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I, vVvCvV-'A'/v'/v'.-Nj/v^vf/v^fvi/rtf ; ' : <;; |j A FALLE I 1 \WmO\I MvliMM#<!aI/jjAjivj) Rv fr?D?h<; |||\J\M/\jMVvVAVvVW?vvnvwww _ . , CHAPTER XVII. 10 CoutlnueJ. "I tore it up," he said, curlly; and her face lightened. "You felt?and very properly-that you would not ho justified in accepting money for what you havedone?" "Not as you offered it." "Well, you decline it at all events, and?and I should not dream of hurting your feelings by offering it to you again; but of course T can't keep the portrait now." "It Ik mine again!" he cried. "Ah! If you had only said so at once!" 'T did not know then about the check," she said, with a deeper tint on her apple cheeks. "And I was angry?and quite rightly?then. But it is understood, then?the whole transaction is at an end? I keep the money, and the portiait is yours to destroy as soon as it conies back from Srosvenor. I don't wish?on calmer reflection, to perpetuate a work which can only damage your reputation in so many ways." "You are very considerate?if it comes a little late," he said. And the truth was that Mrs. Staniland had beeu blaming herselL' for some time for paying so large a sum without necessity. She had bought with it the right to revenge, but revenge is too perishable a commodity to seem long an equivalent for hard cash. Meanwhile Babcock was engaging thp rolonel. blissfully unaware that he had already inspired that officer with a secret hut cordial dislike. "Of course," he began, "you and I, as men of the world, know what to think of all this tomfoolery; but, unless you put your foot down pretty Grmly, I'm afraid, from all I've seen ~ to-day, that you daughter may, ah? allow herself to be impressed by it!" "You may leave that to me, sir," said the colonel, with a little movement of weak irritation, for he felt ao anxiety to put his foot down on Babcock's behalf, and yet he foresaw he might be obliged to do so. "You don't seem to understand, colonel," he said, "that, unless you are careful, you will have Sybil flinging herself away on that scoundrel over there; but perhaps that would not displease you?" "I should most certainly put a stop to anything of the kind," said the colonel coldly, "so you need give yourself no further trouble. But, as far as the young fellow himself is concerned, he seems to me a gentlemanly, nice young fellow enough. What have you got against him?" "I should have thought there was enough against him; and I don't see myself how all the occult haukypanky in the world can whitewash bim," said Babcock, waspishly. "I think I've some reason to bear a grudge against him, too. He deliberately ruined the best picture I ever painted, or ever shall paint." And he told again his oft-repeated story of the fakir and the British landscane. which it so hannened the colonel had not till then heard in all its bearings, and which, as Babcock told it, made things look very black against his rival. 'You're right," said the colouel at the end of it, with a feeling that this would at least strengthen his case against Campion; "that was a shabby thing to do?he's a dangerous fellow, and 1 must get rid oi him." He crossed to where Campion was standing with Mrs. Staniland, and addressed him with a marked change in his manner. "We have had some extraordinary statements this morn<ar." he began, "and we were required to accept them as excuses for your behavior. But there can be no excuse for the disgraceful way in which you have betrayed your friend Babcock?for he was your friend then; you have probably, he tells me, crippled his artistic career." "I can only say," said Campion, "that I did it in all innocence?if poor Nebelsen hasn't convinced you that some abnormal iuflueuce was over me, nothing I can say will. I offered to paint out the fakir as soon as 1 saw what I had done, but Babcock declined to let me touch it. And really, if he thought it was crippling his career, he would hardly let Seiditoff exhibit it by artificial light at a shilling a head!" "You didn't tell me that! ' said the colonel Babcock. "Don't see how it affects what no I did," replied Babcock, rather sulkily. "As 1 :.aid," Campion continued, "I've as little to do with any credit for the thing as for any blame, so fa;as intention goes?but he might sit off the one against the other, particularly as Sieditoff told me I without knowiug I had any part In it) he had bought the picture entirely for the eccentricity of the thing." "Well, I must say," said the colouel, "I think you might have mentioned it." And soon after this, Babcock, perceiving from the colonels manner that he had over-reached himself, withdrew, without evcu having the courage to try to conciliale Sybil, as he had promised himself he would do before he left. "Well, X r. Campion," said the co.ouel, "1 won't say?I can't say, that avc may not have been iod to misunderstand you in some respects. 1 don't mini' admitting that, whatever may be said about?er, well, any alleged supernatural incident?, 1 can'', take upon myself to consider you very greatly to blame in all this." "For my part," said Mrs. Stani land, "my opinion has nut altered i.i I tho Ijast?nor will it, Hontrf!" Ah?precisely,' he said hastily. "I dlti't know ih;J iiiinc has?<>uly, well, after all, Hilary!" "What iuy 1 rot her i.i iryic^ tof say," interrupted Mrs. Sianiland. that, though he i-s willing f.? admit '.'acre tnaj be excuses for you ('iiouglj I confess i can't agree with him;, ^hat cauaot possibly affect liig objee N IDOI, v vf>\V '*>\J/nt/" vl> vIKt/ vV \t> \?> 0> j n A Mt-TCV V'/0'\!At/v(ivl/vl/vM/vtA'/vt/\J/wvt/ | L. AINoltY. vi;>l/^^vW/^AtA^jiJ/vlAt/\V lion to any engagement with Sybil? he is quite firm upon that, are you not, Horace?" "Quite firm?that is, well, you're not in a pcsition to marry, you know, are you?" said the colonci. "But if I were to be so some day?" lie hazarded eagerly. "We will consider that when the day comes," said Mrs. Staniland sharply. "At present you're not? and we must, decline to hear of it. 'Sufficient for the day'?and I do tnink there has been more than sufficient! We are going, Sybil." And tliey took her away from him, - " - J .. 4A and he was aione agaiu, rcuuwu w find such solace as he could in the memory of those last words and looks of hers. And now Campion was confronted with a fresh dilemma, this parting legacy of his ruthless tormentor. What was he to do about the cast that Perceval had lent him with so many cautions? That precious head of Cybele, which was now submerged, in the idol's stead, at the bottom of the Paddington Canal! There was no use in putting it off. He niuc., go to his friend at once and at the risk of displeasing him seriously tell him?well, as much of the truth as he was likely to believe. So he left the house with this laudable intention, which, however, an accident prevented him from putting into practice. On the way he passed a police station?not the one which had extended its hospitality to him on the night before ? and outside was a placard describing the discovery in the canal of a bag which struck him as being not unlike his own. And as he learned after inquiring inside, it was his own; it seemed that the solitary errand boy whose back was turned when Campion threw the bag over the bridge had been attracted by the splash, and, being a sharp youth, had instantly informed a policeman, with the result that the bag was recovered before its contents were in any way injured. Campion had to go through some unpleasant interviews before he could persuad? the officials to give him the bag; but he succeeded at length, and Perceval, when his Cybele was restored to him, never had the faintest suspicion that it had played Gilda to Campion's Rigoletto. Whether the idol's share in a series of disasters was or was not imaginary, it is certain and somewhat singular that its disappearance was coincident with the dawn of a happier state of things. The very next morning brought a telegram from Messrs. Moore, Bradshaw & Moore, avIio, it may be remembered, were the firm employed in propounding the will under which, had it only been unopposed, Campion would be entitled to a comfortable legacy. This telegram announced that (probably from 6ome unexpected weakness in the disputant's case) the opposition had suddenly collapsed, and submitted an agreement under which all imputations were to be withdrawn on certain terms, and the will admitted to probate; and thas Campion found that the legacy which he had long since given up as hopeless was actually to be his without further dispute or possibility of failure. It need not be caid he lost no time in writing to the colonel, and when Eabcock heard o^ this, and perceived decided symptoms of wavering on the father's part, he was roused to make one last effort for what even he was beginning to see was a decidedly forlorn hop";. His plan was simple, and a development in fact of the experiment in his own studio. The colonel was to he woiked up to pay a visit tc the Grosvenor and see for himself how shamefully his daughter had been held up to public ridicule. If that did not put a spoke in hie rival's wheels, Bibcock thought, it must rcll on triiruphunt. Mrs. Staniland, still an uncompromising ally of his, had no difficulty in bringing her brother to further the scheme, and accordingly on the Monday after the scene in Campion's studio the colonel casually announced at lunch that he thought .f going to the Grosver.or that afternoon?wouid Sybil come with hiui? Mrs Staniland interposed?Syb'.'. was not strong enough to bear such a trial again. Dear Horace must not think of taking her; she herself would accompany him instead. For the moment Sybil was willing enough to be excused. But the thought that she might show her trust in her lover by going nerved lier to face that portrait once more. It was not his work, and s'le would toil them so as they stood before it. She would not fail in her loyalty to Ronald, tiie more so as she suspected the source from which the proposition originally came. C/a mi AT/mim'i v off/arnonn fnr the first time since that eventful Saturday, she entered the Gallery?this time with a mind prepared for what she was to see tlier?. "You know, papa, dear," she said, as they went upstairs, "painters sew people so difforontiy, and?and oil! if you find something you don't like in it, remember Ronald was painting the idol, too!"' "Pshaw!" said the colonel, whose mind had quite r??ained Ks usual strength. "Where is this thing, eh, Sybil? I'll tell you what I think when I see it." Mrs. Stan Hand declined to enter ii 1 East Gallery, and she sat down tc waif in (ho larger room. So Sybil went Willi nor father alone: sho wished licralf wel! over the next fiv*- minutes? would jioople star? Jiiul riiuilf (hoy luul (ion.* I hat oilier lime.' J'.ii! now ilia* ."'lie knew, or r.Oc.' iVi'. thai Ilonal-.I i vj no part in thi.-f, J'or his sake she y/oubear it all- sIk- y.'ouJd uirikc* *jt?Mises. persuade tlu> ".olouei. if she "oald, that tUe picture rathei flattered her tbnn otherwise?anything hut seem to join, even by implication, in the cry against her poor, persecuted Ronald. The Gallery was not, of course, as full as when she had last seen it: still there was a fair attendance, and ah!?again there was a knot of people before her portrait! She turned faint for the moment?she felt as if she could not face it. "Duf <-im woe Virove nnrl steeled her self to go on. Once more the glass in front of the canvas baffled them for a time and then her courage failed hsr ?she shut her eyes. "Well," her father was saying, "I don't call that, such a bad likeness; I call it an uncommon good likeness, by Jove! what did your aunt mean?" Sybil ventured to open her eyas again. What wonderful thing was this which happened? The idol was gone out Of the canvas; on the dragon pedestal lay a spray of white azaleas, and she herself?oh! could she be as lovely as that! For the pictured face had the bloom of youth and health; the cold malignity had died out of the eyes', and left only a subdued amusement; the expression, with all its animation and witchery, spoke of nothing that was not womanly, and tender, and true. As Sybil stood there, trying to realize what had happened, aud what 1 **- ?* ? A ? I* ? ? Cfor\ilnn^ TO. 11 mignt meciu, mi o. uiounuuu joined them. "Horace," she said, "what <V you think I just happened to overhear? You know the Dorados? American millionaire?daughter goinc to marrj Lord Udimore?oh, don't be sc stupid, you must have heard of them At any rate, you have now! Well, they were sitting next to me in the oilier room, and I actually heard them?they spoke so Joud?arranging that Miss Dorado's portrail should be painted on her marriage? by whom do you think? Positivelj by Mr. Ronald Campion! Why, il may mako his fortuue, and yet on* would think, they must have seen? why, what, who is this?" "It's Ronald's idea of me," saic Sybil, demurely?"as I appear without my idol." "Good gracious!" was all that Mrs Stan-iland felt equal to remarking foi the moment, but presently she said tc the colonel in a very awed and serious tone, "Horace, I have always felt that there may be occurrences we, witt our limited knowledge, cannot expeel to understand. I assure you when ] last saw this picture?and now, as soon as the actual idol is destroyed the portrait is everything it ought t? be! If you see no significance ir that, I am sorry for you! You have treated that young man very badly Horace, and I think it right to tel you so plainly." But the reason of the alteratior which had worked such a reaction ir Mrs. Staniland's feelings was, ir point of fact, a perfectly simple anc straightforward one. Now that the picture was his onc( more, Campion could retouch ii as h< pleased, and, by bringing special in fluence to bear, had obtained the nec essary permission, and, accordingly the day before, when the gallery was closed even to Sunday parties, hac spent some happy hours in restorinj the canvas to its original condition. And now, on this Monday after noon, the fancy seized him to go anc see how the rehabilitated portrail looked, and it chanced that, at th< moment the colonel was trying to ad< just his views to meet his sister'i sudden change of front, he saw Cam pion himself enter the gallery. They had withdrawn some distance from Sybil, and her back was turned to them all three. Mrs. Staniland mads a signal that he was t( approach, and he went up with ai: anxious heart. 44 * 1 ^ ' ivio ?c?nr -*"l III l lU jiayc in j auouci i ^ . he said. "Why?you see," began the col onel, who had not had time to lean his lesson yet, and boggled helpless 1/, "you see, Mr. Campion?" "Nonsense, Horace! you had bet ter leave this to me," said Mrs. Scani , land. "Now, Mr. Ronald Campion, il you're so very anxious to have yoai answer at once, the best advice I car give you is to go over there, and ast Sybil yourself foi it!" And he went; and the answer thai awaited hir being a foregoue conclu sion, it is only necessary to add thai the tale of Campion's misfortunes ended almost where it began, with a: small prospect of ever being resumed as his sincerest well-wishers coulc' desire for him. (The End.) Considerate Bridegroom. A Brlleville girl and a young man both of whom had steady jobs, wen married the other day. The day af< ter they were married the girl said tc her fond husband: "Oh! George? now that we are married there is onlj one thing I regret and that is that ] , have to give up my fine position.' The fond young husband stroked the [ silken tresses of the young wifey's hair, and soothingly repiied: "Now darling, don't worry. You needn'i give up your position. I'll give ui mine."?Kansas City Star. Gulls as Barometers. | "Every city has a number of nat ura! barometers," said the man whc , haunts the river front. "New York'f Kovt reliable barometer is the se? , g:ilis. When they fly above the rivei so thick you can't throw a handfu of pebbles into the water without hit tins hs many gulls as there are peb' bie.-\ >ou may make up your mine that it is going to rain within a few hours. When the gulls turn tail ant fly ocoanward it is safe to count 01 fair weather till they come thick.' ?New York Press. ' CannI Zone lias r>0,0Ul) Inhabitants The department under Senatoi Rlackburn has just completed a cen *..w. Af o-inol -//Mia Thft tnhnlfltinr is not complete J, but the result show; ' nearly 50,000 persons, including An con and Cristobal. About twenty pei cent, of the total are white. WIvite House (i'old Plate. 1 lie fact iliat the White House is equipped Willi a service of solid gold plate for use on slate occasions is nol nlkari about loo loudly, a? it seems, .somehow, to j;*.r on deim.'jralic sira* | pUcity.?Washington Herald. \\ Household /*|J I Matters. I "O1.. .Jf 'Six _ ! *r^S^% -MSSe?85 V . Luncheon Dish. i Pare four large, firm cucumbt-rs, ; ; rut lengthwise, and place in cold, j j salted water for an hour. Stew in a i I shallow stewpan in clear, boilirg j I water until transparent. Lift care- j ' | fully, *so as not to break or make J1 nnissy, and lay each piece on a slicrf ' ! ! c) brown, buttered toast. Make a i j i sauce or dressing of milk and butter 1 I with a little cornstarch; pour over j * j and serve hot.?New York World. ! j Cheese Omelet. j American cheese is an addition and : a change to the plain luncheon ome- J let. Make the omelet in the usual i '< way, beating the yolks and whites of , , I the eggs together; add a tablespoon- !, 1 ful of milk for every egg, a little salt | j and pepper, and cook until the bot- I' torn of the omelet is brown and the ; centrf rare. Then sprinkle it gener- j | i ously with grated cheese, fold, and I , remove from the pan to a hot plate j j and garnish with parsley. The omelet j should be eaten immediately.?New I ? York Evening Post. ! J Mutton With Oysters. j Bone a leg of mutton the day be- i 1 fore it is to ba cooked and rub a j ] handful of salt all over it. Next I, ' day wipe off the pickle and sprinkle ! with pepper. Lay on a layer of oys- j ( ' ters with a handful of buttered i | ' I crumbs, tie up neatly and put it into j 1 a saucepan with enough water to , 1 prevent burning, with an onion and J a few peppercorns, and stew gently with the lid on, turning frequently , until tender. Allow about twenty j minutes to the pound after the water ! ( ' boils. For sauce, blend a tablespoon of butter and another of flour to! gether, add a cupful of the gravy and half a pint of oysters.?New York ! World. 1 | i Ann's Potato Rolls. ; 1 I Boil two potatoes in a bright, clean saucepan, so the water in which they ! ( are boiled wil! not turn black. When j j soft and mealy drain, saving the wa- , j ter. Mash the potatoes fine and j ! creamy, add to them a teaspoonful; . shortening, a level teaspoonful salt, : I a teaspoonful or more of sugar, a ! , pint scalded milk, a pint of the water J in whiih the po'tatoes were boiled aud ' J a compressed jeast cake dissolved in four .tablespoonfuls water. Now add , about a pint and a half good bread flour that liao been sifted and beat j j thoroughly. Cover lightly and stand in warm place for two hours or until light. Add enough more flour to inaxe a | 1 feoft dough and knead lightly until | I the mixture loses its stickiness and j I becomes t^oit ard velvety. Put back j ( I in a bow?, grease the top lightly with j ; i butter, lard or drippings, so that :io ! : j crust will be formed, and set out of j I the draught.. When doubled in bulk j ' | (and tt will take about an hour aud I it IJLUL U1 IIYU IIUULS VU ....wv~. . | crack) knead into a round ball, then I t ! cut into long strips about as large ' around as a rolling pin. From these strips pinch off dough j ! by tablespoonfuls, making tiny rolls. ; I ! Grease these lightly over the top j ) j with melted butter, then fold over so i that the greased surface corner to the J j middle, letting the edges come almost ! together. As they rise they naturally j open a little, and if folded only half ! way over they are apt to open too far. j | i Put into a dripping pan about an inch I apart and set in a cool place for about ' . ] an hour to rise or until raised half J I their bulk. j I Put into a quick oven for about , I fifteen minutes, whence they will emerge brown, fragrant and crusty | outside, but delicate aud tender in ( the centre.?Washington Star. i ! WSEHQLD^g^ | i HINTS I , , A little whiting put on a damp . cloth will clean paint easily and well. ' Hams which are packed in pulver- I t ized charcoal will continue fresh for from five to ten years. I Mix one teaspoon corn starch with !! one cup salt for table use and it will j i never gather dampness. i ' If darning must be done in the ' ' evening it will be found much easier j if a light colored darning ball be | iicr>rf To remove the skins of cooked beets, let them lie a few minutes in ' cold water and the skins will slip off ' easily. ) If y^u will varnish your linoleum about every three months it will last , much longer thau without the coats I of varnish. To clcan your gilt picture frames > rub lightly with hot spirits of wine > or oil of turpentine and apply with small sponge. Use the liquid sparI iugly. ' Nails used in bathrooms and kitchi mhuh rfomn r-infhs and towels ! ' ens Ull UU1..,. may be hung should be dipped in enamel, so that they may cot leave rusty marks. ; Potato parings dried carcfully and : kept in a glass jar are handy things ' to start a fire. Also infinitely safer ' than coaxing a blaze with keroseue or the even more deadly gasoline. , I To keep insects from your cereal, I I empty it into a glass jar with a screw , top. Coffee and tea should be put I into air-tight receptacles, and olive , oil should be kept in a cool and dark . place. I A good idea in to sew a narrow white cotton tape on white petticoats . as you would skirt braid ou a dress. , When frayed it can be easily re. placed and thus prevent the throwing . away of a petticoat which is otherwise good. To clean silver have a pan containr Ing two gallons of cold water. In this dissolve a piece of washing soda about the size of an egg and heat to boiling point. Let .the silver soak in , this for three or four minutes, keepI Ing it boiling. Lift out with wire spoon or fork, wash In hot soapsuds, and wipe quickly with dry towel. This will not Injure solid or plated liver- 1 1E0LUSE 50 YEARS j [N FAIRY PALACE. Mme. De P.-avigny Deatl After ! Her Long Life of Mourning For ' Her Husband. 1 Mme. De Previgny is dead after kiroQt?e \n hor fairv ? JcLVJlI^ livru liltj JVttlfl *** UV,. ** J ?alace in the Boulevard Poissonniero without ever looking out upon the f street or leaving the house, writes .he Paris correspondent of the New fork American. Her last will and :estament provides that the palace i and park be turned into a home for the aged. For the administration of the home she left a capital of 10,000,-' ] 300 francs ($2,000,000). ] After the funeral of the eccentric t Did lady the relatives hired a number 1 jf mechanics to open the windows of ^ the house and the gates of the palace ^ ind gardens. For fifty long years the ; { shutters on the boulevard side of the ;reat mansion had been nailed down, ; md communication with the outer < world was had only by a small door ?' in the wall which surrounded the ] palace on all sides. ; When Mme. De Previgny, now de- I ' ceased, entered the palace for the j , first time as its chatelaine, she was ] just turning twenty and a bride. At 1 the wedding breakfast, scarcely an < hnnr after the weddina: ceremony, her young husband fell from his "hair, dead. The bride, thus suddenly made a widow, dismissed her rela- 1 tives and other guests, and, calling tier servants together, asked which of i them were willing to remain under j i the following conditions: The mansion to be closed up tight; j j the horses to be disposed of, and no j direct communication with the outer ; , world was to be had under any cir- J cumstances. ! i Twelve servants accepted the con- ! : ditions. Of them five are still alive, j having shared their mistress' incar- J ceration to the last. During the fifty years of their residence in the closed mansion they never saw a newspaper, never talked to an outsider. They never heard of the downfall of Napoleon, of Bismarck at Versailles, of the Commune, of the Third Republic, of the Invention of the telephone, bicycle, automobile or the electric light. The servants were content to vegetate, hoping for their final reward in the shape of a capital of half a million francs which the rich recluse promised to all who remained with her. During these fifty years Mme. De Previgny ordered annually of one of the big man milliners twelve white silk gowns, with undergarments and slippers to match, for she chose to be always attired as on the day of her bridehood and widowhood. On the j first of every month she donned a new bridal robe. Of this year's sup- j ply five were left, and in one of them ! Mme. De Previgny was buried. A CHILD OF THE UNITED STATES, j General Batcheller's Story of His Daughter's Meeting King Edward. General George Sherman Batchel-1 ler, who died in Paris a couple of j weeks ago, was fond of telling a I pretty story of his first term of service in Egypt as Judge of the Interna- j tional Court at Cairo. During that, period King Edward, then Albert Ed- I ward, Prince of Wales, made a visit J to the Khedive's realm and a great j official reception was given to him at Alexandria. Of course General Batcheller was one of the guests, and as it was an open air event he took his daughter with him, who was a small person, five or six years old. Now the young lady had heard a good deal about the Prince and she had plans of her own in regard to him. So it happened that when the proceedings were at their height General Batcheller missed her from his side. While he was looking for her she was edging her way through the crowd of English and Egyptian officers, diplomats and other high func41 ?? ?*- ? *V?o tiUiiai ie? uuui &uc icaiucu iuc | Prince's side, where she stood for i some time, as her father learned later on, watching him intently. At last she seemed to be quite suro of his good nature, for she reached out her hand and gently stroked his left hand as it rested on the handle of his sword. The Prince turned around with an astonished expression, but when he saw the pretty child's face smiling up at him he i smiled amiably himself, stooped and shook hands with her and asked who she was. She answered: "I'm Miss Kate Batcheller, of the I United States." The Prince was greatly amused, and when they told him who her father was, he expressed a wish to meet the General, and complimented : him on his "resolutely American little ! girl," as he put it.?New York Sun. Man's Greatest Pleasures. What are man's greatest pleas- ' ures? While the great thinkers of i ' thought have been publicly trying to answer this all-important question and as usual have only involved a < mere intellectual controversy, we u i i_: J J uctve uetJii vvuiKiiig quietty ana nave obtained some startling results. Here] is the list complete: Hearing ourselves talk. Articulating. j Listening to ourselves. Ejaculating. j Conversing. : ( Speaking. I ] And last, but not least, talking.? 1 The Bohemian. < Wolf Hunter's Record. Ninety-three timber wolves killed In less than a month s time is the I record made by James Maclntyre, cl 1 Quatsino, who has presented a bill to J the government agent here for $1,- j 395. the amount of bounty at the rate of $15 a head. It is reported ; that Indians up the coast, who hav? | learned of the increase in bounty on panthers and wolves to $15 a head each, have taken to the woods on a hunt, and it is expected that they will soon have a large sum to collect ' from the government.?New Albernl 3 Press. Owing to the decline in the value of ^ silver, the stores in China are adyanc , Jng all prices ten per cent. ' - . 1 111 It-it -? / ' r ?un5atj-scKooi INTERNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS FOR (SEPTEMBER 13. Subject: David Made King Over Judah and Israel, 2 Sam. 2:1-7; 5:1-5?Golden Text, 2 Sam.5:10 ?Commit 2 Sam. 5:4, 5. TIME.?1055-104 8 B. C. PLACE. ?Hebron. EXPOSITION.?I. David Anointed 'ting Over Judnli in Hebron, 1-la. [)avid at this period of his life seems :o have taken every step in simple delendence upon the guidance of the Lord (cf. ch. 5:19-23; 1 Sam. 23:2, I, 9, 12; 30: 7, 8), and thus he made lo false steps. He obtained God's ! guidance by asking for It (cf. Jas. 1:5,7). He trusted in the Lord with ill his heart, and leaned not to his )\vn understanding, in all his ways he lcknowledged the Lord, and He di .-.1 f 7 z R \ ICULCU U1S pacuo \u. \J . <L,, . V / . Doubtl?ss the mind of the Lord was iscertained by consulting the Urim (cf. Nu. 27-21; Ex. 28:30,' R. V. marg.;l Sam. 23:2-4, 9-12). No one knows just how the stones in the breastplate made known the mind of God, and it is useless to speculate lbout it. We have in these days a better way to find the mind of God, by the written Word and by the guidance of the living Spirit of God (Isa. 8:20; Ps. 119: 105-130; Acts 8:29; 10:6, 7). The name of the city to which God bade him go up is significant, for Hebron means fellowship, and David began his conquest of the land in fellowship with God. That is where we must all first go, if we wish to enter upon a life of constant victory. Many of us are not conquerors as David was simply because we have never gone up to Hebron. It was in this city that David was first anointed king of Judah (v. 4), and afterwards king of all Israel. The one who would enter upon a life of kingly authority andi power must go up to Hebron (Jno. 15:4-16). David did just as the Lord directed him. He did not go alone, but took his >wives with him. They had been partners in his rejection and; persecutions, and now were to be partners in his glory. Just so those' who have shared with Jesus Christ in. His rejections and sufferings shall share with Him in His glory (cf. Lu. 22:23, 29; 2 Tim. 2:12; Ro. 8:17, IS). Of course, it was not right for David to have two wives, not according to Cod's original ordinance concerning marriage (Gen. 2:24; Matt. 19:4-9), but we must in justice to David remember that there was not the clear light in hi3 day upon this subject that there is in our day. Men must be judged by the light that they possess. At this point in his career David was seeking to serve God with a whole heart. All types are necessarily imperfect, especially types where men are types of Christ, yet the wives of David are types of the church, the bride of Christ (cf. Eph. 5:25-32), to at least this extent that the church will share with Christ in His reign just as she has shared with Christ in His rejection (cf. Rev. 19:69). These who now came into power with David had been in sore distress i before they came to David, "in dis tress,"' in aeut ana Diuerness or soul" (1 Sam. 22:2, R. V., inarg.). Those who now rally around Christ, and who will hereafter enter into glory with Him, are largely of the same class. These men dwelt closS to David (cf. Jno. 14:3; 1 Thess. 4:17). II. David and the Men of Jabeshp'lend, 4b-7. The action of David might sesm a piece of shrewd strategy, but everything points to absolute (Sincerity in the matter on David's part (cf. ch. 1:13-10, 17-27; 4:5-12). David in the greatness of his soul reallv honored Saul as his riehtful sovereign (cf. 1 Sam. 24:4-8; 26:7- I 11). His nobility o! heart led him to , do the very thing that was the most politic. There is no policy so wise as that to which a generous heart prompts a man. David wishes for the men of Jabesh-gilead the highest form of prosperity, blessedness from the Lord. They had shown kindness unto Saul, and now Jehovah would show "kindness and truth'' unto them. What wo sow we also reap. God treats uu as we treat our fellow-men (Matt.5:7; 6:14, 15; 7:1, i 2; 2 Tim. 1:16-13). David did not I content himself with wishing that j Jehovah might reward their kindness, but he undertook to reward it also. There are many whose generosity towards others exhausts itself in pious wishes. As they had been strong and valiant for Saul while he j lived, David expected them to be val- j iant for him now that Saul was dead j and be had been anointed in Saul's OltUU, III. David Anointed King Over Israel in Hebron, cJi. 5:1-5. After seven years and a half of waiting, at last the whole nation recognized David as the divinely chosen king. They ought to have seen it long before. After doing all they could to thwart God's plan and to destroy David, they now recognized him as their bene and flesh (v. 1), and the | one who had led them out and i brought them in to victory. Better j yet, they recognized him as the one whom Jehovah had appointed to feed Ilis people Israel, and to be captain over them. Israel is rejecting the real David to-day, but the time is coming when all Israel will recognize j Him (Zeeh. 12:9, 10; 13:1; Itom. 11:25, 2G). The league they made ; with David was before the Lord. The I inly covenant that is of any real value is the oue that is made in the Lord's presence and for His glory. Oxygen as Aid (o nun tiers. Athletic circles in London, England, are much interested in a published record of experiments In the inhalation of oxygen by runners and sprinters, which show that they wor^?nal)!ed to hold their breath for much longer periods and to make faster lime without the symptoms of distress usually present attar racing. Economy in Daylight. The committee appointed by the British House of commons to cousiu=>r the daylight saving scheme hao filed a report favoring the lntroduc:ion of a bill to achieve the object by iltering clocks one hour on the third Sunday of April and altering tliem igain on the third Sunday of Septemjer. Xorthcliflfe and the Times. The new proprietors of the London rimes include Lord Rothschild, Lord Cromer and Lord Northcliffe, the last n rt m A/1 A> o AAwfitAllinrr aauicu uaviug a uuiiuuiiuit, xntgtv.wv. American Talkers in China. American talking maciiinos with Chinese discs are seeing in large luantities in China. ^ I \ \ro^L i inhered j?r the I ATITPT 1-lnflD 1 NEARER AND DEARER. Nearer and dearer than ever before, And just because sorrow has knocked at my door; Just because teardrops are dimming my sight, I come to Thee, Jesus, and look for th? light. Nearer and dearer! The dark and the storm Make me cling all the closer, heart bleeding and torn; mi m ? J - TM1 /Z-A /a*, mtt mere ai i.uy siue 1 u nuu uaim m i??j loss, For Thou knewest sorrow, 0 Clirist, on the cross. ?Louise Belilen, in the Christian Herald. The Added Years. Death is sometimes most kind whe? Its sad work is most swiftly done. The heart finds fortitude to meet a sudden sorrow when it cannot bear the long and anxious waiting, and the hoping against hope. The constant shadow of approaching disaster is " more terrible tnan tne aarKness 11 self. So thought the household of Mr. and Mrs. Kendall when they looked forward to the long period of waiting and the inevitable end. Into their home they had taken the wife's mother. She had been long with them through the years of her widowhood, not as an outsider,, tolerated for relationship sake, but as a loved and welcome member of the family. Her presence, far from lessening the joys of the home, added to them, although with the joys came burdens. They were gladly borne, but family cares increased and the duties filled the days, and then came the long and lingering sorrow. It was an apoplectic stroke, and u seemea 10 De iaiai. nui ise uiu lady lingered for weeks, then slowly began to Improve. Her recovery seemed impossible, yet in the course of three months of daily care she was able to be dressed and to sit in a chair. It seemed certain, however,, that she could never be well again,, and the end was inevitable. It was not the daily burden that seemed so hard, but the long look forward. To have her there, whole in mind, had been the dearest pleas* ure on earth, but to have her there not herself mentally, for months and months appeared too great a load to be carried. There were weary days when it seemed impossible to bear under the heavy weight of the labor and the solicitude. It is all past now, and this is the time to record the results of the five years that followed. They were years of unstinted kindness. Husband and wife and children did their full duty to the aged mother and grandmother. Patience, of course, was tried, but it did not fail; and patience had its perfect work. But this is not the whole of the story; patience had also its reward. The dear old lady's mind came back, almost as it had been before. There was some lack of co-ordination and some confusion of speech, but for the most part her mind was clear. The joy of living returned to her; and^ she sat in her wheeled chair, and the world which she could no longer visit came to her, and she enjoyed it. The seasons passed in glad procession before her window^ Friends came and went, and brought the tidings of other friends near and far, and she entered with eager interest into -the joy and sympathy of it all and lived a life that was full, happy and complete, to her, at least?far more tran quil than any other of the years she had known. 9H Then she died. Peacefully and H painlessly the life went out, and the flS look of satisfaction was there In H death. And those who had looked !3| forward with shrinking from the long and heavy burden thanked God for ' H those added years. H If to some other home with a like H burden the printing of this simple M story can bring like patience and fidelity, and at the end like memo- EH -1 3 U n.lt1 WA11 lies ct Li 11 lUctUlVlUIllfda, It Will uc VTCI1 worth the telling here.?Youth's Companion. Precious Hours. The hours of the soul's communion with God are the precious hours of life. Sacrifice anything rather than these heavenly impulses. Give up anythingthat interferes with carrying them out into the life. They are scattered fountains in the desert, at which the fainting traveler reviveshis strength and courage. Then heavenly voices speak, and happy is. he who gives heed to the heavenly vision, which is from God and conducts to God. It is a beautiful and comforting thought that everywhere we are surrounded and enfolded by n the atmosphere of His love. No- 99| where can we be apart from it; even though we stray, we cannot stray beyond the bounds of His love and H9 SoinetJ-nc We'll Understand. MB When some of us get to heaven we |?9| shall doubtless look back with won- BH der upon the way in which God has SQ upheld us aud guided and protected us. We shall know then as we cannot ' know now that He helped us a thousand times when we did not know it; that He foresaw for us where we 99 were utterly blind; that He averted for us dangers which would have ruined us; that He directed for us gjjj the chain of events when many times, had it been otherwise, we should have gone down. We shall then JH know, as we cannot know now, how good He has ever been to us.?Western Methodist. 89 A Suffering World. In "Things as They Are," by Amy Br i-t. - ** Hi WllSOn ^iU'UIlUliaei, me iuiiunms ma is told to illustrate the love we jfiGj should have for a suffering world: H| "A girl came in a moment ago and MM I told h/jr I was making a diagram. Mm A great black disc for heathenism and the narrow white slit for the con- ?Nfl verts won. She looked at it amazed. Then she slowly traced her finger EH around the disc, and she pointed to M the narrow slit, and her tears came dropping down on it. 'Oh, what HB mvst Jesus feel!'" ehe said. BW Twins Saved Him. ~ ' gjflj "Twins" was the message brought to Charles Bland while he was in the |B| dock in the police court in Nashua, SB N. H., and the stork did his work SB well, for Bland was saved from a sentence to the county house of correction. He pleaded with Judge Runnells for a suspended sentence, stat- M Jng tht he had a family, and the announcement that he was the father of twins caused the Judge to order the H sentence suspended. The suspension fflfl was made ou motion of Chief of Po- W lice Wheleer, and Bland was escorted an to Main street, whence he hurried Hfl home to thn nRW-bnra nalr. Bfl