"DO YOUR BEST."

"When I was a little boy," said a gentleman one evening, "I paid a visit to my grandfather, a venerable old man, whose black velvet cap and tassel, blue breeches, and huge silver knee-buckles, filled me with great awe. When I went to bid him good by, he drew me between his knees, and, placing his hand on my head, said, 'Grandchild, I have one thing to say to you: will you remember it? I stared into his face, and nodded; for I was afraid to promise aloud. 'Well,' he continued, 'whatever you do, do the best you can.'

"This, in fact, was my grandfather's legacy to me; and it has proved better than gold. I never forgot his words; and I believe I have tried to act upon them. After reaching home, my uncle gave Marcus and me some weeding to do in the garden. It was Wednesday afternoon; and we had laid our plans for something elsc. Marcus, fretted and ill-humored at his disappointment, did not more than half do his work; and I began pretty much like him, until grandfather's advice came into my mind, and I determined to follow it. In a word, I did my best.' And, when my uncle came out, I shall never forget his look of approbation as his eyes glanced over my beds, or the four pence he slipped into my hand afterwards, as he said my work was well done. Ah! I was a glad and thankful boy; while poor Marcus was left to drudge over his beds all the afternoon.

"At fifteen I was sent to the academy, where I had partly to earn my own way through the course. The lessons came hard at first, for I was not fond of study; but grandfather's advice was my motto, and I tried to do my best. As a consequence of this, though I was small of my age, and not very strong, my mother had three offers for me before the year was out; and one from the best merchant of the village, a place' in whose store was considered very desirable. When I joined the church, I tried to do the Lord's work as well as I did my own; and often, when I had been tempted to leave the Sabbath-school, or let a hindrance keep me from the prayer-meeting, or get discouraged in any good thing, my grandfather's last words, 'Do the best you can,' have given me fresh courage, and I would again try.

Here, then, was the key to this man's character. He is considered one of the best business men, one of the best citizens, one of the best

officers in the Church, one of the best friends of the poor, one of the best neighbors, fathers, husbands, friends; in a word, he is universally beloved and respected. And what is the secret of it all? He always tried to do the best he could. Let every boy and girl take this for their motto. Acted upon, it will do wonders for you. It will bring out powers and capabilities which will surprise and delight yourselves and friends. "Do your best; or, as the Bible has it, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; or, in other words, "Whatsoever you do, do it heartily as to the Lord."-Messenger.

HISTORY OF UMBRELLAS.

At the annual gathering of the members of the Glasgow umbrella trade, the chairman gave the following bits of history in regard to the subject:

"Dr. Morrison, the great missionary to China, states, that there is mention made of umbrellas and parasols in books printed in China more than 1500 years ago, and that the most wonderful. traveler, Layard, relates that he discovered on the ruins of Nineveh, in bas relief, a representation of a king in his chariot with an attendant holding an umbrella over his head. In India we also find the umbrella has been used in remote ages, and principally as an insignia of royalty, its shape differing very little from those in modern use. In Burmah the princes use a very large umbrella, and it requires a separate attendant to carry it, and his position is a recognized one in the royal household. One of the titles of the king is as follows: 'King of the white elephant and lord of the twenty-four umbrellas.' The Emperor of China, who never does anything on a small scale (if he can help it), has no fewer than twenty-four umbrellas carried before him when he goes out hunting. It is used in that country as a defence against rain as well as sun, and is principally made of a sort of glazed silk or paper beautifully painted. We find umbrellas mentioned as in use, or at least known, in England 150 years ago. In Cambridge, we read that early in the last century umbrellas were let out on hire for so much per hour, like sedan chairs. Jonas Hanway, the founder of a hospital in London, has the credit of being the first person in London that had the courage of habitually carrying an umbrella. He died in 1786, and it is said that he carried an umbrella for thirty years; so the date of their introduction for general use may be said to date from 1756."

The following paragraph from the report made at the meeting rather smacks of the trade:

"A good umbrella is a sure test of a man's respectability. A man may go to kirk or to market with a shocking bad hat or a pair of boots, but not with a bad umbrella, and retain his status in society."

THE RIGHT THING IN THE WRONG PLACE.

BY THE EDITOR.

We have just made a discovery-somewhat unpleasant. Its first fresh, warm impressions demand an immediate hearing. Now, bear in mind, that we are very calm; not a bit excited, indeed, in the best of humor. Wishing, "health, wealth, and happiness" to everybody, the printers and proof-readers of the GUARDIAN included. These latter doubtless often have a world of trouble to unravel the

tangled skein of our scribbling, and that of our contributors. Still that does not make nonsensical misprints any more endurable. Your first thought in discovering blunders in your articles, which others have made, is: "Why, people must think I am a fool to write in this way."

Here, one has been preparing various dishes for his readers, and wonders how they will look and taste, once the literary table is fully spread before his guests. He looks with eager delight to its first appearance, as the provident housewife at the head of her table eyes her guests, and their keen relish of her dishes. Her dinner is a success. The dishes faultless, the appetites of the guests keen-all is right, save a few little mistakes. Bridget, in her nervous hurry, somehow mistook the salt-box for the sugarbowl. Instead of sugar, she put salt on the "corn-starch." The good housewife sees the guests casting strange looks about them. They pick at the dessert with a captious air. No one has the courage to "speak out." At length she makes the horrid discovery. Her eyes flash fire. Her pretty face is flushed. Her heart mps, and her snow-white apron jumps in sympathy with it. With " a please excuse me for a moment "to her guests, she withdraws to the kitchen. Alas, for poor Bridget! She is sorry enough for it. But her sorrow cannot assuage the agony of her otherwise kind mistress. Nothing will do, but a salty, peppery, allspicy tongue-lashing. There is no occasion for this ado. Surely there are an abundance of savory dishes to atone for the salted corn-starch. Plenty to eat without that. So it is, without doubt. Still this salt in the wrong place, however needful and good in the right one, spoils the dear lady's pleasure. It is the fly in her

ointment.

After a

you seen

A letter, a word, a sentence, how good and needful is each in its place. Out of its place, what a horror. Put yourself in one's place. You have been out all this cold morning, burying the dead, engaged in the sad duty of comforting those that mourn. dinner healthfully relished, you find the March number of the GUARDIAN among your mail matter. How glad you are for it just then. Its reading will be better than a cigar or glass of brandy to those, who relish such an after dinner luxury. Leisurely your eyes skip from page to page, feeling that for mind and stomach it has a most soothing effect-indeed is a sort of Soothing Syrup. It is an easy entertainment. The most of the articles you have seen, some you have written, but none have printed in the GUARDIAN before. Not until now could you see how they look and read in type. In sooth, it is a pleasing editorial recreation. Your eye runs over the table of Contents. Then the articles. How natural to fall first on one's own production. Then and there a sentence strikes you differently from what it did when first written. One is not sufficiently clear, another not properly qualified. Your eye falls on a misprint. It is very natural that it should happen to the printer. But then it makes nonsense. Says just what you did not want to say. Alas, the whole edition has been printed and mailed. It is too late for correction or explanation. You are taken aback, without a remedy for your mortification. How some of your friends, and foes if you have any (and who has none ?), will laugh at your ignorance of grammar, punctuation, history, poetry, philosophy! You read on, and happen on a blunder still worse. An irascible man would swear. Of course you would not do that. Without intending it, you bring your clenched fist down on the study table with marked emphasis (which some would call a wooden oath). You seek relief by scratching your head, as if somehow the evil had a mysterious connection with that.

Along with the foregoing we give a few corrections in the March number. On page 84, we read in the couplet :

"Where friends no more torment."

What a power lies in a letter. did not wish to say, nor I either. the sense intended-"fiends."

"Friends" is just what the poet Leave the r out, and you have

The sentence at the foot of page 88, has a closing clause that belongs to the following paragraph. Linked to this part, by means of a comma, it is discordantly out of place. And two paragraphs before this, the word letter is used for latter, which refers to a certain allusion in the foregoing sentence. A "letter" we had none to give.

On page 94: Die Welt-Geschichte est das Welt Gericht. "Est" is good Latin, but poor German.

At this writing a manuscript lies by my side. Alas, I fear it gives a clue to this trouble. Closely written, interlined, overlined, and underlined, written in inverted lines at the top and bottom, abounding in erasures, alterations and amendments; some written with ink, some with a lead-pencil. Yet there is sense and savor beneath those blurred and blotted lines. But how natural, that the most careful printer should here and there get a letter or word wrong.

But to my friends, the printers and proof-reader, I hereby tender my grateful and affectionate regards. A set of men who can. decipher such hieroglyphics, deserve a recommendation to the Palestine Exploring Society. Who, so skilled in the unravelling of the ancient lore engraved on newly discovered Moabitic tablets, as those trained in the deciphering of such modern scrawls.

TWO GOSPEL FIELDS.

BY MARY.

Bethlehem! Soil ever green and fair! o'er thee there fell a flood of the Eternal Glory that brightens every field, and lane, and highway of time! Thy midnight silence was broken by a burst of holy song that re-echoes back from the loftiest peaks of earth, and resounds in the remotest caves of the ocean!

Thou tellest the weary heart how,

"The coral symphonies of heaven

Earth's Babel-tongues o'erpower;"

and in it will thy perfume forever linger, for it hath in itself a blissful counterpart of thy joy; when the heavenly messenger whispers to its inmost consciousness, "Fear not: for unto you is born a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord." Thy name shall never perish, for thou art a fitting representative of-LIFE.

Aceldama! Spot of deep darkness and horror! Not a star of heaven, not a torch from any earthly fireside can guide the traveler o'er thy bare hard clay. Traveler? Thou hast not one: all turn with shuddering from thee. Who can linger in contemplation around the dark, bloody spot that tells the end of Judas, the Betrayer? What bell could toll the knell, or what voice groan out the requiem of him, who found it in his heart to murder the King of Glory? May we shun, as we do thee, that of which thou art a fearful representative-Eternal Death.

Mercersburg, Pa.