It is "snow bound," and can go neither forward nor backward. It snorts and puffs and blows, but it is no go. The snow has bound it fast; it is a prisoner. So silently gathers around one's footsteps, imperceptible influences for good or evil. Only by watching closely the pathway can we know whither they are leading us.

TRIFLES LITTLE THINGS.

Trifles, lighter than air turn the scales for weal or woe, deciding the destinies of nations and of individuals. The greatest events in the world's history turn on the smallest pivot. There are no such things as little things or little moments, when weighed in the scales of the mighty possibilities. The briefest point of time marked by the ticking of the clock, is fraught with momentous consequences, and there is often crowded into one of those almost inconceivable spaces of time the greatest events of the world's history. It is but yes or no that sheaths the sword or draws it, to deluge the world in blood. It was but the falling of a tear drop that made Washington the father of his country, the first president of the United States. It is but the moving of a lever a few inches that saves a train from a plunge into the abyss. It is on the breaking of a hair spring in a conductor's watch and two minutes silence, and two crowded express trains, under fearful headway, come together; an awful wreck results; the wounded, and the dying, fill the air with their wails of pain and anguish. Upon the breaking of so small a thing as a hair spring of a watch the effect is felt around the world. Tears and sorrow darken scores of happy homes, mourning for the loved ones who are never to return; happy families are scattered to meet no more, and tender feet must travel life's rough journey alone in sorrow's darkening pathway.

THE CHICAGO FIRE.

The morning after the great fire that laid Chicago in ashes, we walked amid the ruins of palatial residences, elegant churches, stately hotels, and the great blocks of the merchant princes, viewing the desolation. Here and there a tall column or chimney stood in solemn silence, monuments of departed glory and blasted hopes. Streets were blocked and made impassable by the debris. It baffles all description, the utter desolation and ruin that reigned supreme.

At night the scene changed. The blackness and darkness was lighted like as by ten thousand camp fires, blazing from ten thousand cellars, from coal that had been laid in for winter; while on the wharves acres of anthracite coal was one living mass of fire, casting a wierd and ghostly glare that was hideous to behold. This terrible calamity, the burning up of 2,100 acres of costly business blocks and happy homes, all came from the burning of a little cowstable, fired by a cow kicking over a lamp. One little match not larger than a pin head lighted the lamp. Several hundred million dollars worth of property were consumed; many lives were lost in the conflagration, and hundreds died from the terrible ordeal they passed through. Thousands of happy homes were broken up and ruined. Business men, men who had made their fortunes and retired to spend their days in quiet enjoyment of delightful homes, were ruined, made penniless, and dependent on charity for bread and shelter. Broken-hearted some became insane, others committed suicide. This awful calamity, the result of firing a single match! Whisky lighted the match. Friends from the old country must be entertained; a milk punch must be made, and Mother O'Leary's cow must furnish the milk; and the cow was waited upon. New hands attempted to do the milking, the cow objected, and let her heels fly, and the lamp is broken. A match, a stroke of the hand, so little a thing, a flash and it is done. What possibilities are crowded into a single beat of the pendulum.

A CITY DESTROYED.

Many years ago, a dyke was built on the coast of Holland to keep out the sea from the low lands, which became the homes of happy families and industrious farmers. A city was built. Everybody dwelt apparently in perfect security. Suddenly the dyke gave way, and the sea rolled in upon the farmers, quickly swallowing up their lands and homes. The waves rolled against the city. Great blocks of buildings went down before their resistless fury. Every succeeding wave rose higher and higher, accumulating greater power, as they rolled on. What one-half hour before were beautiful fields of waving grain, and happy homes, the thronged streets and crowded market places of a great city, became the home of the sea. The noise and bustle of the city was hushed into silence. As the great

waves rolled on in their grandeur, they chanted a requiem over the dead buried beneath their waves, in the deep diapason notes of old ocean. The low, sad wail of woe was wafted landward, over hill and dale and the dark mantle of mourning was seen everywhere in Holland. For a century tears ceased not to fall over buried hopes and bright anticipations, for a morrow that came not. And why this awful calamity? A little animal, a muskrat, digs a little hole in the dyke and the water follows it and trickles through the dyke. A handful of clay would have closed it up. It increases in size by the wear of the water. Nobody is alarmed. No attention is paid to it. Bye-and-bye the tide rolls in; the dyke yields to the pressure, and the little hole of the muskrat becomes an immense gateway to let the floods in upon the careless inhabitants. Too late they awake from their sleepy lethargy.

It was but a little thing that opened the way for the sea. It is but a little thing that turns a young man from the right to the wrong. It is but a little word, a little deed, at the right or wrong time, that leads on to momentous results for good or evil. The great scales turn on a very small pivot, great events hinge upon the tick of the watch, the swing of the pendulum.

FOURTH OF JULY TIME.

The city of Portland, Maine, was visited by a most disastrous fire on one fourth of July A little boy lights a fire-cracker, gives it a "send off," and it falls upon a roof of a house. The wind fans it into a blaze; it burns the house; the wind drives the sparks to adjoining houses, setting them on fire. The wind increases and sweeps the fire along furiously; it leaps from house to house from street to street until a great portion of the city is in ashes. The glorious fourth ends in a night of sadness, of sorrow, of desolation and death. Hundreds of happy homes and happy families are ruined, all to gratify the sport and fun of a little boy with a fire-cracker. The effect of that little boy's fun was felt that day, to-day, and will be felt for all time. It killed the brightest hopes of thousands, took from them their property, their all. Happy families were broken up, some of the members carried to their last resting places; others were left to linger in pain and sorrow, while some became insane and went to the insane asylum, raving maniacs, and some committed

suicide. One little act of one little boy with one little fire-cracker and one little match, set in motion a train of events, the results of which will never cease-never end. What are trifles when weighed in the scales of mighty possibilities? The least divergence of a millionth part of an inch at the outset.

A worm is a trifle compared to a lion or a whale, yet it has sunk many a ship with its little auger. The little insect that builds the coral reefs on the bottom of the ocean is possessed of but little physical strength, yet it works on until it forms a sea wall, over which the great ships cannot sail; and many have been lost by running upon them.

A lame man was walking in Pittsburgh one day when the walks were slippery, and he fell and his hat rolled along the sidewalk. A boy came along and gave it a kick, sending it out into the street. Another boy came along, helped the poor man up, picked up his hat, and assisted him to his hotel. He asked the boy his name, and thanked him for his kindness and assistance. One day about a month after, there came a draft for the boy who didn't kick the lame man's hat, for one thousand dollars. It was a little thing, but it paid.

It has been calculated that if a single grain of wheat produces fifty grains in one year's growth, and these and succeeding crops be counted, and yield proportionately, the produce of the twelfth year would suffice to supply all the inhabitants of the earth for a life. time; in twelve years the single grain will have multiplied itself 244,140,625,000,000 times.

DISCOVERY OF STEAM.

About one hundred and thirty years ago a little boy came in from play and sat down on a bench in the chimney corner of his mother's kitchen, "tired and hungry." While waiting and watching his mother prepare the supper, his attention was attracted to the singing of the tea kettle, which hung on the crane over the fire in the old-fashioned fire-place. Soon the water within was boiling, and hot steam poured out of the nose of the kettle. As the water became hotter, faster it generated into steam, faster than it could escape out of the nose, and it forced up the lid and kept it dancing to the music of the escaping vapor as it rose and fell. Soon the supper

was ready, and the family excepting the little boy were seated at the table and had commenced eating.

Several times the mother had called her little boy to ". come to supper, Jimmy," but Jimmy did not come, and she wondered why that boy didn't come to his supper, when he was so tired and hungry. Quietly she left the table, and stepped to the kitchen door, which was standing ajar, and looked in to see what "that boy was up to." He was still sitting on the bench watching the "steaming ket tle," and its "dancing lid," spell-bound. His young and inquisitive mind was trying to solve the reason why the tea kettle lid should keep "hopping up and down." He solved the mystery by discovering that it was from the power that was in the steam. He was the first one to "harness up" this new found power and bid it to "turn the wheel;" and from that day to this it has not refused to obey the order with alacrity.

So to that little boy, James Watt, sitting on a bench in the chimney corner, waiting for his supper, the world is indebted for the dis covery of the power there is in steam. And what a mighty power! What would become of the railroads, the steamships, and the ten thousand industries of the world of which steam is now the propelling power, should it cease to "turn the wheel," or fire and water should fail to generate steam? Every wheel, every shaft, every spindle now driven by steam, would come to a stand-still. The hum of the man. ufactories of the world would be hushed into silence. Millions of people would be thrown out of employment, millions would be driven to the wall, to starvation, to death. A greater calamity is hardly possible to conceive.

Steam not only affords employment to a host of people, but it is a great civilizer of nations; it is the world's best educator. Whereever goes the "steam wagon," goes along with it light and intelligence, dispelling the ignorance and superstition of the darker ages.

ELECTRICITY-ITS POWER.

Dr. Franklin sent up his little silk kite to the clouds, while a thunder storm was passing over the city of Philadelphia. A frail string held the kite under his control. He placed a door key on the string, and with that key he unlocked the doors to a new worldthe world of electricity-and left them unlocked. Dr. Morse was