University of South Carolina Libraries
yHoldehhu Copyright in by K? CHAPTER XV. VATHXB AXD SOX. "0 Ernest, my own dear boy, look op and apeak to me like yourself," aid my father, holding my hand and looking down unon me with an expression of deep solicitude upon bis kindly face. 1 pressed my father's hand and regarded him steadfastly, but made no reply, feeling painfully weak and 111. "Please don't Irritate my patient. Mr. Trueman. With quietude, in a day r two he will be as well as ever," said % rolce at my side, which I recognised as belonging to Dr. Thurlow. For a few seconds it was difficult to realise my surroundings, familiar though they were Yes, this was my room, and I was lying In my own bed. That was our housekeeper, sitting by the clear, low fire; and the sunlight, which the drawn curtains subdued tout could not exclude, seemed to denote mklday. 0 , With a great effort I suddenly sat upright. "Leave me with my father," I cried; "I want to talk witb him." "Not now, not now," answered the doctor; "another time will do for that Too moat rest." *No; now, now!" I exclaimed, with great excitement "Father, send these people away." "My dear boy. be calm. I know all that yon would teli me, and care nothing about It My only anxiety is to have you well again." "No. no; you do not know. 1 must tell you now." "Ernest my boy, for my sake don't axclts yourself. 1 say again. 1 know all that you would tell me. For two 4aji and nights jou have talked or nothing else." "Impossible! Two days ard two nights! What do you mean?" "I think yon had better withdj-aw for a few hours, llr. Trueman." said Dr. Thorlow; "your presence disturbs my patient" My father rgfequlshed his grasp of By hand and' -moved reluctantly towards the door. "Don't leave me, father," I implored, stretching my arms out towards him; and he at once returned to me. "Tell me. what day ia this?" "Wednesday." "Wednesday." I repeated stupidly; "Wednesday. My father says to-day li Wednesdfr. Then all Is lost," and I lay back ^aln on my pUlow. "Yes. to-day la Wednesday," corrobn? Thnrlow rontlv nilttlnc tack the hair from my forehead with his band; "and before Wednesday comet again. 1 hope to see you on your pougr. galloping paat my bouse in your usual style. But you are mistaken in thinking that all is lost; on the contrary, nothing is lost There have teen no thieves here.'* long silence ensued, during which 1 lay Quite still, my face-towards my father, who had seated bin^self by the aide of the tire. Thai two days and nights had elapsed since I went down into the crypt extinguished my last fay of hope of obtaining the sequins, and my normal calmness, to which 1 had been a stranger from the hour of reading my ancestor's Kecord, began to reassert Itself. At las^ the housekeeper rose from her chair and noiselessly quitted the room. She wan soon afterwards followed by Dr. Thurlow. who whispered a few words to my fatlier, and then departed on tiptoe. My wished-for opportunity bad now arrived, but I was careful not to lose It by too great precipitancy, recent Teutn having taught me some policy, and I therefore allowed several rola lites to elapse before I spoke. "How was It that I came to be here? The last thing I remember is being in the crypt on Monday night, not Ions alter my return from London. What has been the matter with me? Don't fear to tell me. I aui nearly. If not quite, well, and it will relieve my wind to know." 1 "But Dr. Thtfrlow has Just impressed upon me th.it I am not to talk to you of that; he says It will distress you." "It Is only natural that be should think, so; but he is wrong. If he only knew what I know, be would uot haw given you such advice. Sec. I aui calm and ratioual. Do please tell me." "There is really very little to tell, and It is hard to refuse you anything. You must uot let Dr. Tburlow kuow that I have disobeyed him. On Mcuday night, or rather very early ou Tuesday morning. Johu came into my rooiu in a great fright and woke imUp. I thought tlie old man was ?:?ad. and for a little while in iny sleepy tate could make uo;biu^ of bis rapid utterances and violent gesticulations; but at last he got me to uuderstand that he had been unable to sleep, having heurd strange noises in the house which induced him to go down stairs to see it all was right. He fouuJ the door of the stillroom open, anc also the door which leads to the crypt. The old man bad the courage to de ceued iutu tue crypt, where he was horrified to find you lying, as he tupposed, dead. He came up to me. as 1 have said, and as soon as I could make out bis 8tory. I went with him dou n to s. the crypt, and together we brought v you up here. You were bleeding from t wound at the back of your head, and qttite senseless. Everybody in the Lourfe was alarmed, and one of the women fetched Dr. Tburlow. At first We thought you had been struck by a burglar; bat Dr. Tburlow disproved that by your wound, wbicb be has shown was caused by a fall. Why you went into the crypt we know; but exactly bow you came to fall as you did you must tell us. If you can. when you get quite well.' "Why was it I went Into the crypt, do you think?" ^ "W* suppose you beard the same ki. " "7"> ' fe- ~ IV \LTER BLOOMFT ELD ?skt Boiini Bon*. noises that old John beard, and went downstairs to ascertain the cause. It is strange that both of yon should be so mistaken. Nobody had broken into the bouse; all the outer doors were fast and nothing is missing. One circumstance none of us can understand Is how a certain lantern came to be lying by your side; it belongs to the stable, and I have never known it to be brought into the bouse. But 1 am talking too much; Dr. Thurlow will be back in a minute and lecture me for disobeying him.** "Your conclusions are as I thought they would be. Haa Dr. Tburlow goue home?" "No; he is with John." "Why with John?" "The old man is very ill; he has uot yet recovered from his fright at finding you as he did." "Ah! I have much to tell you which should moke you angry with me for concealing it from you so long; but you are so good and gentle with your foolish boy that I don't suppose you will be." "My Ernest would have to set very differently from anytblng I have ever known of blm to excite my anger," declared tbis best of fathers. "I have nothing to forgive; or. If I have, I forgive you with my whole beart before 1 know what is the offense you charge yourself with." At this point our colloquy was taterruptcd by tbe entry of Dr. Tburlow. He stayed but a very little wblle, bowever, and having expressed bis satisfaction with the condition of botb his patients, and promising to call again in the evening, be took bis departure. As soon as the sound of his footsteps In the corridor had died away, I resumed the conversation with my father. "Tell me what are the matters I have raved about since that night in tbe crypt," I said. "It may be that you know something of what I would tell you." My father's faee relaxed Into a smile, nnd his eyes twinkled in a manner peculiar to him in moments of amusement "Oh. we will tell you about that in years to come." "What was it I talked about?" IJ asked again. "Many things. I don't remember a tenth of them." "Tell me a few that you do remember," I urged. "About vast stores of gold coins being stolen from this house?about the beauty of your aunt Gertrude's sister?about the Kev. Mr. Price?and a lot of. similar nonsense which I may i perhaps recollect more of by-and-by." "No, father; it was not nonsense I talked about, but sober fact; tbougb maybe I didn't know what I was saying at the time. In very truth, as true as you are listening to my words, you liave quite recently been robbed of an immense treasure in gold." And, raising myself on my elbow, I acquainted bim as clesrly and briefly as I could with the information I had obtained from Roger Trueman's Kec OFU, 3DU Ol Ul> cuuwri|uvui aiuvu uuu its result. My father, who soon became deeply interested, suffered me to continue my narrative without interruption. When 1 had ceasid speaking he made no rain ark, but rested his face upon his bauds and appeared lost in thought After waiting some time, and finding tba* my father exhibited no sign of remarking upon my story, I asked him - - - - - - ? -t.-* U. U. J if tie utu oot now ueueve iuai ue u?u bceu recently robbed of a quarter of a million sequins. "1 beiieve I have been robbed of ?o much treagure." he assented; "but I hop*' aud pray It wa3 not recent." "What an extraordinary wish!" I exclaimed, astonished. "Surely tue chances of recovering the treasure are much greater if it was lately stolen than they would be If it was taken away years ago." "Do you know. Ernest," Raid my father, appearing not to ootice my remark; "your uncle Sam was talking to me about that very treasure the tirst evening you saw him here." "Then its existence was known to you both?" "Not exactly. It was known to all his family that Roger Trueman?Roger the Renegade, or Roger the Alchemist, as he was variously called?brought with him from Turkey an immense treasure of gold and jewels; but none or uk ever knew what tinaUy became of tliem, and for more than a hundred year* nobody has troubled to inquire. Hut I have always understood that my great-grandfather spent years In a fruitless search for it, which I suppose has deterred his successors from wasting their time in the same way." "What was it unrle Sam said to you about the treasure the evening I first saw him?" "That he believed it was concealed somewhere in Hitld?>nhurst Hall, and might yet be fouud." "Then wny uo you nope mat me robbery Is not recent?" "Don't ask me." exclaimed my father, starting up excitedly; "I hate myself for my present thoughts. Tell me \ih*re I will tind that old manuscript: I will fetch it and read it here." My fatLer walked to the other side of the room and took the book out of a drawer which I bad Indicated. I had never seen him so strangely moved before. That be should be disturbed by the Information just Imparted to Mm was only what I had expected; nevertheless his reception of my revelation surprised me. Though greatly coneernrd with the matter, and evidently considering all I bad said, it >vas plain that measures for the recovery of the sequins engaged very little of bis attention; but I refrained for the present from remarking on that cir _ - ? si.*r- * pf?ysy'1.DMS ft* cnmstance, and remained still and qnlet while he snt by my bed and rend his ancestor's Record. At last be laid ' aside the book with a sigh, and rising : from his chair paced about the rroom thoughtfully. After some minute he suddenly paused before me, saying? "I wish you were well enough to accompany me to the crypt." I assured my father of my ability to do so without danger or even inconvenience, and was about to get up when he stopped me. "Not until Dr. Thurlow has seen you again, and then only with bis consent." "What nonsense T' I p* claimed, springing ont of bed. "Because I ; J have been disappointed and bare j, knnrirMi mv head on a stone pavement j you want to mnke an Invalid of me. I Surely two days la enough to spend i in bed talking nonsense, especially at aach a time as this, when there is so j much to do aud consider;" and despite j my father's protests I hastened to dress j myself, assuming a smile and talking cheerfully all the while. But the per formance cost me a tremendous effort, for I felt wretchedly weak and ill. ' "Well, I suppose it must be so. then," consented my father, when he perceived that my obstinacy was not to be overcome; "it will be best to make a careful examination of the place l>efore your uncle comes." "Before my uncle comes!" I echoed. "Is uncle Sam coming?" "Yes; to-morrow morning. I telegraphed to him yesterday, informing him of your accideut. and be replied that he would come down on Tburs day." "Ahr* I said, "he little knows what i a story we have to tell him." "I hope he does not, I am sure," said | my father sadly. "How strangely you talk, father: Surely you don't mean to imply tbal ' your brother has directly or indirectly stolen those sequins out of youi bouse? I would stake my life upon J uncle Sam's honor; and as for hit wealth, liberality and ability, you 1 would not easily match them in an- ( other man." To my inexpressible surprise and | pain, my father ignored my question, merely remarking that be hoped no , barm might come of my going down into the crypt, and that I must certain ! ly be back in my room again betcre ' Dr. Thurlow returned. ! It was an hour past noon when w? ( entered the crypt, my father walking ( first holding a lamp, for tbe plac* wa? j as dark by day as by night. Aftei ( pausing for a moment to observe a crimson stain which marked tbe hjk>1 ' where 1 had fallen, \ye proceeded at once to tbe Abbot's Cell?for my father, when be assisted in bringing me up out of the crypt, and again when be went there with Dr. Tbur low to explain to him in what cir cumstances I hod been found, hud noi penetrated so far. The crypt's store of surprises wa> not yet exhausted, whatever migbi be the case with its sequins, for walk ing up to the Abbot's Cell 1 saw wit! astonishment that it was closed by tin brick screen as when my attentlor was first called to it. The bricks but been carefully replaced one upon an othsr precisely as I bad found then on Monday night, or If there was an> difference, they were built up some what more neatly; for notwithstand ing the aid of my father, it took longei to effect an entry into the cell that when I was unassistid. On reaching tbe interior we found that tbe candit and matches had been taken away and tbe empty chest upon which 1 had sccu tbeui was placed with th? other empty chests. All else in tin cell was unchanged. My father spoke few words durinp this investigation, and appeared great ly depressed. tbougb. so far as I couit make out be cared but littie for tb( lows be bad sustained. He agreed witk rue (for indeed tbe evidences of ii were undeniable) tbat the contents of tbe chests bad been abstracted quite recently?probably only a few dayt before. We left the crypt as we bad entered it, my father locking tbe door oftei bitu and putting tbe key into bit pocket. Coming out of tbe stillroom into tbe bull we noticed that tbe front door was opened as widely as possible and thut eight strong men were wlti much difficulty bringing in upon roller* an immense steel safe of enort?ou* weight, the secure receptacle for oui 1 fuiuily papers which uncle Sam but* i promised to my father. I To te continued. < .j A Kcvolutioaary Mailbox. I Amou; the treasures held by the An tlquarian Society in Portsmouth. N. 1 II.. there is an old box the history ol ' which Is given on a label which it 1 bears. ' Tbe box 1r of tin. painted gre^n. and 1 shows signs of much usage, which if J not surprising when one considers that it carried the United States mail be- ' tween Portsmouth and Boston during ' tbe Revolution. It is about nine inches 1 loug. tour and one-half inches wide, ' and a little more than that in height y It was carried on horseback by C^p 1 tain John Noble, otherwise known as Deacon Noble, who was post rider un- , ' til 1783. |" This box contained all the mail, and ; ' made every week one round trip?oc- jfl Minrtno tlip<u. ilnvii In tll<? loUfUf'T? I from Portsmouth to Boston tlie tirsl i f of tlie week, and three days at the end " of the week from llosion to Ports i ' mouth. The distance between the twc j 1 places Is a little more than fifty miles. i The mailbox is somewhat battered |1 nod the paint faded and scraped, but ' there U no doubt that in case nee?l f nrose the stout little box could even 1 now serve as it did in the time of the 11 country's peril.?Youth's Companion. 11 C A Guard on Bicycle*. ^ President Loubet is well protected. ! ? Hi? ri'rrpt jruurd cousists of twelve ! * men. uudcr tlie orders of a Police Commissioner. Tlie.se men watch cod- v ?tantiy over his person. When he re- j ceives they mingle with the guests closc by him and when he goes out. they follow him and have orders never to lose him an Instant from view, c When he drives they accompany him j * on bicycles and it is only then that! j they can be recognlxed. This guard 1 v of thirteen men alone costs the State f the nice little lam of 75,000 francs a r year. i Til mm j| 11 iijr ^ 'I iiyj1 j m,, \ New York City. ? Dark blue and wblte polka dot dimity is used for this comfortable house pacque with ecru lace for trimming. It is shaped to the .. misses' dressing racqce. figure with audrr-arni Rures and fitted backs, a stnoctb adjustment boiug runintnlned under tbe arum and over Ibe hips. Tbe neck is cut slightly low mid square, finished with bnud of lace, rbe full fronts are gntbcred at tbe upper edge and arranged on tbe lace, falling in long, loose folds over tbe bust. In L(,mn tflcnrpi; rltlhon Is TUD thrOUCll r. casing or bending at tbe Deck and I tied in a bow, tbe fulness being adjust* I fd in this manner. The lower edge of the sacque is turned up In a deep hem. Tbe sleeves ire sbaptd with inside seamB only, aud bare comfortable fulness on the shoulikTS. They are gathered a short distance from the lower edge and drawn close to the arm with a band of lace. The sleeve below this forms a ruffle that flares prettily over tbe arm. Sacque* in this style may be made of tbin wash fabrics, lawu, swlss or mercerised cotton, with lace and ribbon for trimming. It is also appropriate Tor albatross, French flannel, cballle or I FANCY WAIST AND I wash Bilk. To make the sacque for a miss of fourteen years will require two and a half yards of twenty-seveu-incli material. A fttyllah Toilet. White voile is used for the stylish toiliet shown in the large drawing, with utaffron lace and black velvet ribbon for trimming. White is the color par exsilence for dress occasions this season, ind many lovely wilk and wool fabrics ire developed in this cool, airy color. The waist is made over a gloveittcd feat her iKitx-d lining that closes in he centre front. The back is plain icross the shoulders and drawn close io the bflt. where the fulness is ar -anged in tiny pleats. A smooth adusiiir.*iit is maintained under the arms. Tlic front plastron Is included In the ight shoulder and neck, seams fastennc invisibly on the left. The full fronts ire tucked from the yoke to belt, and >p< n to display the plastron to the valst liiK*. Narrow revers of laee inish the upper part of the full fronts. A transparent lace collar completes he neck. The sleeve Is tueked from houlder to elbow and forms a puff beow the tucks that are gathered aud irrnnged on a dce|>-poiiitcd lace i-ii(T. The si;*-! is shaped with live welluoportioned gores, fitted smoothly ircund the waist without dart*. The uliu ss in the centre back is arranged n two underlying pleats that are tressed tlatly. The skirt closes liivlsi >Iv under these plenty. One ?r two (lulliu*f>8 may be used as referred. Tin* illustration kIiows two inular Uuiiiktk that arc trimmed with larrow velvet ribbon and Jin re widely round the bottom. A band of lace Itdshes the upper edge of the llounee. To make the waist in tlx1 medium ize will require one and a half yards f forty-four-lneh material with oue nrd of all-over*lore. To make the skirt In the medium size rill require live and oik--half .vanls of orty-four-ineh materia!. The Kmbrolilerrr'a Art. Although plain materials are to bp la node for autumn, it is not for nu in- 1. tant to be supposed that it means J laiu costume*. The embroiderer's art i /ill transform many of the plainest altrlts to dreams or ueuuiy, ?uw i. uuej effects will 1* produced on the |?j -,:-r - -V f soft staffs by lace or chiffon or by tbs deft treatment of artistic trimmings, applique, etc. The New Coata. The coats of all the costumes de? signed for early autumn, cays Harper's Hazar, are made long enough to come more than half way down the skirt and the short jacket of last year and the year before is quite out of date. And yet, to show how capricious is fashion, an immensely sm*rt little coat is on the old-fashioned reefer style, double-breasted and curved in at the sides. From all present indications the autumn and winter will not show any more definitely marked lines than did last year. Abtence of Artificial I.outre. Prunellas, solells. poplins and simitar lustrous materials are now quite passe. | A ptinne finish recently introduced has j met with scant favor. All the bent : seems to In; decidedly toward muffs ; with an entire absence of artificial , lustre. Plain Material* Favored. Plain materials are far and away ; in the lead for autumn wear. Fancy j dress weaves have entirely given place to art in dressmaking in the fashion world these days. The Voga* of Molr?. The vogue of moire, revived last spring, will continue throughout the ; autumn and winter. Moire Velour j will also come in for a share of this popularity. Hopnck Weave*. Hopsack weaves in solid colors are j to be much worn by ultra-stylish women for knockabout street gowns. When Long Costa Arc Too Warm. At this season of the year, when long coats are too warm for general wear, short reefers are considered quite com- , fortable garments for little folk when r , H i'lVE-GORED SKIRT. the mornings nud evenings are cool enough to require some slight protec- ; tion. No lining is required, the seami being prettily bound with narrow rib- ' bous in self-colors. This reefer is simply adjusted with shoulder and tiuder-arm seams, fitted smoothly on the shoulders and flaring j in box effect nt the lower edge. It closes in front with large pearl buttons and buttonholes worked through the scallops on the edges. A broad cape collar extends over the shoulders in a becoming manner and the turnover collar is scalloped to cor- | respond. The lower edge of t!?e jacket is sealloncd. also the flaring cuffs that com- j plete the sleeves. These are shaped j with tipper nud under portions and have slight fulness on the shouldera. i Fancy feather stitching in n contrast- ; J 1 CHI I. D M UEKFER. a | J UK color provides au attractive llnisii ^ ,o llic edges. I r To make I lie reefer for a child two ^ rears old will require one and a half ^ yards of t wen ty-fcveu-lncli material. | v THE SABBATH SCHOOL international lesson comments for october 3. Subject: Joshua Knconrtird, Josh. I., 1 11?Golden Tfit, Josh. I., ?? Memory Vrnm, K, 9 ? Commentary on tb? !)?}' Lciion. 1. "Now." Thi* indicate* a elo*e connection with what precede*. It i* quite |>rol<;;Me that the book of Joshua originally begua with the last chapter of l>euteronoroy. "After the death." After the thirty day*' moroning were over. " "The servant of the Lord." Thi* wa* the official title of Moki, a? invented with a special mi? kioii to make known the will of God, and conferred creat honor and authority. "The l^iril " Thi* I?rd did not *iteak with Joshua fact to face as He did with Mose*, hut probably through the high priest. Num. 27: 18-22. "Joshua." Hi* name wax originally Ho*hea. Salvation, or Help. To thin was added afterward* the prehx "Jeh," Jehovah, and hi* name became Jehoshua, shortened into Jo*hua? Salvation from Jehovah. Thia name in the Greek if Jtrxus, and in Act# 7: 45 and llcb. 4: 8 Joahua i* called Je*u*. Motes the "lawgiver" led I?racl to the border, Jo*hua the prototype of Jesu* brought them over. Joshua wa* born in the land of Goshen, Egypt, fie wa* a descendant of Joseph, through Kphnam. At thi* time he wa* about eighty-four year* of age. He wax distmgtiixlied for hi* courage, faith and piety. "Son of Nun." Nothing i? known of Nun only that he wa* of the tnbe of j Kphnam. "M?m**' minister." It wa* customary for great prophet* to be thua miniolArti a r uopvitifu TKitl had Jemima been trained in the beat poswible school. M<?-es wan the servant of Jehovah and Joshua the minister oi Mow*. A servant is lens honorable than a minute;, but it is un*|?cakab'.y greater to be Jehovah'* servant than the prime mmi*ter of the greatest earthly potentate. 2. "Thin Jordan." Called the "descciidcr" because of it* rapid descent of a thousand feet between the wa of (jalilee and the Dead Sea. It in one of the most peculiar riven in the world. It has many turning* and winding* no that although the distance between the two seas is j only sixty miles, yet the river traverses a distance of at least two hundred miles, and during that distance there are twentyseven large cataracts, besides a great many smaller ones; thus on it goes a foaming | torrent plunging down into the "Sea ol ! Salt" where its waters arc lost in a "briny ( seething caldron." It is sometimes deep * and at other times shallow enough to be ! forded. "All this people." According to j the second census (Num. 20: ill) the war riora, men over twenty years of age, num- j bered 601,730, besides 23,000 Levites. This i justifies an estimate of not leas than 2,000,000 people altogether. 3. "Your foot shall tread." The entire land was before them, and it depended upon their couragc and faith how much of i it they possessed. 4. "From the wildernes?." The bound- i aries of the land are here defined. "This 1 Lebanon." A double range of mountain* which formed the northern boundary. "Euphrates.''^ The eastern boundary. This was the largest, me longnsi anu iue moat important of the riven* of western Asia. ! "Hittitcs." A tribe of Canaanites living in 1 the southern |?art of the promised land. They were the moit powerful tribe in Canaan and the eapecial terror of the ten ! pie*. Gen. 15: 16. Tbia waa an important promise, Ye shall iKwaess the land of even the dreaded Hittites. "Great sea." Th? Mediterranean. Called "great" in eom- ! pariaon with the aeaa of Canaan. It la 2500 miles long and 1200 milea in its greatest width, and haa an average depth of over half a mile. "Going down." I Meaning that this is the western boundary. "Your coast." Tbia waa a larger territory than the Hebrews ever possessed, except ! for a abort time during tbs reigns of David and Solomon. 5. "Not any man," etc. What a promise is this! He waa to have victory in every conflict. But tbe divine promise implies a condition. See vs. 7-0. "I will be with thee." Joshua needed no other allies, but he needed these great promises. A ' crisis had arrived in the history of the I nation, and he knew that Jehovah alone < could bring them into their promised in- j heritance. "Not fail thee." 1. God'a presence gives constant victory. Any man may conquer who fights with the Lord on His side. 2. God'a presence is given irrespective of ability or social condition. ' God walks with all who fear Him?the poor, the needy, the persecuted, the downtrodden. 3. <Sod's presence once given will remain with us forever, unless we disobey Him. 6. "Be strong," etc. Better, "be strong and firm." It denotes strength of hand and arm to lay hold of an<l retain anything within one's graHp; and firmness in the ixnees. and ability to maintain one's positioii against the attack of foes. The ex predion occur* with increasing empnasu four times in this chapter, and in rather a command than an exhortation. "Shalt thou divide." See R. V. The Lord shows Joshua tiiat "he is the last hnk in the chain which unite* prophecy and fulfillment," that "all the glorious possibilities of his nation lunge upon his own personal valoi and fidelity." Joshua was to use all his military skill, and avail himself to the utmost of all the mean?, natural and providential. placed within his reach. (iod will not help them who refuse to help themtelvc-. 7. "All the law." All the moral, ceremonial and political precepts given from Jehovah to the hand of Moses. Joshua is admonished that the law must be strict'y and carefully ob*erved. if the great work to which he hnH been called wax to t>? nuecevsfully accomplished. He was to carry out its }>r<>viJ?ionx to the letter. "To the right or....left." Perfect obedier.ee it! represented by a stru.giit line, and a eours>? of *in bv a crooked way. "Maye*t pro*- , per." fhrre in no real or lasting pros- ; peritv o;it?idc of a perfect obediencc to all ; of tiodV ?ommandmcnts. 8. "Hook of the law." Mom had already written the law. and they were to diligently study it and meditate upon it, and their liven were to be governed according to it* precept*. 9. "Thy (?od i? with thee." As the soldier'* valor is stimulated by the eye oj his captain, mo a vivid rcnl'zation of tht presence of ( <?! is a safeguard again*! fearfulneM and diffrouragtment. 10. "Olfii-ers of the people." These were ill*" i?"iiui'i"* ui in?- ?i i in r n imw caiiii'i* ?~nr braced various duties, It wrmi to hav< lieen a part nf their work to art a? herald* uud to prepare the trilie? for action. II. "iVjarc your virtual#." The wore denote* food obtained in hiKitniL'. .M though tin' manna rii<I rr?t cea>-e unti several day* .iff r this. vet the mpcrna tun! supply probably began to ibi-r<ns? *.? the natural supply incrMwil. <><?<l n? % ? vork? miracle* a? a premium to indolcuCf Drioltllon In Venrinrla. Tf'-rMit \V. Ilowcn. the I'njjed Sf.ile# Mmi?ter to Venezueln, has forwarded t-> I hi* State I )? part melit a letter addre? lo him by the Kev. T. S. l'otid. an Amenan missionary in Venezuela. relative i ? I he widespread (invert)* of the people I : that eotitilry. Mr. I'ond say* that during | liiri residence of five years in ('araia* lie I la- :ievi r In-fore, in any circumstances < ! > ivar or pcacc, known anything to compute !o the present widespread and hopeless i Ktvfrly. 'I Ins. he ?av*. is largely due to | I lie utter paralysis of enterprise*, foreign j nid domestic, since the present tivil eon- i lift U-i.an four years ago. The rural d's- | ru t* lie d?"*cril>c* as lieutg stripped l>are i viol in a state ol desolation. In iodm1|tien? e of tins, crowd* of starvnic |?coplc ire rapidly invading (H?ra?.'is. Mr I'ond a\s li.ll: the families of ('-iraca* can ol - in irtily one meal a <1.1 v ami humlrriN annol ifft cvni thiil. ami tin- |irnt' of the iccfvilie* of life in hiirli and rtill riMliir. | I Sajra IIr Saw * Whit* Miiom. M. A. Cuxhiiig. of llo?ton. uyn hr ha? ' evil a white moose. White i!?*er have , Ntn seen urea*tonally in the Maine wihhU t rare interval- iluruiK tlx* last fifty years, lit iif> to the present time a white tno<>>e > a.' r.?ivr li?*eii >u-.iril of. Mr <'iisbitiir all iiitiiwi our ill the tailzied #|<ru<-e tin. U I Is near ('hair-Murk Mountain, hi Mamr, I i few day* ago. The moo*** wax a full j ;r??wn Lull, and m color was a du.-ty J k'hitc. THE RELIGIOUS LIFE I READING FOR THE QUIET HOUR M WHEN THE SOUL INVITES ITSELF. M Foam: A Taeanl Chair?Prayer to Be Ad- H * wared Mast Spring From Par* 9 - Mellrt-Erfrj Grace of the Spirit Moat K Be Purchased by Kacrlflc*. B Though twain, our liven for year* ran o? u one; K But now I nit beside ber vacant chair, I And wonder if it'* true that the is gone, Sj Or ii I'm dreaming in wmf (tiding air. n I might persuade mwif it it a dream; B But. when 1 look aero** the table there M To ask her thought on some engapng g theme. Eg My eyes fall on her lonely vacant chair. H But ai I nt composed and think of her, a And try to pray, "Thy will, 0 God, b? I done," 9 The air so still about me *eemt to stir, p And something tells me I am not alone. H I fed what muit be truth I cannot prove. Faith hid* me upward look, and not de pair. I cannot fathom Him. but "(Jod 1a love."? A star of hope ahine* o'er ber vacant chair. The mortal bodv cannot love and truat, Tia iioul that love*, and aou! ia more than clod. And, though fbe body roouldera back todu*t, * The mil live* on forevermore with (Jod. ?E. A. ('-oil. in Christian Kegiaicr. I'aaaaweretl Prajrera. There ia a aeiw in whi?h all prayer* are answered either l>v obtaining the object aoiiftht or by aeeurinc tomething far better adapted to the ultimate end of all true Eraver? pernetual happineaa through unroken Roodne**. All pravera will be an?wered when they nnrnrtl with wmdom. unaelfohncaa and the highest good. % To answer every petition literally under the present order of thin?* would make infinite wisdom the slave of human caprice, absolute holiness a partner in human folly, and boundless companion the author of endless eruelty. Prayers are sometimes unanswered hecause of the character and tendency of lh? objects sought. Men. like children, freouentlv crave those thing* which would be destructive to their l>est interest*, both here and hereafter. Like Elijah under the # juniner tree, thev pray for that which fall* far below the highest good, and like Paul, with his thorn in the flesh, we too often seek ease rather than strength. It is better to have grace to bear burden* than to be weak and free from burdens. > Prayers sometimes remain unanswered because thev spring from wrong motives. The soul of real praver is unselfishness. Prayer in the ease of Simon Magus was ig norant. becaime it sought the mere gratification of worldly pride. The farmer who pray? to save himnelf from labor will never secure a Harvest. Israel at the Red Sea may call upon <iod until doomnday without avail unless they obey the divine "Go forward!" Maliciousness will find no aid or comfort in prayer. The "aa Thou wilt" of Jesus it the true standard of acceptable petition. Sometime* answer* are nought in vain becauiie divine method* of answering are rej?"ted. There is no use proving for rain without cloud*. If one pray* for a disposition of sweet sympathy he may be compelled to accept the breaking power of sorrow There is a divine method in every natural and spiritual realm. Kvery grace of the spirit must be purchased by sacrifice. The chisel and the mallet* are inatrumenU by which beauty clothe* the marble. Purity often come* only by fire. The greatest attainments comc at the greatest cost. The pebbles are smooth and symmetrical by the crashing of the floods on the shore: Joseph's troubles paved the way to Joseph'* throne. Through a prison window John Bunyan saw the triumph* of hi* pilgrim. True prayer mu*t accept the price of its answer. Pray to see Tiurope and you must accept . the ocean voyage. Prav for physical power and you mu*t accent diacipline. Ph?y for piritual power and you must accept selfsacrifice. Prayer ? sometime* unanawered because of nonobservance of the conditions of true prayer A purpose to do the will of Uod is the fundamental requirement in prayer. Without thin prayer ia not heard. God listen* to man'* voice when man liatena to (iod'? voice. It muat aUo be addressed to the Father in the name of the only acceptable One?Hip Son. .1e?ua Christ. Cajn praved in hie own name and went nut with fallen countenance. Abel came through the lamb of atonement and waa accepted. The motion of human prayer to be effective niuxt lie seconded by the Divine Mediator. When prayer ia prompted by the Holy Spirit, accompanied by simple, childlike confidence, offered in the name of the Siviour. from a pure motive, and the petitioner i* willing to accept the wine, ju?t and divine method of answering. it will !? Jir.inl in hpaven and ffrantcd bv infinite love.?The Rev. .t. D. Leek. Impallrnrr. Impaticnce m a dangcrou* quality. It constantly places your ?e!f-re*pect and your relation to your dearest friend* in peril. Moreover, it inakex unhappy oircanutancfK more unhappy still. You ran't rebel against your surrounding* with a complaining heart without rendering yourKeif weak to oppone or change tliern. Lo>k your Jife over <alin!y and impartially and you will find that where you nave been at odd* with your lot you have made that lot o much the wow and more ditiicuft to get away from, whereas it you had accepted the bitter experience and made the bnt of it you would have reaped the benefit* otherwise impossible. It i? equally truo that where you have been mi(?eUiou* of tpeech you have had cause for regret, while a curbed tongue ha* lieen cause for rejoicing. When you have been xileut you have done better than when vou have spoken. A bitter word *uppre??ec strengthens the character, while a recklcs* utterance w like a bomb, which is sure to injure >f it doe* not kill the friendship.?(J. 11. Hepworth. Weeping Leaila to Prayer. The late Newman Hall ajtpiicd Chri?t'? par.iLic of "The S?wcr"' m these word*: We weep because of need that fall* oil ntuiiv ground. where the strong nun ?>f temptation burns up the plant* which bavo no dep roots. And we weep over many who are like the seed that falls wheio thorns spring up and choke it. Hut such weepinjr lead* to praying. and praying brings fri?h ?lmwer? of <l;vme grace. Ami with the showers hope revive* and the A'oriis of i tomise .ire r^niem4 " W.-ilk* Thirty MIIm Willi ifrnin r.vpmm. At Kay? ttevillc, N*. by tlie Lmr?t inn i?f .1 mm .i pun- <>f iron u.i* driven i?ii?* tin- Irani ?.t Taylor M<-Alpio Kd^r. Win u I hi r<>n ? .i? trwovcd a hole tin- *iy?' ? ! a silver hail dollar wa? left in tin1 inan'? l?>r<-li?Mil. A i>art ot t!s?> pit unit'* brain Wit * spilled raltfe *'.11 placed hi a f.tint.'iiiiiin at Kayetteville. 11?- e?i'ajK<l and walked ta White Uak. thirty nsile?, ulu-rc he was found. Klltr.l 1(1(1 \V Imlr <. A rrea? wha'e inint look !?]; ? .it 1M!?* wi? ii. in tlx- Mi<t!a:i?l !-!ai:.i?. on a le-inl Saturday \\ li< ti uii that ?Ia> a ? < lioul of h**Mitt^r '\l?..'e. wa? i(ii>r:.-i| ::j>proa< .'? ?i- - u\r% lilt: I ill" n ici km r.iin.- i>-.. |ili* to i? :i alioar-l ?>t vri i tiling tIi.?T WouM lli>.it TI.I> ?ir?'\ tin* v.iiiii- .t-li'ur .m.I fl;iutht?*ri".| )<ii ilii ni i lit* iutigi'il wl.jio tuuiMureil thirty live ftit. A Vrltraii T??fh?r. Mauler (?f>rn. of the lloston T,itin Vciimil, iia? juxt iom|il?*teil a reeortl of titt> yearn' lontinuou* acrviee a* teacher in one institution lie w wventy nine yearn ' - - I? old. ami i- rnivni. i?t |?U|iiU anil en pupils of tin* school a* "Cudjo" i'aiH'O. Air Mall Service. A poKta! luicumatic lubo i*rviM l*>twecti i\'t? York and UrooLiyn Mai ordered. . ? -