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.
. ? -