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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E Early Conditions in America—See Poverty, Early, of United States. EARLY HABITS TELL The tree will not only lie as it falls, but it will also fall as it leans; that is, we shall go after what we are inclined to—is not that so?—which makes it all in all to us what the bent of our mind is. Twenty years ago there were two boys in my Sabbath-school class, bright, lively fellows, who interested me very much; only one of them made me sometimes feel anxious. I often found him out evenings in company with young rowdies. When I asked him how it happened, he used to say he was only out on an errand; the boys spoke to him, and he could not help speaking, he was sure. Perhaps that was so, still it made me uneasy. I once said to his mother: "Is not Willie out of nights too much?" "Willie out nights! Oh, no; Willie does not go out nights."
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The other boy, whose name was Arthur, I never met among the rowdies. His evenings, I am sure, were spent at home. I always found him studying his lessons, or reading with his sisters, or amusing himself at home. That was twenty years ago. Both boys had begun to show which way they were leaning, and how their tastes inclined them. Twenty years will show it plainer. The other day I heard of Willie. Somebody met him in Chicago. "What is he?" I asked. "A good-for-nothing, certainly, if not worse," was the answer; "a shabby, idle, drinking fellow, whom nobody wants to employ." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear it—sorry, but not surprized. I wonder where Arthur is!" "Arthur! Why, didn't you know, he has just been taken into partnership with that old firm with which he served his time? They could not spare him, so they had to take him in." "Good!" I said. "It is just what I should have expected. He learned right."—Young Folks.
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EARLY PROMISE
Two of the most celebrated historic rivers
are the Abana and Pharpar. These streams
begin their course under the most promising
auspices. Their source is in Lebanon. The
Abana, now called the Barada, is the pride
and joy of the plain below. It forces its
way from the declivity where it has its
cradle through a rocky barrier and spreads
out fan-like in seven streams over the plain.
"Everything lives whither the river cometh."
A meadow, in which the whole Oriental
world exults, holds in its lap Damascus, the
most beautiful garden city in the world. Its
many minarets and domes tower up above
the countless bowers in the courts of the
old houses. Abana still as ever sustains this
fruitfulness and splendor. But only a few
miles from its source its waters are exhausted,
for the desert swallows it, and the
Pharpar also. Both die, forming great
swamps and evaporating.
So it is with many human beings
whose lives are for a few years efficient
and full of promise and even performance,
only very soon to flag and
fade and to fall into utter desuetude.
(Text.)
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See Great Men's Beginnings.
