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PERIOD I

FROM THE BIRTH OF CHRIST TO THE DEATH OF THE APOSTLE JOHN, A.D. 100.

HISTORY OF THE PLANTING AND GROWTH OF THE APOSTOLIC CHURCH.

THE ROMAN EMPIRE AT THE TIME OF THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. PAGE The boundaries of the Empire, 3 Its population, strength, and grandeur, ib. Its orators, poets, and philosophers, 5 The influence of Rome upon the provinces, ib. The languages most extensively spoken, 6 The moral condition of the Empire, ib. The influence of the philosophical sects--the Epicureans, the Stoics, the Academics, and Plato, 7 The influence of the current Polytheism, 9 The state of the Jews--the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes, ib. Preparations for a great Deliverer, and expectation of His appearance, 11

THE LIFE OF CHRIST.

The date of the Birth of Christ, 14 The place of His Birth, ib. The visit of the angel to the shepherds, 15 The visit of the Magi--the flight into Egypt--and the murder of the infants at Bethlehem, ib. The presentation in the Temple, 16 The infancy and boyhood of Jesus, 17 His baptism and entrance upon His public ministry, 18 His mysterious movements, 19 The remarkable blanks in the accounts given of Him in the Gospels, 20 His moral purity, 21 His doctrine and His mode of teaching, 22 His miracles, 23 The independence of His proceedings as a reformer, 25 The length of His ministry, 26 The Sanhedrim and Pontius Pilate, 27 The Death of Christ, and its significance, 28 His Resurrection, and His appearance afterwards only to His own followers, 29 His Ascension, 30 His extraordinary character, 31 SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE on the year of the Birth of Christ, 32

THE TWELVE AND THE SEVENTY.

THE PROGRESS OF THE GOSPEL FROM THE DEATH OF CHRIST TO THE DEATH OF THE APOSTLE JAMES, THE BROTHER OF JOHN.--A.D. 31 TO A.D. 44.

The successful preaching of the Apostles in Jerusalem, 52 The disciples have all things common, ib. The appointment of the deacons, 54 The Apostles refuse to obey the rulers of the Jews, 55 The date of the martyrdom of Stephen, ib. The gospel preached in Samaria, 56 The baptism of the Ethiopian eunuch, and of Cornelius the centurion, 57 The conversion of Saul, his character, position, and sufferings, 59 His visit to Jerusalem, and vision, 62 His ministry in Syria and Cilicia, 63 His appearance at Antioch, ib. Why the disciples were called Christians, 64 Paul and Barnabas sent from Antioch with relief to the poor saints in Judea, 65 The Apostles leave Jerusalem--why no successor appointed on the death of James the brother of John, 66 Why Paul taken up to Paradise, 68

THE ORDINATION OF PAUL AND BARNABAS; THEIR MISSIONARY TOUR IN ASIA MINOR; AND THE COUNCIL OF JERUSALEM.--A.D. 44 TO A.D. 51.

The grosbeak has a cousin smaller than himself and rarer, that is equally interesting, the American red crossbill. During the past two years a large number of these birds have spent the months of January and February in the park, and on account of their accessibility have furnished me many interesting notes. In general coloring they closely resemble the grosbeak, but they are scarcely two thirds its size. Their crossed bills, which furnish them their common name, are their most noticeable and interesting characteristic. It is a spectacle as pretty as it is curious to see one take the seeds from the cone of a fir tree. The hooked upper mandible serves to catch hold of and tear out the seed, while the lower one is a receptacle for it. With the red crossbill is sometimes seen the white species, which is much the rarer visitant of the two.

That these birds are forced to be gregarious, in order to protect themselves from hunger and cold, is well illustrated by the fact that the snowbirds and pine linnets occasionally swoop down upon us in flocks of two to three hundred. If one searches the wooded hills at some distance from the town, rarer species of owls and the like may be found with partridges, occasionally Canada jays, and during especially severe winters straggling Arctic birds. Indeed, one can hardly walk abroad without having his interest well repaid, and rare finds and new discoveries are of sufficient frequency to keep the observer enthusiastic. I think I was first attracted to these cold weather observations from selfish motives, for there was a great charm to me in walking through pathless fields of snow, and feeling, from the absence of human footprints, that no one else was seeing what I saw and enjoying what I enjoyed; and if a few days later I went over the same ground and found no tracks but my own, this pleasure was increased. There is something peculiarly fascinating in an interesting solitude.

A NEW YEAR'S LEGACY.

A NEW YEAR'S LEGACY.

JOHN H. BARTLETT.

"Now, Dan, you must try to do your best to-night. There will be heaps o' people at that speaking, and Squire Barnard's hall will be full, and I fear how you might be kind o' shakey when you see 'em all looking at yer, boy. But be brave and powerful smart to-night, Dan, and maybe, some day, somebody'll do ye a good turn, and ye might get a bit more learning." These were the words that broke the deep quietness of a strangely impressive hour in a home freighted with ill fortune and cursed by nearly every event. It was in the days of early American life when Puritan simplicity and colonial customs held society in a more natural state, and allowed the highest and lowest a more ready approach. But the home of Dan Kenashton, though decent, was the simplest of the simple, and the most unpretentious of the unpretending. And on that November evening long ago, when, in other home-circles the "husking bee," the evening kitchen party, and other ancestral pastimes told of pleasantly passing days, in this there lurked a legend of something wrong. The roughly hewn timbers which presented their ugly faces to the two inmates, in the two solitary rooms of this weird old cot seemed to speak curses on whomsoever was within. Even the dusty old motto, "God Bless Our Home," which hung over the crude board shelf, seemed to bear an ill-omened import. Beside it was a well kept picture, a battle scene. Brave men were defending a fortification, amid snow and sleet and fire and lead, against an insidious attack by the Muskigo tribe on New Year's eve. 'Neath the feet of those still contending lay the bleeding bodies of those who had fought their last. Did this have any special meaning in that home? If so, surely war is honorable, and to die in loyal defence leaves not a stigma upon one's posterity. An old flintlock musket stood in the corner. It had not the appearance of recent use; the hammer was rusty and flintless; the bayonet was blunt and rusty, too;--but there it stood as it had stood for years, becoming such a part of the house that Dan never wondered at its use nor questioned its origin. Hanging to it was an old canteen. They were certainly relics of war, but war was common in those days, and the sight of arms familiar. A few antique pieces of furniture and the old spinning-wheel completed the scene in this strange, scanty home.

Dan, in his honest, quiet way, replied to the simple, yet feeling, words of his mother, "Indeed I'll do all I can to win the prize, but it's little use, you know I hav'n't very good clothes to wear, and it 'pears to me that Deacon Ackley and Squire Barnard himself, and the other judges, don't like me very well, and besides, I haven't had any help until I spoke the piece to General Brockaway to-day."

"What, how did that happen, Dan?" asked the mother, startled with a sudden impulse of rage at the mention of that name.

"Well, I couldn't say how it was, exactly. He happened to hear that I was going to speak a war piece, and so he wanted to hear it. I thought it would be all right to recite it to him, and I did. He is writing a book on the old Indian wars. He said Mr. Kenashton, my father, was once a good soldier and fought under him at the battle of the Creek, that he remembered his face distinctly, and thought I had some of his marks."

"I warn you, my boy, to keep away from that old man. He's no friend of ours, Dan, nor was he a friend to your father. Friend! Oh, my God! were he not an enemy, less bitter would be my cup. But it's well you know not all, my boy."

"I don't exactly understand," replied Dan, "but I've wondered why we are not like other people, and why nobody cares to know us, but the old General wants to see that flint-lock and canteen, and says he intends to say something about them in his book, and so I told him I'd take them down to him to-morrow."

Like a lightning flash the whole past was mirrored in her mind. She never would believe him a traitor. Not for one moment. Fort Shelby may have been betrayed and the betrayer shot by his comrade captors, but he was not John Kenashton, nor is that his musket and canteen. They are the only signs of his guilt, and God knows they are not his. His name may have been on that canteen, but it was not his writing, not as I saw him write it. If General Brockaway had been a braver man himself, things would appear different. But of one thing I am sure, John Kenashton fell fighting bravely for what to him was most dear. Thus meditating to herself she passed the evening.

Dan had gone to the speaking. It was one of those old-time lyceum contests. The would-be literateurs of the vicinity had their organization, and on every Thursday evening during the colder months assembled to carry out programmes of a grave and stately nature, mostly on literary, political, and agricultural topics. The occasion on this November eve was the annual prize contest, open to all competitors, when the little surplus in the treasury, weekly reimbursed by a small collection to defray "incidental and other expenses," was devoted to prizes which were awarded at the grand declamatory competition. It was the great event of the year. Dan had competed time and time again since his small boyhood, and always without any recognition, although, did people dare to utter their own thoughts, they would call him the best speaker. He had the strong, clear articulation of an orator--calm, composed, yet forcible in utterance. The flash of his keen, black eye would have held any audience spell-bound, could it once forget the betrayer of Fort Shelby. Although he spoke better this time than ever before, and his pre?minence was more pronounced, his name was not read on the prize list. The reason was apparent. A few justice-loving people shrugged their shoulders, looked disapproval and cast sympathizing, if not almost admiring, glances at his strong, honest face. General Brockaway, proud of the results of his instruction, half wanted Dan to win, and even started to rise in his seat to interpose objections to the decisions rendered, but as quickly as cloud follows sunshine, evil impulse follows good, one thought another, he realized the risk of his prestige and settled back in his seat. The weekly lyceum was continued for years thereafter, but the last prize contest in Shelby town was over.

Two years had passed and all the citizens of Shale Valley were preparing to celebrate in a grand mass assembly on New Year's eve the twenty-fifth anniversary of the repulse of the Muskigos. This victory of the settlers, following closely upon the disastrous affair of Fort Shelby, practically prevented the complete annihilation of these settlements, and on this account New Year's had since been held as a kind of holy day in all Shale Valley. General Brockaway, the hero of many conflicts and the chief functionary of the vicinity, had been selected to deliver the oration on this great occasion.

For years he had been engaged, as his leisure hours would permit, in historical investigations, with special reference to the conflicts which were related to this anniversary; and his eloquent words, fired with the zest of experience in the events concerned, were freighted with new and startling facts. One paragraph of that memorable oration struck deep in every heart, and its verification revolutionized the sentiment of the whole region in one particular at least. It was this:--"I have a grave correction to make, a long continued injury to set right. John Kenashton, who fought by my side with dying heroism at the Creek battle, is not, as was supposed, the betrayer of Shelby Fort. He fell, fighting as he always fought, bravely and loyally, of which fact I have living and indisputable evidence." At this statement all were amazed. Old men shook their heads, the women looked volumes of doubt, and the young keenly bent their attention. A revelation, mingled with surprise, sadness, and joy, manifested itself in the countenance of the injured son, toward whom all eyes were turned instantly. The general's words were accepted as true, and the moral, Puritan sense of that people, realizing their long-continued injustice, was quick in making all possible reparation to the widow and son of the loyal soldier who, for a quarter century, had been branded as a traitor. The revulsion of feeling was so great that Dan soon became the most popular fellow in the Valley, and all were glad to congratulate him three years afterward, when, on New Year's eve, he had won the most charming belle in Shale Valley, and become the only heir to General Brockaway's large estate.

BY PROXY.

BY PROXY.

B. C. TAYLOR.

Harry St. Albans was good looking, that was conceded by all. His father was wealthy, and Harry was the especial admiration of all the young ladies. Whether from his ability to entertain, his good looks, or his father's wealth, no party or private theatrical of any account was a success without him as principal actor. At college he had been a member of the dramatic club, and taken one of the leading parts in "The Rivals."

The wonder of every one was, that Harry did not get married. There surely were several young ladies whom one in his circumstances might be proud of taking for a wife, but he stubbornly adhered to bachelorhood, and prospective mothers-in-law became more abashed as he obstinately resisted the charms of all the young ladies.

It was on the evening of the 30th day of December that Harry was at a party given in honor of Mrs. Slocum's friend. At first sight of her he was captivated; she was the belle of the season, they told him, and he did not doubt it. In every movement there was a charming grace, and the mellowest pair of blue eyes seemed to laugh at him all the time. Her words seemed like music to Harry's ears, with that rich, Italian accent which only a woman of great accomplishments possesses.

When he departed that evening, it was with the greatest reluctance that he left her side. And as he put on his coat and went out into the cold night, his mind still wandered back to a pair of blue eyes. In every window he seemed to see that pair of blue eyes watching him. What was the trouble? He, a confirmed bachelor, being so agitated by a pretty face and a pair of blue eyes.

Finally he reached his home, and now he was trying to forget the happenings of the evening. But those eyes still pursued him in his sleep. Upon awakening, he knew that it was all a dream; yet not all, for those eyes were a reality.

"Harry," said his father, "when you are in the city to-day I wish you would call on my old friend, Tom Harris, and give him my best wishes for his success. To-night is New Year's eve, and he is to open his new theatre, 'The Grand Royal,' and his daughter, who has lately returned from abroad, is to be the leading actress." Of course Harry would be only too glad to call on his father's old friend; and the first place he went, on his arrival in the city, was to the private office of "The Grand Royal."

"Henry St. Albans' son? Oh! yes, but you will excuse me for a moment. I have some urgent business with my leading actor. Please step into the office for a moment," replied Manager Harris, when Harry introduced himself.

The door was left ajar, and he could not very well help hearing the conversation. It seems that Oscar Redmond, who was one of the most promising actors of the day, had the failing of a great many actors, and would drink occasionally, yet seldom get intoxicated. That morning, however, he had been out with some of the boys, and as all wished to drink to his success, he had indulged rather too freely, and in such a condition he had come to the manager of "The Grand Royal" and demanded an exorbitant salary, above the amount specified in the contract. Mr. Harris refused, saying that he would rather close his theatre than submit to such an outrage, and Redmond left, declaring that he would not appear that night.

"Harry," began the manager as he returned, "did you"--"Yes, I heard every word, Mr. Harris; but perhaps I can aid you in some way."

"You?" "Yes, years ago when I was at college I was considered a good impersonator and quick to learn my part," said Harry, "and if you have no objection I will learn the lines this morning and rehearse with the company in the afternoon."

"But can you take this part?" said Mr. Harris, with a peculiar accent on the you. "I don't want to have a bad performance on the opening night, it will almost ruin my reputation."

"You can rely on me," said Harry, "I played just such a part in 'The Rivals' when at college, and my friends told me I would miss my calling unless I took the stage for my profession?"

"Harry, you're a brick!" said the manager, slapping him on the shoulder, "and if you succeed, I'll do anything in my power for you."

The rehearsal was gone through with successfully, all being present except the leading lady, who wished to save her strength for the evening performance.

The theatre was crowded, for Oscar Redmond was an excellent actor and a great favorite. Just before going on the stage, Harry was introduced to the leading actress. He was thunderstruck; it was the lady with the blue eyes.

Never did actor play with more enthusiasm and fervor, never was a love scene more realistic; for the time being Harry forgot he was reciting so many words, but he was pleading his own cause with a love that knew no bounds. If one had been watching Harry with an opera glass, as he knelt at the feet of the heroine, he could have seen him raise a dainty hand to his lips and kiss it. It was all that Harry wanted; for to him it meant that he had been accepted--not by the lady in the play, but by the girl whose blue eyes had won him the night before.

The audience was thunderous in its applause, and curtain calls were numerous. The next day Oscar Redmond, shamefaced yet curious, appeared at Mr. Harris's private office. The morning papers were lavish in their praise of the young actor, and he was anxious to learn the meaning of it. When he was told that his part had been taken so admirably by another, he made his first New Year's resolution, which he has never broken.

"And now, Mr. Harris," said Harry, "I ask, as the fulfilment of your promise of yesterday, the hand of the sweetest and best girl that ever lived, that of your daughter."

"But what of the young lady, Harry? Surely, she ought to be consulted first." "She has already accepted me," replied Harry, "it now remains with you."

"I am only too glad to give my consent," said Mr. Harris, and a moment later Harry was receiving congratulations from Oscar Redmond and a score of new made friends.

IN THE SHADOW OF SHEEP MOUNTAIN.

IN THE SHADOW OF SHEEP MOUNTAIN.

EDWIN O. GROVER.

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