them a chance to welcome me, anyway," was the rejoinder. "I don't believe they are as cold as you think."
The next Sunday morning found the student waiting in the vestibule for an usher to show him a seat. All of them were busy at the time, and the young man waited—did not run out of the door—just waited until some one had had a fair chance to notice him. After a while he felt a little squeeze of his arm from somebody behind. He turned and was confronted by a rather stout gentleman of strong but kindly features. There was but one word of inquiry—"Stranger?" "Yes, sir," the young man replied. "Come with me to my seat." "Stranger" obeyed. Shortly after two ladies entered the same pew. Not a word was spoken until after the benediction. Then the stout gentleman uttered another interrogatory word, "Student?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "Come and take dinner with me." (Aside: "What's your name?") "This lady is my mother, and this, my sister. Here, let me introduce you to one of our elders, and here comes the pastor, Dr. Cox. Say, Mr. Shelly (a deacon), come over here; here's a new friend I have just found; we want him to get acquainted. Now, let's start for home." (On the way): "Sing?" "A little—not very much—just enough, I guess." "Come up to our mission Sunday school after dinner and help us, will you? I am superintendent." "Sure."
That day was the beginning of three years of happy acquaintance and helpful social intercourse with as cordial a congregation as ever assembled in any church.—H. H. Stiles, Christian Observer.
(1446)
HOSPITALITY IN OLD TIMES
The Rev. Asa Bullard tells this incident illustrating the hospitality expected of the parish minister in former days:
The clergyman's house, in those days, was
indeed regarded as the minister's tavern. It
was open to all clergymen. Now and then
a minister would be found who would call
on a perfect stranger for hospitality, giving
very strange reasons. One who had been
traveling in Maine called on a pastor of one
of the large churches in Massachusetts for
entertainment during the night; and he gave
as a reason for taking such liberty that "he
met his brother one day, as they both stopt
at the same trough to water their horses."
(Text.)—"Incidents in a Busy Life."
(1447)
Hospitals, The Utility of—See Charity, Logic of.
Hospitals, Walking—See Talking and
Sickness.
Host's Adaptation—See Tact.
House Bookkeeping—See Balance, A
Loose.
Housecleaning—See Dust and Violets.
Household, Head of the—See China
and America Compared.
HOUSE OF THE SOUL
This body is my house—it is not I;
Herein I sojourn till, in some far sky
I lease a fairer dwelling, built to last
Till all the carpentry of time is past.
—Unidentified.
(1448)
HOUSE, THE MORTAL
When John Quincy Adams was eighty
years old he met in the streets of Boston an
old friend, who shook his trembling hand,
and said:
"Good-morning! And how is John Quincy Adams to-day?"
"Thank you," was the ex-President's answer; "John Quincy Adams himself is well, sir; quite well, I thank you. But the house in which he lives at present is becoming dilapidated. It is tottering upon its foundation. Time and the seasons have nearly destroyed it. Its roof is pretty well worn out. Its walls are much shattered, and it trembles with every wind. The old tenement is becoming almost uninhabitable, and I think John Quincy Adams will have to move out of it soon; but he himself is quite well, sir; quite well."
It was not long afterward that he had his second and fatal stroke of paralysis.
"This is the last of earth," he said. "I am content." (Text.)
(1449)
Human Companionship Slighted—See Animals, Absurd Fondness for.
HUMAN FACTOR, THE
It is not on the fertility of the soil, it is
not on the mildness of the atmosphere, that
the prosperity of nations chiefly depends.
Slavery and superstition can make Campania
a land of beggars, and can change the plain
of Enna into a desert. Nor is it beyond the
power of human intelligence and energy, developed
by civil and spiritual freedom, to
