Two reasons these troublers in Israel assign for their ambitious course: The Ethiopian wife of Moses, and their claim to be leaders no less than her. Possibly she and the wife of Moses had been indulging in quarrels, to the great annoyance of her meek husband. She can tolerate her no longer. Her malicious feelings explode. It is probable that Miriam was the instigator of the trouble. Aaron was a good yet weak man, ill-fitted to be a leader. He lacked the necessary firmness and decision of character. He made a golden calf for the people to worship, simply because the masses clamored for it. (Exodus xxii. 19-26.) Thus in this case, too, his sister may have incited him to perpetrate a crime, which, had he been left alone, he would not have committed of his own accord. Hence not Aaron, but only Miriam was smitten with lep rosy. Thitherto, the rebellions among the Hebrews were confined to the less prominent families; now the evil has seized the chief group of the nation. There is need of a prompt rebuke before the contagion spreads A voice from the opening heavens commanded Moses, Aaron, and Miriam, to go to the tabernacle of the congregation. In the awful presence of God in the pillar of cloud, Aaron and Miriam were made to stand in the door of the tabernacle. How they must have trembled under the severe reproaches of the Almighty. "The man Moses was meek above all the men that were upon the face of the earth, who is faithful in all mine house. Wherefore then, were ye not afraid to speak against my servant Moses?" And as the cloud was lifted, and God departed, "behold Miriam became leprous, white as snow." Then Aaron interceded with Moses for his sister, and Moses cried unto the Lord for her. There stood the poor stricken woman, a few days ago so proud and aspiring, now an object of loathing, her skin covered with incurable sores. She had been the most prominent woman of the nation. She fell from a lofty position, and great was her fall. Her disease will exclude her from the camp for life. She will have to keep aloof from her nearest friends, from her own family. She cannot be a guest at her brothers' table. Should any attempt to come near her she will have to cry "unclean, unclean!" to keep them at a distance. And her lonely, loathsome condition will make her a monument of God's displeasure with her sin. It must have been the worst form of the disease. As such Moses refers to it (Deuteronomy xxiv. 9): "Remember what the Lord thy God did to Miriam by the way, after that ye were come out of Egypt." God, in tender mercy heard the prayer of Moses. Still she had to bewail her folly and her disease for seven days outside the camp. And those were the seven most sorrowful days she ever spent. Compared with these her early sorrow on account of her infant brother floating down the Nile eighty-two years before, was a trifle. "What days of meditation and repentance to the erring Miriam! Genius had been to her as beauty to the wives of the patriarchs, a dangerous gift-and on the dizzy eminence of Power she forgot her frailty, and the homage due to Jehovah." After this Miriam leads a quiet and doubtless a pious life. Thirty-six years later, in the thirty-eighth year of their wandering, the Hebrews came to the large desert of Zin, not far to the northwest of the gulf of Akaba. "And Miriam died there, and was buried there," about one hundred and twelve years of age. Eusebius says in the fourth century, that her sepulchre could be seen there at his time. Her penitence was sincere, and acceptable to God, and her restoration complete. By many ties and sacred recollections she had endeared herself to her wandering, weary nation. They strove to forget her fall, and fondly cherished the memory of her pious life. The brave help she rendered her baby brother on the banks of the Nile, and her song of praise at the Red Sea, were among the pleasant household stories with which Hebrew parents charmed their children, and beguiled the tedious days of leisure during their long and trying wanderings. And as they would see the aged, gray-bearded Moses and his still older sister, the girlhood of Miriam would be called up for the thousandth time. Thus the penitent sister receives the pardon and love of her injured brother, and of her brother's God. She regains the affection of her people. At the foot of a great moun tain they gently lay her to rest. And long thereafter was her grave a shrine whither pious Hebrew women of all lands resorted with tender affection, to perpetuate the memory of the first prophetess of their nation. Hans Christian Andersen. THE DANISH STORY-TELLER. Hans Christian Andersen, one of the line of men of genius, and founder of a school of literature for children, is known by his writings throughout Christendom, and by his presence, not only in Denmark, his native country, but in the literary, artistic, and court circles of France, Germany, England, and Italy, where his naivete and unaffected simplicity of affection have made him known and honored. He was born in Odense, Denmark, on the second of April, 1805, in the one room which his father and mother occupied, which served alike for house and shoemaker's shop; he left the town when he was fourteen, to seek his fortune, and in 1867 he was received in Odense, as the guest of the citizens; the houses were all illuminated, a banquet was given in his honor, and he was presented with the freedom of the city. In the sixty-two years that iie between those dates, and in the eight years since then, is the story of a life, full of varied lights and shades. His father was a young man of poetic mind, always hungering after a richer life than that spent in making shoes; his mother, a simple, superstitious, and affectionate woman. In their one room began his life, and his earliest recollections furnished him with scenes which afterwards he wove into his stories. garden, where she grew her vegetables. In my story of the 'Snow Queen' that garden still blooms." He grew into a tall, ungainly lad, as shy as a girl, and yet so simple-hearted that he was ready to confide to the utmost in any one who smiled on him. At a charity school, he learned just a little, but that little so carelessly that long afterwards he suffered for the lack of such common knowledge, even as how to spell. It was now, too, that he began to associate more with others, and, like his companions, to go through the Catechism, preparatory to confirmation. He tells a little story here of himself, which shows where “ The Red Shoes came from. "An old female tailor altered my deceased father's great-coat into a confirmation suit for me; never before had I worn so good a coat. I had also, for the first time, in my life, a pair of boots. My delight was extremely great; my only fear was that everybody would not see them, and, therefore, I drew them up over my trousers, and thus marched through the church. The boots creaked, and that inwardly pleased me; for thus the congregation would hear that they were new. My whole devotion was disturbed; I was aware of it, and it caused me a horrible pang of conscience that my thoughts should be as much with my new boots as with God. I prayed Him earnestly from my heart to forgive me, and then again I thought about my new boots." When he set out for Copenhagen, he had a little sum of money and his confirmation suit, and unbounded confidence in every one. He had an innocent way of going right up to people and asking for what he wanted. The theatre was to him the most beautiful place in the world, and he was ready to "Our little room," he says, "which do anything that would be in place was almost filled with the shoemaker's there-dance, sing, or act. So he went bench, the bed and my crib, was the to the manager, and asked for an enabode of my childhood; the walls, how-gagement. The manager looked at him, ever, were covered with pictures, and and said, "No, you are too thin for the over the work-bench was a cupboard theatre." containing books and songs; the little kitchen was full of shining plates and metal pans, and, by means of a ladder, it was possible to go out on the roof, where, in the gutters between our house and the neighbors', there stood a great chest filled with soil, my mother's sole "O," replied Andersen, "only engage me, with one hundred rix dollars banco salary, and I shall soon get fat!" But the manager gravely bade him go away, that only people of education could do anything at the theatre. The poor boy lived, one scarcely knows how, but he could not help attracting people's attention, he was so ingenuous, and at last a wise and good man, Councillor Collin, took him as his own son, and began to educate him. As Andersen now learned how to use his mind, all the odd fancies and make-beliefs which had kept him busy with mock theatres and puppets and dolls began to find expression in writing, and before he had finished his schooling, he was writing stories and dramas; and just before he passed his last examination, when he was twenty-four years old, he brought out a collection of poems, and one of his plays was acted at the theatre. Top and Ball," or "The Swineherd." Thorwaldsen, the famous sculptor, was a Dane, and was delighted with Andersen's stories. In his company he wrote "Ole Shut Eye;" and " "often," says Andersen, "in the twilight, when the family circle sat in the open garden parlor, Thorwaldsen would come softly behind me, and clapping me on the shoulder would ask,Shall we little ones hear any tales to-night?'" When he began writing his stories, he sought only to tell over again old legends of Denmark, which he had heard as a child; but as his interest increased he invented his stories, and soon every Christmas brought a new volume from him. I think one reason why he wrote these stories, which he did not publish till after he was known as the author of "The Improvisatore," was, that he was heartily tired of the per making of him, and wished to do something for those who could enjoy reading without forever explaining what they liked and what they did not like. For the first time he found himself in a wholly congenial circle; his quaintest fancies pleased and were not jeered at. Denmark is a little country, but an old nation inhabits it; and hence it is, in fact, that society there is something like a great family. Every one knows every one, and personal affairs get talked about, and a new author or artist or actor is at once taken in hand; peo-petual criticism which the people were ple not only talk about him, but talk to him, and criticise him, and tell him what he ought to do, and what he ought not to do. Society there, is a village tea-table of educated people. Andersen, who had come up from poverty, and was, besides, a young man ignorant of worldly wisdom, was badgered a good deal, and in the early days of his au- Andersen never married, and lived a thorship, had to struggle hard to main-rambling sort of life, sometimes in Cotain a position. But by degrees he commanded attention and respect; people began to see that he had gifts of an unusual character, and just the thing for which he was at first blamed-his naiveté and childishness-are now what the world recognizes as his good qualities in literature. From that time to this he has been writing stories-novels for older people such as "The Improvisatore," which is a picture of Italy, and "The Two Baronesses," "O. T.," and "Only a Fiddler," where the scenes are Danish. He is Danish to the core. The old legends of his ancient country, the wild sand-heaps of Jutland, the beech trees, the bright, quarrelsome city life, the fresh, frank hospitality, all get into his stories. But it is his little stories that have won him renown. They were something so new and so pleasing that they became at once general favorites with young and old, and in the theatres, instead of poetry, the actors would recite "The Constant Tin Soldier," "The penhagen, but quite as often traveling in Spain, Switzerland, Germany, France, Holland, England, Italy. He was a great favorite at various courts, and has had many honors from crowned heads, but his true distinction consists in the fact that every home was open to him, and the poor as well as the rich knew his kindly nature. He himself, in “The Story of my Life," relates a bright little scene. He was away from home, at Hamburg, we believe, and in company with Otto Speckter, the clever artist who has illustrated his stories, was setting out for the opera-house. 66 we came 6 "On our way," he says, to an elegant house. We must first go in here, dear friend,' said he; a wealthy family lives here, friends of mine, and friends of your stories; the children will be happy.' 'But the opera,' said I. Only for two minutes,' returned he; and drew me into the house, mentioned my name, and the circle of children collected around me. 'And now tell us a tale,' said he; only : writing has been a burden, and his letters have been very despondent in tone. It has been his fortune in this time to receive fresh evidence of the good-will and affection borne toward him by two continents; at home steps have been taken to erect a monument to his memory, a most unusual testimony in Den one.' I told one, and then hastened away to the theatre. "That was an extraordinary visit,' said I. 'An excellent one; one entirely out of the common way!' said he exultingly. Only think the children are full of Andersen and his stories; he suddenly makes his appearance amongst them, tells one of them himself, and then is gone! van-mark, where we think no writer has ished! That is of itself like a fairy tale to the children, that will remain vividly in their remembrance.' I myself was amused by it." These travels of Andersen's have borne fruit in many ways. They kept the poet's mind fresh and inquisitive, and furnished him with an inexhaustible fund of material; so that not only has he written sketches and whole volumes of travel, but has used the material as foundation and suggestion for his novels, dramas and stories. In the collected series of his writings there are volumes on "Spain and Portugal;" "The Poet's Bazaar," which is a narrative of travel chiefly in Italy, Greece and the Orient; "Pictures of Travel" in Sweden, the Hartz Mountains and Switzerland. And what a host of eminent men of letters he has seen and hitherto so been honored in his life-time. In America a mistaken report that he was in need, at once called out spontaneous sympathy and contributions of money, which he accepted out of consideration for the affection that prompted them, though he regretted the misunderstanding which had conveyed so false an impression. While he has never been rich, it was impossible that he should ever be poor, so warmly was he held in the affection of a wide circle of friends. Later still a more acceptable present of books was made by his American friends. He died August 4th, 1875, in Copenhagen, in his seventyfirst year, the friend of many children and lovers of good literature who never saw his face.-Atlantic Monthly. known! His autobiography, which Good and Bad Manners at Church. ended in the original edition in 1855, was continued for the American edition in 1867, and the translation made and published first in America under the title "The Story of my Life," is crowded with gossip and bright reminiscences of literateurs, artists, musicians and statesmen; in Scandinavia, Thorwaldsen, Oehlenschläger, Hertz, Ingemann, Fredrika Bremer, Jenny Lind, Björnson, Orsted and a host of others; in Germany, Mendelssohn, Goethe's family, Bettina, Heine, Tieck; in France, Victor Hugo, Lamartine, Rachel, Balzac, De Vigny; in England, Dickens, Jeffrey, the Howitts, Bunsens, Lady Blessington, the Palmerstons. Like a child, reaching out his hand to every kindhearted person he meets, this singularly gifted and affectionate nature, has made his name one which kindles the enthusiasm of young and old. For the past two or three years Andersen has suffered from ill health, which has so preyed upon his mind as to affect his disposition in the matter of writing, and only now and then has he taken his pen in his hand; even letter BY THE EDITOR. Do not talk loud and boisterously as you enter the church. It shows ill manners, and annoys the congregation. Do not gad about at this one's bonnet and that one's ribbons as you walk through the aisle to your pew, but look right before you, and walk slowly and devoutly to your place. Some people hurry to their pews as if every eye seeing them were a rain-storm, from which they tried their best quickly to escape without getting wet. Ill-bred young people sometimes come to church to meet or see some one. The moment they are inside the door their eyes flit to and fro in quest of the one they seek. After reaching their pew, they turn their faces hither and thither in the congregation, if need be even raising themselves a little in order to have a full view, to the great vexation and disgust of the flock. Occasionally you will come across extraor dinary cases of rudeness, where such persons will stalk out of church in the midst of the services, when they fail to find those for whose sakes they came. If you happen to reach the pew first, take a seat at the far end, so as not to block up the entrance. A very awkward and unkind habit some persons have, who plant themselves firmly at the opening, and compel all arriving later to wriggle and worm their way past them. If the deacon offers to take you to a seat follow him, and do not slip in elsewhere, leaving him walk to a seat for you, only to find that you have fooled him. "I will never offer to take that lady to a seat again," said a certain deacon to us, of the person who had treated him thus. Take your seat devoutly. Often are we solemnly impressed in seeing persons devoutly bending forward, with their heads on the pew-back before them, engaging in a short prayer. Either do this, or put your hand to your face, or bow your head, and perform this service. Do it in some visible, solemn way. The example will cheer and guide others, and be a blessing to yourself. The German Christians do it standing the men holding the hat before the face, the women bowing the head and bending forward, holding the hymn book, folded in a white handkerchief in their folded hands. Some Episcopalians and Methodists kneel during this prayer. Always bring your hymn book with you, or keep it in the pew. Turn to every hymn as it is sung, and join in the singing. Never speak to any one after you reach your pew. The faintest whisper is heard all over the church, and seriouly annoys both pastor and people. Not even before the pastor comes should persons thus engage in conversation. It is a sin and a shame so to do. "The Lord is in His holy temple, let all the earth keep silence before Him." 333 Do not frown at the deacons when they Listen attentively to the sermon. Try your best to remember the text and the main divisions. Do not lazily lean back in some pew-corner, with your head propped up by your elbowed-arm, getting ready for a nap. Think what a figure you will cut before God and His people, your head dropping now on your breast, then threatening to fall down over your back, your mouth wide open, breathing heavily in a half snore! Beware of it. When a student at Marshall College, we boys were startled one Sunday morning by a sudden pause of President Nevin, in his sermon. Some young sprig took out his watch, the sharp snap of whose closing lid attracted the attention of the learned preacher. For a few moments he read the affrighted offender such a lesson on the impropriety of looking at one's watch during the sermon, that not only cursed him, but all the students of whatever weakness they may have had in this direction. Do not look at your watch during the sermon, nor Always assume a proper posture in turn your head around to look at the In the Reformed Church this clock in the rear of the church. It will prayer. is standing. Never keep your seat annoy all sensible, right-thinking peoduring prayer, except you are very fee-ple, and wound the feelings of the ble through sickness or old age. Al- preacher. When he hears you close the ways devoutly follow the prayer with your mind and heart, and join audibly in the Creed and the Lord's Prayer, where the whole congregation uses these audibly and in concert. Use hospitality towards strangers. lid of the watch-case, or sees you watching the clock, he can put only one construction on it, and that is: "I cannot interest the congregation. Some are impatiently wishing that I might close the sermon. Perhaps they wish to re |