In Baltimore one Sunday morning, as the people were going to church, a telegraph-pole, large and strong and round, looking as stalwart as any other in the line, suddenly did a strange thing. It never would have been heard of except for that queer happening. Without any warning, like a great, strong man struck down by an unseen bullet, the pole groaned, and then, with a snapping, tearing, grinding sound, the upper portion fell to the street, leaving about twenty-five feet standing. The people looked on and wondered. A crowd soon gathered, marveling at what should have caused such a catastrophe. There was no hurricane, not even a brisk breeze, and surely not enough to sever such a pole as that, which had weathered so many storms. Just then a small boy began to climb the stump that was left, to investigate. When he reached the top, he found that right where the pole had broken was a scooped-out place where a pair of woodpeckers had cut out their nest, and there in the nest was a poor little woodpecker frightened half to death. Unnoticed, but steadily, stroke after stroke, the birds had dug their way back into the heart of the great, strong telegraph pole, until they had sapped its strength. Sometimes a man comes crashing down in the city. His outer life has seemed strong and round and respectable. People have believed in him and trusted him, but he suddenly comes down in his ruin. The whole world marvels at it; but after a little it is discovered that some secret sin had eaten into his heart, and the strength of the man's life was gone, tho he looked to the world as strong as ever. Look out for the secret sin!
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