Thon wilt remember me ! I see it in the gaze upon me beaming; I know it by the tears so swiftly streaming, And for this harsh decree, O best beloved! I will upbraid thee never; I go, I go, the dream of hope is o'er! THE FOLDED HANDS.* Some hundreds of years ago in the quaint old city of Nuremberg there lived two boys, Franz Kuigstein and Albrecht Durer. They wanted to be artists, and entered Michael Nohlgemuth's studio for instruction. The parents of both were poor, and worked hard to provide for the boys till they should be able to care for themselves. Both boys were industrious and frugal and affectionate, but Albrecht possessed genius, while Franz had only an intense love for his art. Shadowy visions of beautiful pictures haunted him, but his was neither the hand nor the brain to realize them on canvas. Years passed, and still the two friends hoped and toiled on; one went to Italy, the other continued his studies in Germany. Franz married, and by and by Albrecht did the same. Their parents died, and times were hard and art was dull. Gradually some measure of success came to Albrecht, and he shared his earnings with Franz, and still they worked and hoped on. So time went by, till one day they planned together to make an etching of the Passion of our Lord. When they came to compare their work, the drawing of Franz was cold and lifeless, while Albrecht's was instinct with beauty and pathos. Franz himself saw the truth then. He *Albrecht Durer's drawing of "The Praying Hands," is in the museum at Vienna. had reached middle age, and he knew that his work so far had been a failure. He felt now how vain was his hope of success, because, as he at last realized, the artist soul had not been born in him. It was as if he had spent all these years in standing on a housetop trying to reach the stars. But he did not murmur, only for one passionate moment he buried his face in his hands. Then he said in a voice broken and sad, but still full of manly courage:-"The good Lord gave me no such gift as this of yours, but something he yet has for me to do,-—some homely duty is somewhere waiting for me. So long have I been blind, and I have lost much time. now, be you the artist of Nuremberg, and I-" But "Still, Franz! be quiet one moment!" cried Albrecht, seizing a paper from the table. Franz thought he was adding some finishing touch to the exquisite drawing, and waited patiently, standing with his hands twined and clasped together. Albrecht drew a few lines with a swift pencil; then he showed Franz the paper. "Why those are only my own hands;" Franz said, "for what-where did you get them?" And there was hardly need for an answer. "I took them as you stood making the sad surrender of your life so very bravely. And I said to myself, those hands that may never paint a picture can now most certainly make one. I have faith in those folded hands, my brother-friend. They will go to men's hearts in the days to come." And the words of Albrecht Durer were true. Into the world of love and duty has gone the story more touching and helpful in its simplicity than any comment on it could be. And over the artistic world has gone the picture, for "The Praying Hands," by Albrecht Durer, are but the hands of Franz Kuigstein, once folded in sweet, brave resignation as he gave up his heart's desire, and yet had faith that the Lord had some homely duty worth his doing. MATILDY GOES TO MEETIN'.-LOUIS EISENBEIS.* One Sunday mornin' years ago, along in May or June, The birds was singin', it seemed to me, a most bewitchin' chune. The lilacs, my! how sweet they smelled, and the apple blossoms, too; And the bees was hummin' gaily round 'mong flowers wet with dew, When Lizer come to the garden gate and says to me, says she, "Matildy, git your bonnet on and go to meetin' with me." I studied a bit, and then, says I, "Law sakes! I've nuthin' to wear: Them meetin' folks all look so nice, they'd hardly want me there. "My yaller dress is outer style, my green mantiller, too; My bonnit's faded sorter brown,-'twas pirty when 'twas new. And to go to meetin' these times, unless yer dressed in style They'll look at yer as if they thought the meetin'-house you'd spile." But, howsumever, I thought I'd wear just what I had, and go, For laws! thinks I, is meetin's made to wear good clothes fer show? If that's what takes the people there, what's we poor folks to do? And spose we go, I jest expect they'll put us in some back pew. Well, the bell had jest stopped ringin', an' we hardly teched the floor, When the sextant sort o' smiled and said, "Take that pew near the door." I looked at Lizer and she at me, we both felt kinder vexed, For I was a-gettin' deef and dum, and wouldn't heer the text. We took the seat; the organ played some high distractin' chune, But what it was, we couldn't tell, a bit mor'n the man in the moon; "The Church *By permission. Mr. Eisenbeis has contributed to this Series: Fair," "The Parson's Vacation," "The Deacon, Me and Him," "Christmas a Hundred Years to Come," "Joner and the Whale," and other popular recitations. Then the preacher rose, give out his tex; I whispered, "Lizer Jane, Jest tell me where that tex is found, I couldn't hear it plain." Says she, "I didn't hear a word, we're set so fur away, We might as well a'most stayed home, fer all we'll hear to-day." But anyhow the preacher read; he had his sermon writ; Says I to Lizer, by and by, “Law sakes! I wish he'd quit." At last he did, and then he read a great long list of news; When he was through Elizer said, “Tildy, that beats the Jews." Says I," I didn't hear a thing. What was he sayin' then?” Says she, “He said, to-morrow night, from six to half-past ten, "They'd have an 'apern sociable,' let everybody come; They were goin' to have a rite good time, an p'raps a little fun. On Tuesday night a Dr. Brown would lectur' (one of his best) On Love an' Courtship,' how it was done out in the growin' West. "Wednesday night, the usual time for conference and prayer, The preacher said, 'Let one and all be certain to be there; Instead of the prayer meetin', there'll be a juberlee of song; A first-class orkester'l be there, two hundred woices strong; "A regler band of music, with fiddles, horns and floots, Will jine the mighty korus, if the weather only suits; To git in, is fifty cents,-but a triflin' amount; It's to buy a big pipe organ; the melojun's no account.' "Then for Thursday night he said, 'Stead of havin' Bibie class, The young folk's Readin' Circle, have a treat for lad and lass. They will give a grand cantater-Cinderella's fairy taleAnd judgin' by the posters, there'll be no sich thing as fale.' "For Friday night he told 'em the lyceum would meet; And besides the speakin' pieces there'd be sumthin' good to eat." "Law sakes!" says I," Elizer, what denomination's this?" "Why" says she, "I think they call it Church of Undiluted Bliss." He didn't mention Saturday night, there 'peared to be nuthin' on hand; I s'pose they thought they'd jest about as much as they could stand; I thought so, too; in fact I said, "They's a pleggy lively set If they get through with all of that, and any's a-livin' yet." So, when the meetin' broke that day, we started for the door, And we run agin jest lots of folks we hadn't seen afore; They jammed and blocked the aisle up so we couldn't git out or in, And there wasn't one that shook our hand, an, said, "Do come agin." But I couldn't help a-laffin when I heerd what Tildy said, Fer she talked so awful loud they stared-my face turned scarlet red! Says she, "I've heerd Aunt Betsy talk of a sekt, the queerest yit, Who preach and pray and sing fer fun; I think this must be it." Well! we've tramped them solemn hills to-day to find a house of prayer, To git bilt up in livin' faith, for this world's wear and tear. "I've learned one thing," she said rite out, says she "Elizer Jane, I'll never jine this meetin'-house, unless I git insane." BUILDING.-SUSAN COOLidge. Souls are built as temples are,-- Soaring heavenward higher and higher, Nearest sun and nearest star. Souls are built as temples are,— Inch by inch in gradual rise Warring questions have their day, |