Year: 1874

no mans advice touching the manner
of life he should pursue.


At the age of two-and-twenty Phil
ip Bartol came home from sea with
his mind made up that he would go to
sea no more, at least for the present.
Not as most youths study did Philip
Bartol study.


He did not cast about for the great
est sum Of present comforts and joys.


In the solitude3 of his chamber, at
an obscure tavern, he sat and ponder
ed. The mental picture he drew was
old age.


What kind of old age would helike
to arrive at? -N


That was the question in bis mind,
and after long and serious study he
concluded what he would like for the
surroundings of his advancing years,
and he also planned what he would do
toward the desired end.


And Philip Bartol went out and
bought him knapsack. into which he
placed change of clothing, and then,
in a stout, homely garb-such garb
as toilers wear-he was ready to set
forth.


Despite the bronze upon his skin
and the garb of toll that clothed him,
Philip was handsome man. He was
tall and strong, full and perfect in
every manly point, erect and firm, with
magnificent head upon his broad
shoulders, and a face in which the
dauntless light of honor and courage
enhanced an otherwise classic beauty.


"Where now, Philip" asked a
friend who had observed his prepara-
tions.


"Into the country, Tom, in search of
home."


"a homer"


eyes, a home. That's what 1 am
going to try to find"


And on the next day Philip went
away. 1t was on an evening in June
that Philip Bartol arrived in the quiet
village Of Ashford, and here sought
for work. He found it upon the farm
of worthy man who was glad enough
to secure the services of so able and
honest an appearing laborer.


The farmer was q Mr.. Larrabe, and
deacon of the village church. His
dwelling was in the village, his broad
acres stretching away over the hills
and wales beyond.


Philip worked well, and as he work.
ed he sang. Saturday evening came,
and the church choir met at the dea-
cons house for practice.


Would not Philip join them?


Without pride Philip. felt that his
voice would be a help to them, and he
Joined them cheerfully.


A help indeed Such voice had
never been heard in Ashford before.
Heaven makes our native leaders, and
we recognize and adopt them. Philip
Bartol could not sing in that choir
and not lead it. OF course he sat
among the choir on the Sabbath and
thus he eaped at bound into the
good graces of the honest people Of
that country town.


On that Saturday evening, in the
deacon's parlor, Philip heard sound
that startled him. 1t was a female
voice, as clear as q flute and as soft
and sweet as the dulcimer of a mock
ing bird. In its lowest and highest
strains there was not harsh cadence.
1t was sweet and pure, and sweet and
pure only. Such voice is not only
attractive, but is an index to the in
ner being.


Philip looked at the owner of the
voice and he was not disappointed.
She was a girl just bursting into per-
feet womanhood, perhaps twenty years
of age, healthtul and glowing, her
form exactly such as Philip would
have chosen for his model of female
perfection. and her dress simple and
neat. Her face was sunlit scene of
loveliness-never SO happy as when
she was singing with her friends-and
the rich, brown ringlets foated down
over her shoulders, sweeping back
from her frank, handsome brow, with
not particle of ornamentation save
the wave and the gloss which nature
had given them.


At the first recess the deacon, who
had been an appreciative listener, in
troduced bis new acquisition to the
other singers, and thus Philip found
that the girl with the sweet voice and
sunny face was Clara Palmer, the
daughter of the village physician.
When they resumed their places for
singing again, Philip took place in
the center. These people were not en-
vious. They recognized the quality of
this new singer, and they sought at
once to make proper use of it.


And thus Philip Bartol found him
self by the side of Clara Palmer.


Those of you who have sung in a