, a sailor employed on the Scandinavian-American Line, greeted William Gau, proprietor of a market on Washington Street, Hoboken, as he entered that establishment.

Mr. Gau proceeded to open oysters. The sailor looked hungry, so he made haste.

As the third oyster was pried apart Mr. Gau uttered an exclamation. There was a big pearl. “Well, that’s the best luck I’ve had in a long time,” he observed. “Isn’t it a beauty?”

“Wait a minute,” piped up Olson. “Didn’t I buy the oysters, and didn’t you take the money? My oyster, my pearl. Hand ’er over.”

The oysterman protested, but the sailor argued so convincingly that Mr. Gau finally acquiesced. They journeyed at once to a jeweler, who appraised the jewel at $200, and threw in an exclamation of admiration upon its white color for good measure. It weighs about three carats.

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DISCRETION

When I was a boy, a grim old doctor in a neighboring town was struck down and crusht by a loaded sledge. He got up, staggered a few paces, fell and died. He had been in attendance upon an ancient lady, a connection of my own, who at that moment was lying in a most critical condition. The news of the accident reached her, but not its fatal character. Presently the minister of the parish came in, and a brief conversation like this followed: “Is the doctor badly hurt?” “Yes, badly.” “Does he suffer much?” “He does not; he is easy.” And so the old gentlewoman blest God and went off to sleep, to learn the whole story at a fitter and safer moment. I know the minister was a man of truth, and I think he showed himself in this instance a man of wisdom.—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

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Discretion in Attack—See [Attack, Discretion in].

DISCRIMINATION IN PUNISHMENT

A farm servant named Auguste Bichet was condemned at Nancy to six days’ imprisonment for stealing a franc, but was complimented by the court for his honesty. Bichet stole a franc from a shop counter and confest to the theft. But about the same time he found a purse containing $125 and at once restored it to its owner, refusing to accept any reward. The court exprest its astonishment and admiration at the man’s honesty, but as he had been convicted before, the president said they were obliged to send him to prison. They did so with great regret and complimented him on his probity.—San Francisco Bulletin.

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DISCRIMINATION, UNFAIR

Taking	$1,000,000	is called	genius.
„	100,000	„ „	shortage.
„	50,000	„ „	litigation.
„	25,000	„ „	insolvency.
„	10,000	„ „	irregularity.
„	5,000	„ „	defalcation.
„	1,000	„ „	corruption.
„	500	„ „	embezzlement.
„	100	„ „	dishonesty.
„	50	„ „	stealing.
„	25	„ „	total depravity.
„	one ham	„ „	war on society.

—Washington Post.

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See [Poison Drink].

DISEASE BENEFICIAL

People have considered every symptom of disease noxious, and that it ought to be stamped out with relentless determination; but, according to Sir Frederick Treves, the motive of disease is benevolent and protective. If it were not for disease, he said, the human race would soon be extinct.

Sir Frederick took examples, such as a wound and the supervening inflammation, which is a process of cure to be imitated rather than hindered. Peritonitis, he said, was an operating surgeon’s best friend; without it every example of appendicitis would be fatal. The phenomena of a cough and cold were in the main manifestations of a cure. Without them a common cold might become fatal. The catarrh and persistent sneezing were practical means of dislodging bacteria from the nasal passage, and the cough of removing the bacteria from the windpipe. Again, the whole of the manifestations of tuberculosis were expressions of unflagging efforts on the part of the body to oppose the progress of invading bacterium. (Text.)—New York Sun.

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DISEASE, CAUSES OF

At the present moment there are two theories in the field to explain the origin of contagious diseases—the parasitic theory and the theory of the innate character of diseases. The parasitic theory assumes that diseases are originated by microbes first diffused in the atmosphere, and then taken into the system by the air we breathe, the water we drink, the things we touch. The advocates of the innate character of diseases hold, on the contrary, that the disease is spontaneously developed in the patient; the first cause is in morbid changes which are purely chemical, changes produced in the actual substance of the tissues and secretions without any external intervention of microbes; the microbes, where they really exist, being only a secondary phenomenon, a complication, and not the scientific cause which actually terminates the disease. Now, whatever may be the exact truth in this biological controversy, it is evident that the first cause of such disease must be sought in a defect of life, a feebleness, a certain untoward disposition and receptivity in the organism itself. The phylloxera devastates the French vineyards because the vines have been exhausted by excessive cultivation; tuberculosis fastens upon man because of obscure conditions of bodily weakness and susceptibility; vigorous plants and robust constitutions defying the foreign destructive bodies which may fill the air—extrinsic influence and excitement counting for little where the intrinsic tendency does not exist.

Revelation assumes that the man morally occupies much the same position. Environment brings the opportunity for evil, the solicitation or provocation to evil, so far do evil communications corrupt good manners; but the first cause of all must be found in the heart itself, in its lack of right direction, sympathy, and force; in a word, the scientific cause of sin is the spiritual cause—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”

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DISEASE, EXEMPTION FROM

Breweries and tanneries and printing-ink factories confer exemption from tuberculosis, and employees in turpentine factories never have rheumatism. Copper-mining excludes the possibility of typhoid among the workers.

Shepherds enjoy remarkable health. The odd odor of sheep appears to exercise some influence tending to the prevention of disease. Sheep are especially good for whooping-cough, so that in a sheep country, when a child is taken down with that malady, it is the custom for the mother to put it among the sheep to play. The next day, it is said, the child will be well.

Men and women working in lavender, whether gathering or distilling it, are said never to suffer from neuralgia or nervous headache. Lavender, moreover, is as good as a sea voyage for giving tone to the system. Persons suffering from nervous breakdown frequently give their services gratis to lavender plants, in order that they may build up their vitality.

Salt-miners can wear summer clothes in blizzard weather without fear of catching cold, for colds are unknown among these workers.—Harper’s Weekly.

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Disease Traveling—See [Evil, Virulency of].

Disguise of Temptation—See [Imagination, Lure of].

DISGUISED DANGER

The dangers to moral integrity most to be guarded against are those which come disguised, and are often hard to detect.

D. W. Whittle tells of a soldier who was posted in a forest to watch the approach of Indians. It was a position of peculiar danger, three different men having been surprized and killed at this post without having had time to fire a shot. The soldier was left with strict orders to observe the utmost vigilance. In a short time an object moving among the trees at some distance caught his eye. He watched it, with gun ready; as it came a little nearer, he saw it to be a wild hog. Another came in sight. He satisfied himself it was a wild hog, rooting under the leaves. Presently, in another direction, the leaves were rustled and a third wild hog appeared. Being now used to these creatures, he paid but little attention. The movements of the last animal, however, soon engaged the man’s thoughts. He observed a slight awkwardness in its movements, and thought possibly an Indian might be approaching, covered in a hog’s skin. If it was an Indian the safest thing was to shoot. If it was not an Indian, and he should shoot, he would run no risk. He raised his rifle and fired. With a bound and a yell, an Indian leapt to his feet and fell back dead. The man had saved his life, and prevented the surprize of the garrison by his watchfulness. (Text.)

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DISHONESTY

Once D. L. Moody was talking to a man who sold soap which he claimed would do all kinds of remarkable things, including the removing of spots caused by grease. The man was, nevertheless, very perturbed, and at last he told Mr. Moody what his trouble was. “The soap accomplishes all that I assert; but the truth is that it also rots all the clothes which it washes. If I become a Christian, I shall have to give up my business, and I can not bring myself to do that.” The evangelist used to say that it was only soap which stood between this man and a Christian life. (Text.)

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Henry Ward Beecher tells a story of a man in the Canadian backwoods, who, during the summer months, had procured a stock of fuel sufficient for the winter. This man had a neighbor who was very indolent, and not very honest, and who, having neglected to provide against the winter storms, was mean enough to avail himself of his neighbor’s supplies without the latter’s permission or knowledge. Mr. Beecher states that it was found, on computation, that the thief had actually spent more time in watching for opportunities to steal, and labored more arduously to remove the wood (to say nothing of the risk and penalty of detection), than the man who in open daylight, and by honest means, had gathered it.

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Dishonesty Discovered—See [Evidence, Providential].

Dishonesty in Business—See [Business Cheating].

Disillusionment—See [Labels, Misleading].

Disobedience—See [Conscience a Monitor].

Disobedience Approved—See [Higher Law, The].

Disparity—See [Masses, Among the].

Disparity in Punishment—See [Injustice]; [Decay].

DISPLACEMENT

A right once surrendered may be lost forever.

A story is told by the Kermanjis of Persia of how the jackals came to inhabit the desert. In olden days the jackals were the domesticated pets of Kerman, while the dogs dwelt among the ruins outside the city walls. The wily dogs asked the noble jackals if they would not exchange places for just three days, in order that the invalids among the dogs might recover their strength and health, at the same time enlarging upon the beauties of the desert life. The generous jackals consented. But when the stipulated period expired the dogs declined to yield their place, saying, “No, thank you, we prefer to stay where we are, and do not wish ever to return to the desert.” So the outwitted jackals went howling away, and have been wailing nightly ever since.

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See [Progress by Displacement].

Display, Vain—See [Notoriety].

DISPROPORTION

The number of small men in high places is far greater than of large men in low places. The latter do not remain long in cramped conditions.

The Hon. William E. Chandler, Secretary of the Navy under President Arthur, relates this incident of Assistant Surgeon Ver Mulen. The story, as printed in Harper’s Weekly, runs as follows:

That officer was 6 feet 4 inches in height, a fact that occasioned him much discomfort when he was serving on the old Penobscot, the height of the vessel between decks being only 5 feet and 8 inches. As Surgeon Ver Mulen considered the matter, he remembered that long letters to the Navy Department were not always given that prompt attention he thought should be afforded in the present instance, so he determined to approach the authorities in a manner novel enough to impress them with the gravity of the situation. So he addrest his superior officer in this wise:

“The Honorable the Secretary of the Navy.

“Sir: Length of surgeon, 6 feet 4 inches; height of wardroom, 5 feet 8 inches.

“Respectfully,

“E. C. Ver Mulen,

“Assistant Surgeon, U.S.N.”

Shortly after, the Navy Department detached Ver Mulen “until such time as a more suitable ship could be found for his assignment.”

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Artists have a good many queer customers, and they have advantages for observing what vague ideas it is possible for a man to entertain respecting art and nature, too. An ex-soldier went to the studio of D. J. Gue, of Brooklyn, one day, to inspect a picture of Lookout Mountain that the artist had been painting. The picture pleased him, and he evidently had thoughts of purchase, but he was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea that he communicated thus: “I was in that fight, mister, and I’d like you to paint my picture on that. Let’s see. You could paint me right here in this field, facing front, with my left hand resting on top of the mountain.” The man was in thorough earnest. He did not see that if drawn to scale his finger would be about 5,000 feet high, and that he would have a reach of arm that would enable him to grasp at an object six or seven miles away. Mr. Gue precipitately declined the commission.—Brooklyn Eagle.

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DISPROPORTION OF PRAISE

The case of De Quincey in regard to opium-eating, is analogous to the case of a painter who has no hands, and had learned to paint with his toes. Many estimable artists might paint as well with their hands; but it is natural that the man who paints with his toes should be much more talked of, and attract a quite disproportionate share of fame. The wonder is, to quote Dr. Johnson’s phrase, not that the thing is done well, but that it is done at all.—W. J. Dawson, “The Makers of English Prose.”

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Dissipation of Force—See [Friction Dissipating Force].

DISTANCE

As I came into your city to-night I saw your great structure [Brooklyn Bridge] across the river here, binding the two great cities together and making them one, and I remember that as I came the last time into your beautiful bay down yonder, I saw what seemed to be a mere web of gossamer, a bare hand’s breadth along the horizon. It seemed as if I might have swept it away with my hand if I could have reached it, so airy and light it was in the distance, but when I came close to it to-night I found that it was one of the greatest structures that human intellect has ever devised. I saw it thrilling and vibrating with every energy of our pulsating, modern life. At a distance it looked as if the vessels nearest would strike it, full head, and carry it away. When I reached it I saw that it was so high, so vast, that the traffic of your great stream passed easily backward and forward under it. So it is with some problems. They may appear very small to you, ladies and gentlemen, or to us, when seen at a distance—as tho merely a handsweep would get rid of them; but nearer at hand they appear too vast to be moved easily.—Thomas Nelson Page.

(801)

See [Point of View]; [Retrospect].

Distance and Nearness—See [Retrospect].

Distinctions, Vain—See [Selfishness].

Distinctions, Unfair—See [Discrimination, Unfair].

Disturbance—See [Baptism].

DISUSE

Moored off the famous White Tower of Salonica lay, year after year, a small, dirty, uncared-for, antiquated gunboat, the solitary representative of the Turkish Navy. It never moved. But when Turkey awoke the gunboat was ordered to Constantinople to join in the rejoicings. Steam was got up and preparations were made to raise the anchor, but in vain. It had become wedded to the solid rock. So the chain was cut and the anchor left in its chosen resting-place.

(802)

See [Atrophy]; Degeneracy Through Disease.

DIVERSE INFLUENCES

Man, after all, is not ripened by virtue alone. Were it so, this world were a paradise of angels. No; like the growth of the earth, he is the fruit of all seasons, the accident of a thousand accidents, a living mystery moving through the seen to the unseen; he is sown in dishonor; he is matured under all the varieties of heat and cold, in mists and wrath, in snow and vapors, in the melancholy of autumn, in the torpor of winter as well as in the rapture and fragrance of summer, or the balmy affluence of spring, its breath, its sunshine; at the end he is reaped, the product not of one climate but of all; not of good alone but of sorrow, perhaps mellowed and ripened, perhaps stricken and withered and sour. How, then, shall we judge any one?—how, at any rate, shall we judge a giant, great in gifts and great in temptation, great in strength, and great in weakness? Let us glory in his strength and be comforted in his weakness, and when we thank heaven for the inestimable gift of Burns, we do not need to remember wherein he was imperfect, we can not bring ourselves to regret that he was made of the same clay as ourselves.—Lord Rosebery.

(803)

DIVERSION BY SMALL THINGS

The story of the way in which John Wesley partly failed in an attempt to gain back certain seceders from his following is told by the Rev. W. H. Fitchett, as follows:

According to the Moravians themselves, the dramatic effect of Wesley’s departure from the building was spoiled by a petty but ingenious trick. As the persons present came into the room they placed their hats all together on the ground in one corner; but Wesley’s hat had been—by design—carried off. When he had finished his paper and called upon all who agreed with him to follow him, he walked across the room, but could not discover his hat! The pause, the search which followed, quite effaced the impressiveness of his departure, and, as Southey puts it, “The wily Molther and his followers had time to arrest many who would have been carried away in his wake.”—“Wesley and His Century.”

(804)

Diversity Desirable—See [Talents Differ].

Diversity in Work—See [Headwork].

Diverting the Mind—See [Offended Feelings].

Divine Wisdom Best—See [Playthings, Earth’s].

DIVINITY

All things are mine; to all things I belong;

I mingle in them—heeding bounds nor bars—

Float in the cloud, melt in the river’s song;

In the clear wave from rock to rock I leap,

Widen away, and slowly onward creep;

I stretch forth glimmering hands beneath the stars

And lose my little murmur in the deep.

Yea, more than that: whatever I behold—

Dark forest, mountain, the o’erarching wheel

Of heaven’s solemn turning, all the old

Immeasurable air and boundless sea—

Yields of its life, builds life and strength in me

For tasks to come, while I but see and feel,

And merely am, and it is joy to be.

Lo, that small spark within us is not blind

To its beginning; struck from one vast soul

Which, in the framework of the world, doth bind

All parts together; small, but still agreeing

With That which molded us without our seeing;

Since God is all, and all in all—the Whole

In whom we live and move and have our being. (Text.)

—Samuel V. Cole, The Critic.

(805)

DIVINITY IN PHENOMENA

Not a planet that wheels its circle around its controlling flame, not a sun that pours its blaze upon the black ether, not one of all the constellated chandeliers that burn in the dome of heaven, not a firmament that spots the robe of space with a fringe of light, but is a visible statement of a conception, wish, or purpose in the mind of God, from which it was born, and to which alone it owes its continuance and form.—Thomas Starr King.

(806)

DIVORCE

The growth of the divorce evil in recent years has been a subject of wide comment, and many remedies have been advocated. The diagrams and maps here shown indicate the increase and present status of divorces in the United States as compared with other lands.

Divorce-rate per 100,000 Population in 1900. (See [Divorce].)

This diagram affords a comparison between the divorce-rate in the United States and in certain foreign countries.

Showing Number of Divorces Granted for Certain Specified Causes, from 1867 to 1906. (See Divorce.)

Marriage Map of the United States. (See [Divorce].)

This chart is based on the average annual number of marriages per 10,000 adult unmarried population in the various States and Territories.

Divorce Map of the United States. (See [Divorce.)]

This diagram is based on the average annual number of divorces per 100,000 married population in the various States and Territories.

(807)

See [Birth-rate in France].

DOCILITY, SPIRITUAL

An argument for man’s spiritual docility ought easily to be seen in his ignorance. He is blind but presumptuous. Nature herself ought to teach him better. As one says:

Just as when the yellow fog broods over London, all the illuminations devised by man can not penetrate it; just as in the dark country road on the misty night, the brightest lamp is of no more avail than a farthing rushlight; so no argument of men can remove the mists which becloud the soul. We only do what we have to do in the physical world—wait till the sun comes back.

If man be so encompassed by ignorance in the physical realm, how can he walk in the spiritual. Let him humble himself, if he would really understand. Let him obey, that he may know.

(808)

Dog as a Detective—See [Animal Intelligence].

DOGMATISM, MISTAKEN

I had heard that nothing had been observed in ancient times which could be called by the name of glass—that there had been merely attempts to imitate it. I thought they had proved the proposition. They certainly had elaborated it. In Pompeii, a dozen miles south of Naples, which was covered with ashes by Vesuvius eighteen hundred years ago, they broke into a room full of glass; there was ground-glass, window-glass, cut-glass, and colored-glass of every variety. It was undoubtedly a glass-maker’s factory. So the lie and refutation came face to face. It was like a pamphlet printed in London, in 1836, by Dr. Lardner, which proved that a steamboat could not cross the ocean; and the book came to this country in the first steamboat that came across the Atlantic.—Wendell Phillips.

(809)

Doing—See [Feeding, Too Much]; [Service].

DOING AS AN INCENTIVE

A woman once came to me and asked if it were not possible to give her husband something to do in the church. “He evinces but little interest; just give him something to do, and I think he will attend.” In support of her belief she recounted how her husband, lacking interest in a lodge to which he belonged, was made a very regular attendant. “He was elected,” she said, “the high and mighty potentate of the eastern door. Now he attends the lodge regularly every Thursday night.” Think of it—a sensible man walking up and down in a closet-like room, and challenging all who would enter. All this because he was given something to do. There is much philosophy in this. Young people need direction in the line of that in which they are interested, and in which they particularly are best capable of doing. There should be enough specific work to go around.—Charles Luther Kloss, “Proceedings of the Religious Education Association,” 1904.

(810)

Doing Things for Themselves—See [Adaptability].

Doing Without Learning—See [Automatic Learning].

DOLL, PLACE OF THE, IN THE CHILD’S LIFE

The delight which a little girl sometimes experiences in getting hold of a doll that belonged to her mother when she was a little girl—a quaint, china-headed and china-haired little creature, with low neck and short sleeves and very full ruffled skirt—is a tame thing when compared with the feelings that any girl must experience over a doll now in the British Museum. This doll is almost three thousand years old.

When some archeologists were exploring an ancient Egyptian royal tomb they came upon a sarcophagus containing the mummy of a little princess seven years old. She was drest and interred in a manner befitting her rank, and in her arms was found a little wooden doll.

The inscription gave the name, rank and age of the little girl and the date of her death, but it said nothing about the quaint little wooden Egyptian doll. This, however, told its own story. It was so tightly clasped in the arms of the mummy that it was evident that the child had died with her beloved doll in her arms.

The simple pathos of this story has touched many hearts after thousands of years. The doll occupies a place in a glass case in the British Museum, and there a great many children have gone to look at it.—Youth’s Companion.

(811)

Dollar, His First—See [Money, Earning].

DOMESTIC HEROISM

There are all sorts of heroes and the domestic life knows them as well as some other more conspicuous fields of action. The little things of life afford a field for the exercise of the heroic as well as the larger. A news item, with a touch of the humorous, tells the following:

Some women were discussing over their afternoon tea the statement that a man is no more a hero to his wife than to his valet. There seemed to be no opposition to the idea that a man’s servant did not appreciate him, but all stoutly maintained that their husbands were heroic—in one way or another.

“My husband is very heroic,” said Mrs. Black. “For instance, he will give up his visit to the club to play jackstraws with my old mother, and she is his mother-in-law, you know.”

“I think I can beat that,” remarked Mrs. Gray. “When my milliner’s quarterly bill comes in my husband smiles as he writes a check, and never thinks of looking at the items.”

“I can give you a better example than either of those!” exclaimed Mrs. White. “When the morning paper comes at breakfast-time my husband always offers me the first reading of it.”

An informal vote awarded the last speaker’s husband the medal of heroism.

(812)

DOMINANT ELEMENTS

Every animate or inanimate structure responds to some chord or note of music, called, I believe, the dominant. We have all felt some building vibrate in unison with the pulsation of some note of a musical instrument; we have felt “creepy” shivers run through us as some musical chord is sounded. It is well known that animals are strangely affected by certain harmonies. Some day, when civilization has advanced, I believe that these evidences of psychological structure will be better understood. It will be recognized that vice and virtue are in accord with different harmonies, and yield to the power of different dominants; and, when once the classification is made, and the disclosures of the dominant understood, then the extent and influence of the dominant will be a psychological test to define the character and ruling passions of men’s nature, and to decide the fitness of men for the various pursuits of life, and even for life itself. (Text.)—Arthur Dudley Vinton, American Magazine.

(813)

Dominion of Man—See [Mastery of Nature].

Doors, Opening Human—See [Receptiveness].

DOUBLE MEANINGS, DANGER OF

The last great martyr to the double meaning in our Constitution, mentioned below, was Lincoln. It was a clause that protected the most gigantic evil of history:

An American historian says of the Constitution of the United States: “Our Constitution in its spirit and legitimate utterance is doubtless the noblest document which ever emanated from the mind of man. It contains not one word hostile to liberty.... But yet ingloriously, guiltily, under sore temptation, we consented to use one phrase susceptible of a double meaning, ‘held to service or labor.’ (Article IV Section 2.) These honest words at the North mean a hired man, an apprentice. At the South they mean a slave, feudal bondage. So small, apparently so insignificant, were those seeds sown in our Constitution which have resulted in such a harvest of misery.”

(814)

DOUBLE-MINDEDNESS

Charles Wagner, in “The Gospel of Life,” remarks thus on the double nature of men:

Duplicity, rending apart, partition of the will and of the heart, lamentable division—that is our life! It is not a continuous chain; it is only links broken and dispersed. We are peace-loving, just, truthful, sober, chaste, disinterested; but we are also malicious, unjust, cunning, intemperate, impure. We are like those ships that carry to the colonies, along with the Bibles and religious tracts, cannon, alcohol, and opium; or those poets full of contrary talents, who play turn by turn on the sacred lyre and on the strident conch-shell.

(815)

DOUBT ISSUING IN PEACE

The peace of God descends more softly shed

Than light upon the deep,

And sinks below the tumult of my years

Deeper than dreams or sleep.

And somehow, as of dusk was born the star

Whose fire is on the sea,

Another star from doubt’s profounder dark

Is risen and shines on me. (Text.)

—Henry Fletcher Harris, Harper’s Magazine.

(816)

DOUBTS, DISSOLVING

Crossing the Atlantic, a vessel is often encircled by small ice-floes, looking like a flock of white sheep on the blue ocean. When they started on their course southward, those ice-floes were great frozen masses. But the warm Gulf Stream played on them beneath, and the sun melted them from above, till they dwindled as they entered a warm atmosphere. A man’s doubts at first seem large enough to freeze his faith, but let him go steadily onward into the warm atmosphere of Christian love, and gradually his doubts will no more impede his progress than the ice-floes impede an ocean-liner.

(817)

DOURNESS

If I could present the picture of a Scotch Highland cow, with her calf by her side, watching the approach of a tourist whom she thinks is coming too near—could I depict the expression of her face; that, I would say, would fairly represent what is meant by “dour.” Not that the cow would take the aggressive, but, if interfered with, I’ll warrant she would not be the one permanently injured. Led by this trait a certain Scotchman always stood up during prayers when others were kneeling, and sat down when others stood to sing, because, as he exprest it, the ordinary method was the only one used by the English and he wasn’t going to do as they did.—John Watson.

(818)

DOWN GRADE, THE

The terrible crimes and miseries of the East End of London have recently been brought into great prominence, and one of the most distressing features of this subject is that considerable numbers of these appallingly miserable characters were once respectable and happy. They were the children of honorable parents, they were trained in schools and sanctuaries, they were members of rich and influential circles; then they chose the down grade; they were first guilty of unbecomingness, then of acts of graver misconduct; at length their friends lost sight of them, they lost sight of their friends; then ever lower lodging-houses, lower ginshops, lower pawnshops, until at last those who had been tenderly nursed, educated in universities, clothed in scarlet, were submerged in filth, crime, misery, simply unutterable. All this dire catastrophe once seemed impossible to them, as now it seems impossible to us; but forget not that the doubtful ever passes into the bad, the bad into the worse, the worse into the unspeakable.—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”

(819)

DREAM, VALUE OF THE

A pillow-dream is a night adventure of your subconscious self. You wander without volition in a weird world and come back with a tantalized and fleeting recollection of fantastic persons and impossible situations. The metaphysical mystery of this sort of dreams has never been cleared, but it is certain that the fruits gathered in these sunless excursions are of doubtful flavor and quickly perishable. Fortunately, we are capable of dreams which are not pillow-dreams—dreams which are best dreamed when the spine is vertical and every fiber of mind, soul, and heart vibrant and vital. On these occasions we are in the clasp of our best mood—the mood of concept and creation. The wine of this mood is red like blood and the resultant intoxication is the holiest experience of which we are capable. In its high hours the soul is never maudlin or fuddled; it grips life strongly and deals with it in divine fashion, whipping its fugitive elements into orderly submission, compelling them to assume a useful steadiness like that of the dependable planets which can be found nightly at a given point in the heavens.—Metropolitan Magazine.

(820)

DREAMS

(“Behold, this dreamer cometh”)

They stript me bare and left me by the way

To pine forsaken in a lonely land;

They gave me to night-frosts and burning day

To griefs none understand.

They took my silver from me and my gold,

The changing splendors of my rich array;

Night’s silver rain of dew escaped their hold,

And the fine gold of day.

On the world’s highway in vain pomp they tread;

By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams;

They took all else and left me there for dead;

They could not take my dreams.

Still, morning comes with marvel as of old;

Still in soft rose descends the eventide;

Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold,

The sweet, swift thoughts abide.

Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild!

To this last fortress of the soul I cling;

Men gave me winter weather from a child,

But God has given me spring. (Text.)

—Robin Flower, The London Spectator.

(821)

See [Fulfilment Disappointing]; [Ideals].

DRESS AFFECTING MOODS

Mrs. Bishop, in the Chautauqua Herald, says:

It may never have occurred to some of you that dress has any reactionary influence upon the inner states, but so potent is this influence that frequently we can change the mental states by a change of dress. When tired, gloomy or fretful, a change in apparel often means a change in mood. Many actors say that to be drest for the part is a great help toward feeling the part. An army general once declared that he could not fight without his uniform, that an ordinary hat and coat took all the courage out of him.

(822)

Dress in the East—See [Propriety, Observing the rules of].

Drifting Avoided—See [Danger, Avoiding].

DRINK

“Many a good story is told of the old bonanza days,” said a San Franciscan. “I liked especially a whisky story.

“A tenderfoot, the story ran, entered a saloon and ordered whisky. Whisky in those days and in those parts was a very weird drink. Queer effects were sure to follow it. The tenderfoot knew he must expect something out of the common, but, for all that, he was taken aback when the bartender handed him a small whisk-broom along with the bottle and glass.

“Tenderfoot-like, he didn’t care to expose his ignorance by asking what the whisk-broom was for, so he just stood there and fidgeted. He didn’t drink. He waited in the hope that somebody would come in and show him what was what.

“Well, in a few minutes a big chap in a red shirt entered. He, too, ordered whisky, and he, too, got a broom.

“The tenderfoot watched him closely. He poured himself a generous drink, tossed it off, and, taking up his whisk-broom, went over into a corner and carefully cleaned, on the floor, a space about 7 feet by 3. There he laid down and had a fit.”—Detroit Free Press.

(823)

See [Abstainers Live Long]; [Beer, Effect of]; [Alcoholic Bait].

DRINK AND NATIVE RACES

Missionaries are constantly emphasizing the horrors consequent on the drink traffic among the natives of Africa. Bishop Johnson, one of its able native bishops, declared that “European commerce, weighted as this commerce has been for many years with the liquor traffic, has been as great a curse to Africa, a greater than the oceanic slave-trade.” Even still more effective was a statement made by a Christian negro speaking to an audience in England, when he brought out of a bag an ugly idol and said, “This repulsive object is what we worshiped in times past,” and then he added, “Now I will show you what England has sent to be our god to-day,” and produced an empty gin-bottle.—Jesse Page, “The Black Bishop.”

(824)

DRINK, EFFECTS OF

I was standing on the sidewalk in a Southern city where at the time I was engaged in evangelistic work. A physician who was an active helper came along in his buggy, and, stopping his horse, requested me to take a seat at his side.

“I want to take you,” he said as we drove off, “to see a most deplorable and helpless case—a widow and her son. She is totally blind; in fact, she has cried her eyes out. You have heard of people who cried their eyes out, but now you will see one of whom it is literally true. The son is only twenty-four years of age, and a splendid machinist; but he got to fooling with drink and wild young men, until now the habit is so fixt upon him he is almost an imbecile. I have a commitment for him in my pocket to send him to the asylum. It is the only hope for him now.”

We arrived at the house, a poor little desolate-looking place, in painful accord with the pitiful lives within. The woman rose to greet us at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She was of medium size, neatly drest, but plainly. Her white face, without the slightest suggestion of color, was partly framed with grayish-brown hair. Her eyes did not seem sightless to me, but only a dull dark blue.

There sat the young man, his face buried in his hands, the picture of misery, a life surrendered to the evil of drink, and in ruins. “I have brought the minister,” said the doctor, “because I knew you’d like to have him pray with you and talk with your son.” She assented readily, and even with an effort to smile; but the smile died upon her lips. The young man was perfectly sane, and talked willingly of his condition. “I just can’t help it,” he said. “I love mother, and I can easily take care of her; but, when I get where whisky is, I can’t help getting drunk. Then it looks as if I’d never get sober any more. Yes, sir,” he said in reply to the doctor, “I’ll be glad to go. I hate to leave mother,” nodding his head toward the frail creature who sat silent while the tears literally rolled down her face; “but I’m willing to do anything to get right.”

Months passed. I was there again. Meeting the doctor one day in the street, I stopt him.

“Tell me about the poor woman, doctor, and her boy,” I asked. “Get into my buggy, and we will take a drive, and you shall see for yourself.” We drove along, talking as we went; but he did not explain. He continued his drive out of the city, and finally turned his horse’s head into what I saw was the cemetery. Passing monuments and vaults and richly carved marble, we went on to the very outer edge. “Now we will get out and walk a few steps,” he said. I followed him, knowing now, of course, what it meant; but I knew only in part. Stopping at two unmarked graves, not a stone or board or flower, desolate in death as in life, he pointed to one, and said: “That’s the son. He came back from the asylum, and we thought he was cured; but he fell in with his old companions, and a few days later his body was found in a pond near the city, and a bottle half filled with whisky in his pocket. And that’s the mother. She survived him only a few days. When they brought his body into her little home, she sank under her weight of grief, and never rallied. She had cried herself to sleep.”—H. M. Wharton, Christian Endeavor World.

(825)

DRINK, HERITAGE OF

The jovial, genial drunkard of the Anglo-Saxon times is a rare personage nowadays, and tho there may be men as fond of sack as Falstaff himself, they seem to have lost the intense sociability which was the characteristic of the burly knight. Nearly all the great men of the Napoleonic era were drinkers—Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, Wellington himself. Napoleon’s marshals had the soldier’s pet failing, and it is said of stern old Blücher that he slept in his boots and went to bed in a more or less pronounced condition of intoxication for thirty years. Byron boasted of having drank a dozen bottles of wine in a day, and his “Don Juan” was composed under the influence of gin. Thackeray loved the bottle, so did Dickens. The children suffer for the failings of their sires, and many of the nervous symptoms and morbid cravings which perplex physicians in the young men and women of to-day are in reality legacies bequeathed by overbibulous ancestors. (Text.)—Baltimore Herald.

(826)

DRINK, PERIL OF

A number of years ago a certain firm of four men in Boston were rated as “A1.” They were rich, prosperous, young and prompt.

One of them had the curiosity to see how they were rated, and found these facts in Dun’s and was satisfied, but at the end these words were added: “But they all drink.”

He thought it a good joke at the time, but a few years later two of them were dead, another was a drunkard, and the fourth was poor and living partly on charity.

That one little note at the end of their rating was the most important and significant of all the facts collected and embodied in their description. (Text.)

(827)

DROUGHT, RESPONSIBILITY FOR

When the electric trolley-cars were first set running in Seoul, a peculiar result manifested itself in the nation. We quote from The Outlook:

Little by little the heavens grew dry and the earth rolled up clouds of dust; day followed day with no signs of rain, and the caking paddy-fields grinned and gasped. What could be the cause of it? The geomancers and ground-prophets were consulted, and their answer was, “The devil that runs the thunder and lightning wagon has caused the drought.” Eyes no longer looked with curiosity but glared at the trolley-cars, and men swore under their breath and curst the “vile beast” as it went humming by, till, worked up beyond endurance, there was a crash and an explosion, one car had been rolled over, and another was set on fire, while a mob of thousands took possession of the streets foaming and stamping like wild beasts.

(828)

DRUDGERY

It may be that even the work of “holystoning” the deck of a ship could become an act of devotion if done in the right spirit, notwithstanding this seaman’s aversion to it:

“This is what you call the sailor’s prayer-book,” a seaman said bitterly as he kicked a holystone out of the way. “Why is it called that? Well, in the first place, it is called that because in using it, in holystoning the deck, the sailor has to kneel down; and in the second place, because all holystoning is done on Sunday. Don’t you know the chantey?

“‘Six days shalt thou work and do all that thou art able,

And on the seventh holystone the decks and scrape the cable.’

“The stone is called holystone because the first holystones were bits of tombs stolen from cemeteries. It’s got a pious, religious sound—holy, and prayer-book, and Sunday and all that—but it is when he is using this stone that the seaman is most profane.”

(829)

See [Best, Making the].

Drudgery as a Teacher—See [Humdrum Development].

DRUDGERY RELIEVED

When Lucy Larcom was fourteen years old she worked in a cotton-mill in Lowell, Mass. After she had been there a few weeks, says The Youth’s Companion, she asked and received permission to tend some frames which were near a window, through which she might look out on the Merrimac River and its picturesque banks.

After she had worked there a little while longer, she began to make the window-seat and frame into a library. She pasted the grimy paint all over with clippings of verse which she gathered from such newspapers and magazines as fell into her hands.

So the little factory drudge secured for herself three essentials for human happiness: work, the sight of nature, and the beauty of the poet’s vision. No doubt the work was often wearisome. Perhaps some of the poetry was not very good. But the river and its meadows and hills must have been always refreshing, and the spirit which so intelligently desired the best in the world could not have faltered even on a toilsome path.

(830)

Drunkard’s Fate—See [Drink, Effects of].

Drunkards Saving Drunkards—See [Personal Influence].

Drunkard’s Soul—See [Defacement of Soul].

DRUNKARD’S WILL, A

It was written just before he committed suicide. “I leave to the world a wasted character and ruinous example; I leave to my parents as great a sorrow as in their weakness they could possibly bear; I leave to my brothers and sisters as much shame and dishonor as I could have brought them; I leave to my wife a broken heart and a life full of shame; I leave to my children poverty, ignorance, a bad character and the memory of their father lying in a drunkard’s grave and having gone to a drunkard’s hell.” This is typical. Decent men are becoming sick at heart with this thing. We are now in the midst of a war that promises to become world-wide, relentless until our Christian obligation to the world is fully met. Since religion, business, science, education and the State have taken the field against drink there is certain promise of victory.—Methodist Recorder.

(831)

Drunkenness, Disastrous—See [Debauch, Fatal].

Drunkenness, Safeguard Against—See [Safeguard for Drunkards].

DRUNKENNESS, THE TRAGEDY OF

A recent orator gives this incident:

I think the subject has been kept back very much by the merriment people make over those slain by strong drink. I used to be very merry over these things, having a keen sense of the ludicrous. There was something very grotesque in the gait of a drunkard. It is not so now; for I saw in one of the streets of Philadelphia a sight that changed the whole subject to me. There was a young man being led home. He was very much intoxicated—he was raving with intoxication. Two young men were leading him along. The boys hooted in the street, men laughed, women sneered; but I happened to be very near the door where he went in—it was the door of his father’s house. I saw him go up-stairs. I heard him shouting, hooting and blaspheming. He had lost his hat, and the merriment increased with the mob until he came up to the door, and as the door was opened his mother came out. When I heard her cry, that took all the comedy away from the scene. Since that time, when I see a man walking through the street, reeling, the comedy is all gone, and it is a tragedy of tears and groans and heartbreaks. Never make any fun around me about the grotesqueness of a drunkard. Alas for his home!

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DUAL CHARACTER

Samuel Johnson (1709–1784) who was certainly not the greatest writer of his age, perhaps not even a great writer at all, but who was nevertheless the dictator of English letters, still looms across the centuries of a magnificent literature as its most striking and original figure. Here, moreover, is a huge, fat, awkward man, of vulgar manners and appearance, who monopolizes conversation, abuses everybody, clubs down opposition—“Madam” (speaking to his cultivated hostess at table), “talk no more nonsense”; “Sir” (turning to a distinguished guest), “I perceive you are a vile Whig.” While talking he makes curious animal sounds, “sometimes giving a half whistle, sometimes clucking like a hen”; and when he has concluded a violent dispute and laid his opponents low by dogmatism or ridicule, he leans back to “blow out his breath like a whale” and gulp down numberless cups of hot tea. Yet this curious dictator of an elegant age was a veritable lion, much sought after by society; and around him in his own poor house gathered the foremost artists, scholars, actors, and literary men of London—all honoring the man, loving him, and listening to his dogmatism as the Greeks listened to the voice of their oracle.—William J. Long, “English Literature.”

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DUALITY

The peculiarity of the chameleon here described recalls Paul’s description of the conflict between the natural and spiritual man:

Notwithstanding the strictly symmetrical structure of the chameleon as to its two halves, the eyes move independently of one another and convey separate impressions to their respective centers of perception. The consequence is that when the animal is agitated its movements resemble those of two animals, or rather, perhaps, two halves of animals glued together. Each half wishes to go its own way and there is no concordance of action. The chameleon, therefore, is the only four-legged vertebrate that is unable to swim; it becomes so frightened when dropt into water that all faculty of concentration is lost, and the creature tumbles about as if in a state of intoxication. (Text.)—The Scientific American.

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Duality of Human Nature—See [Nature Dual in Man].

Duel by Mail—See [Make-believe].

Dutch Trait, A—See [Hunger, Enduring].

DUST AND VIOLETS

O sister mine—hold on a space

In your dreadnaught campaign;

A few weeks more—the selfsame place

Will show more dust again;

Just take a sniff of springtime air

And let the cleaning wait;

For, “Dust will keep, but violets won’t,”

As some find out too late.

—Ada M. Fitts, Unity.

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Dust Particles—See [Impurities].

DUTIES, CATCHING ONE’S

“Caleb Cobweb,” of the Christian Endeavor World, gives the following quaint advice:

Some workmen were repairing the Boston Elevated Railway. One of them took a red-hot bolt in his pincers and threw it up to another workman, who was to place it in the hole drilled for it. The second workman failed to catch it, and it fell to the street below. There it struck a truck-load of twenty bales of cotton, a thousand dollars’ worth, that was passing at the moment. The cotton instantly took fire, but the driver knew nothing of it. The flames had made considerable headway when the cries of the onlookers informed the driver of what was going on. He had only enough time to leap out of the way of the flames and save his horse. The Boston Fire Department was summoned and put out the fire.

This is a fair sample of what happens every time one of us workmen on the great edifice of human society misses a bolt that is thrown to him. They are many—these bolts—and they come thick and fast. They are red-hot, too, for they are duties that are in imperative need of getting done. If they are not at once stuck into the proper hole, and the top at once flattened out by sturdy blows, they grow cool and useless. They can not be put into the structure; or, if we go ahead and hammer them in, they are not tight and they may bring about disaster.

No, there is nothing for it but to catch the bolts on the fly. Let one fall, and some one gets hurt—or some thing, which in the end, means some one. No one knows what will be hit when a worker misses a red-hot duty that comes flying at him.

There is only one safety for the workman or for the rest of us: Catch them!

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DUTIES DISTRIBUTED

Here is a short sermon by a woman, tho not preached from a pulpit. It is a good one, and is pretty sure to hit your own case somewhere, whatever may be your age and circumstances:

The best thing to give your enemy is forgiveness; to an opponent, tolerance; to a friend, your heart; to your child, a good example; to your father, deference; to your mother, conduct that will make her proud of you; to yourself, respect; to all men, charity.—The Interior.

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DUTY

There was a boy in Glasgow apprenticed to a gentleman who made telegraphs. The gentleman told me this himself. One day this boy was up on top of a four-story house with a number of men fixing up a telegraph-wire. The work was all but done. It was getting late, and the men said they were going away home, and the boy was to nip off the ends of the wire himself. Before going down they told him to be sure to go back to the workshop, when he was finished, with his master’s tools. “Do not leave any of them lying about, whatever you do,” said the foreman. The boy climbed up the pole and began to nip off the ends of the wire. It was a very cold winter night, and the dusk was gathering. He lost his hold and fell, upon the slates, slid down, and then over and over to the ground below. A clothes-rope, stretched across the “green” on to which he was just about to fall, caught him on the chest and broke his fall; but the shock was terrible, and he lay unconscious among some clothes upon the green. An old woman came out; seeing her rope broken and the clothes all soiled, thought the boy was drunk, shook him, scolded him, and went for a policeman. And the boy with the shaking came back to consciousness, rubbed his eyes, and got upon his feet. What do you think he did? He staggered, half-blind, away up the stairs. He climbed the ladder. He got up onto the roof of the house. He gathered up his tools, put them into his basket, took them down, and when he got to the ground again, fainted dead away. Just then the policeman came, saw there was something seriously wrong, and carried him away to the hospital, where he lay for some time. I am glad to say he got better. What was his first thought at that terrible moment? His duty. He was not thinking of himself; he was thinking about his master.—Henry Drummond.

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See [Greatness]; [Higher Law].

DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE

Dr. Johnson, himself a glutton in talk, complained to Patty Wesley of her brother: “I hate to meet John Wesley,” he said. “The dog enchants you with his conversation, and then breaks away to go and visit some old woman.”

But for Wesley, the “old woman” represented duty. She was an immortal spirit, as precious in the sight of God as Dr. Johnson himself.—W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

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DUTY, DEVOTION TO

The late Sir Andrew Clarke was once attending a comparatively poor man who was so seriously ill as to need his constant and assiduous attention. He was fighting death step by step, and seeing his efforts meet with success. As he bent over and watched his patient, a telegram was handed him asking him to come over and consult some wealthy idler in the south of France, offering a special train to Dover, a packet chartered to Calais, another special train to Nice, and a fabulous fee. He looked at the patient, folded the telegram, and said to his assistant, “Reply that I am needed here and can not leave,” and turned to tend the poor man again.

Much has been said in praise of this heroic self-abnegation. But, after all, the doctor simply did his duty.

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See [Faithfulness].

DUTY, FAITHFUL TO

Emperor William recommended the promotion of a private in his army for the strict observance of orders while acting as sentry at Swinemunde, Germany. The Emperor, accompanied by several officers, the entire party in civilian dress and wearing Panama hats, approached the entrance to the west battery, where the sentry prevented their further progress. His Majesty, much amused, again vainly tried to pass by. He said to the sentry: “You must let me pass. Don’t you know me? I am the Emperor.” The sentry then looked more closely at the Emperor, not quite reassured, but evidently recognized his Majesty’s features, as he presented arms and allowed him to pass.

The distinction of the sentry lay in the fact that, under every circumstance, he was faithful to his duty.

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DUTY IN DEATH

At Gettysburg a soldier in an ambulance heard the sound of battle. He arose to go. “Where are you going?” asked a comrade in a tone of remonstrance. “To the front,” said the wounded man. “What, in your condition!” “If I am to die,” he said, “I would rather die on the battle-field than in an ambulance.” (Text.)

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DUTY MORE THAN GLORY

The citizen on great occasions knows and obeys the voice of his country as he knows and obeys an individual voice, whether it appeal to a base or ignoble, or to a generous or noble passion. “Sons of France, awake to glory,” told the French youth what was the dominant passion in the bosom of France, and it awoke a corresponding sentiment in his own. Under its spell he marched through Europe and overthrew her kingdoms and empires, and felt in Egypt that forty centuries were looking down on him from the pyramids. But, at last, one June morning in Trafalgar Bay there was another utterance, more quiet in its tone, but speaking also with a personal and individual voice: “England expects every man to do his duty.” At the sight of Nelson’s immortal signal, duty-loving England and glory-loving France met as they have met on many an historic battle-field before and since, and the lover of duty proved the stronger. The England that expected every man to do his duty was as real a being to the humblest sailor in Nelson’s fleet as the mother that bore him.—George Frisbie Hoar.

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Duty Plus a Little More—See [Overplus of Duty].

DUTY, SENSE OF

Calif Omar, with his venerable teacher, Abou-Zeid, walked forth in the darkness of the night, far from his palace gate, where he saw a feeble fire burning. He sought it and found a poor woman trying to bring a caldron to the boiling-point while two wretched children clung to her, piteously moaning. “Peace unto thee, O woman! What dost thou here alone in the night and the cold?” said the calif. “I am trying to make this water boil that my children may drink, who perish of hunger and cold; but for the misery we have to bear, Allah will surely one day ask reckoning of Omar, the calif.” “But,” said the disguised calif, “dost thou think, O woman, that Omar can know of thy wretchedness?” She answered: “Wherefore, then, is Omar, the calif, if he be unaware of the misery of his people and of each one of his subjects?” The calif was silent. “Let us go hence,” he said to Abou-Zeid. He hastened to the storehouses of his kitchen, and drew forth a sack of flour and a jar of sheep’s fat. “O Abou-Zeid, help thou me to charge these on my back,” said the calif. “Not so,” replied the attendant; “suffer that I carry them on my back, O Commander of the Faithful.” Omar said calmly: “Wilt thou also, O Abou-Zeid, bear the weight of my sins on the day of resurrection?” And Abou-Zeid was obliged to lay the jar of fat and the sack of flour on the back of the calif, who hastened to the woman by the fire, and with his own hands did put the flour and the fat into the caldron over the fire, which fire he quickened with his breath, and the smoke whereof filled his beard. When the food was prepared, with his own breath did he cool it that the children might eat. Then he left the sack and the jar and went his way saying: “O Abou-Zeid, the light from the fire that I have beheld to-day has enlightened me also.”—James T. White, “Character Lessons.”

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See [Faithfulness].

Dying Like Ladies—See [Pride].

DYNASTIC NAMES

Most royal families have a given name they employ as a sort of distinctive dynastic hallmark. George and Frederick are distinctively Hanoverian, as Edward is distinctively English. The late king selected Edward rather than Albert from motives at once filial and politic. He desired that his father should stand alone in his glory as Albert in English history, and Edward was associated with old and stately traditions of the Plantagenets and Tudors. Similarly the French Bourbons usually have a Louis or a Charles among their string of names, and the Bonapartes never forget Napoleon at the baptismal font. The most striking instance of reverence for a dynastic name is found in the princely family of Reuss, in Germany. There are two principalities of Reuss, respectively representing the elder and the younger lines. Every reigning prince must bear the name of Henry. Henry XXIV reigns over one principality, and Henry XIV over the other. All the heads of the houses for nine hundred years have been Henrys, and in a grand family council early in the eighteenth century it was decreed that the figures should not exceed one hundred, after which a new series should begin with Henry I. As both branches clung to Henry a working arrangement was patched up by which the younger line begins a new group-numbering with each century. The first Henry born in the twentieth century who shall mount the tiny throne must revert to Henry I, and similarly his descendant senior among the Henrys of the twenty-first century is foreordained to be I, too.—Boston Transcript.

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