“How deep do you own into the earth?”

“Well, I never thought of that, but about half-way, I guess.”

“Well, my brother, I am asking you to help your neighbor China, who joins your line below.”

* * * * *

I have a friend with plenty of this world’s goods, and not a child.  When approached by the ladies of the Foreign Mission Society he said:  “I do not give to foreign missions; when you want anything for home missions I’ll help you.”  Perhaps he would; but many of that class are represented by a colored man of whom I heard a Methodist bishop tell.  He said to a friend:  “Dat wife of mine is got money on de brain; it’s money, money all the time.  I can’t go whar she is, but she’s axing me for money.  She’s jest sho’ly gwine to run me to the lunatic ’sylum ef she don’t quit her beggin’ me for money.”

The friend asked:  “What does she do with so much money?”

The colored brother hesitated a minute, and said:  “She don’t do nuffin wid it, caze I ain’t never give her none yet.”

* * * * *

My friend who opposes foreign missions said:  “So much you give never gets there.”  Yes; and so many seed the farmer puts into the ground never grow, and so the farmer says,

  “Put five grains in every hill: 
  One for the cut-worm, one for the crow,
  One to blight, and two to grow.”

And you cannot tell which will grow.  A weed grew by the wayside in the old world.  All it did was to furnish seed for the wind, and worry for the farmer.  But one blustering day, the wind carried a seed from the wayside weed into a florist’s garden; it sprouted, rooted and bloomed.  The gardener was impressed by the beautiful coloring of the blossom, so he nurtured, transplanted and cultivated it into a beautiful flower.  It was from this bush, once a weed, Queen Victoria selected the flower she carried when she entered the Crystal Palace to meet the world’s representatives.

When Delia Laughlin went astray, her father drove her from his door.  She was of that temperament that must either go to the heights or to the depths, and to the depths she went.  Down the rapids of a sinful life her steps were swift.  Along the Bowery she made her way to Five Points, where thieves and drunkards dwelt.  It was said she could drink deeper, curse louder, and fight fiercer than any inmate of the most wicked spot in New York City.  Mrs. Whittemore went one day on her mission of mercy through the slums.  She sought some one to accompany her who knew the deepest haunts of the wicked.  Delia Laughlin was recommended to her.  Mrs. Whittemore, with her Bible in one hand and a fragrant rose in the other, made her rounds.  She was deeply impressed with the intellect and culture, as well as the beauty of the wayward girl who had been her guide through the slums.  “Dear girl,” she said; “you are too bright and beautiful to be down here.  I wish you would come to see me at the Door of Hope Mission,” and slipping a coin and the white rose into the soiled fingers she said, “Good-bye.”