Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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\W i W I r r LUKE Hj I THE I I By Prof. Wm. Henry Pc Author of the "1ft Stone-Cutte t.L^. II CHAPTER XXII. Continued. At midnight on the 11th of March Henxy Elgin awoke from a painful dream, and lay thinking of his unfortunate child. To save her dear life his mind was slowly resolving to yield to the desires of Hammond. "But I am sure," thought Elgin, as he listened to the steady tramp of Daniel to and fro In the Ball, "that my yielding will be my speedy death. If by dying I could give my child life and security from the villain, I would cheerfully die. But I fear that by following Luke Hammond's wishes, I shall hurry upon my daughter the dreadful fate of becoming the wife of his son. The son must De ilKe tne iauier?an uusciuyuiuua villain. Oh, Eternal Father! have pity . upon me, and direct me aright James Greene, whom I wronged, is no more, If Luke Hammond did not lie; and his exulting eyes and cruel smile proved to me that he spoke truly. May Heaven deliver us." He "was thinking and desponding thus when a slight and irregular jarring of his bed attracted his attention. His bed had been rolled against the vail so as to be immediately against the small fireplace, -which was fitted with a grate, and tfie head of the bed was nearest to the iron work. Henry Elgin had been so long an invalid that his nerves were painfully sensitive and acute. Had he been in full and robust health, the scarcely perceptible jarring or vibration would have failed to draw his mind to It. But now every sense and organ was Instantly upon the alert "What can be the cause of this strange vibration?" thought Elgin, as he listened for some clue to guide his reason. For more than an hour he listened in vain, and then he placed his ear against the chimney. The dull and heavy sound of pounding then fell upon his ear. "Great Heavens!" he thought. "Some one is digging or pounding far below me, and apparently at the base of the , chimney. Let me think. This chimney was built upon the base of an old stone chimney, which was part of a strong stone apartment of the old house I had torn down to erect this edifice. The foundations of the old house were so strong and durable that I left them standing, and made udfe Cftma nnfl 4e nortolnltr nnnn^. VI lu&uii kjyuic leg against the chimney, but It may be somebody in the room below me, since Hammond Is in entire possession of the house. He may be preparing a new prison for me, or for my poor child. He may be preparing a tomb for her. I will dismiss this terrible Idea from my mind, and try to sleep. In sleep I gain forgetfulness of my misery. God help me!" And uttering a fervent prayer, Henry Elgin closed his eyes. Still the jarring continued, and after half an hour's vain effort to sleep, he again applied his ear to the chimney. He now heard the sound of blows distinctly, and once a clang, as If Iron fiad struck Iron. "The pounding is slowly but certainly crming upward," thought Elgin. "What can It mean?" He waited half an hour, and heard a sound of thumping without placing his car to the wall. "It comes nearer and nearer,*' thought he. "Great Heaven! some one Is forcing a way upward tnrougn tne chimney. In half an hour more, with this rate of progress, whoever it is will be at work immediately opposite to this fireplace. The chimney flue runs up behind this fire-escape, and grows Tery small about three feet above the throat of the flue of this chimney. A man might work his way from below until he reached where the flue of this chimney opens into the main chimney, but there he will find a strong ironwork and a very narrow channel. But who can it be? Can it be any one wishing to effect my escape? I am dead to the world?buried. If any of Hammond's villains have become remorseful, why not open that door and lead me out? Or why not lead the oolicp hither? Let me at least hope that it may result in my deliverance, and that if Hammond knows nothing of it, neither he nor any of his villains may eater this room until I shall have learned this mystery." The noise continued, but so subdued that had not Elgin's head been against the chimney, he could hardly have -JhTard it, a nil finally the noise ceased. All was silent for ten minutes, and then it began again, and continued until Elgin knew the cause of it must have passed the level of his bed, and gone two or three feet upward. "Ah!" thought Elgin. "He has met thp iron work! He must stop there!" Another long pause, and then Elgin resolved to speak. He forced bis face up the chimney as far as possible, and eaid: "In God's name, who and what are youY," There was no reply. "If you are a man," continued Elgin, in the fervent tone of prayer, "if God has given you a heart to pity a most unfortunate being, in the name of God, I pray you answer me." Still no reply. "Hear me, whoever you arc," continued Elgin, with his soul on bis tongue, "and pity me! I am Henry Elgin, whom men suppose to have died more than a year ago. to have been buried and to lie in Greenwood. I am the prisoner of my brother-in-law. Luke CommAixl TTo nlco hftc UaiiiUiVUVtl "V ???W *Oi|/A?OVUVU my only child, Catharine, to force her to marry his son. I ara Heury Elpin, olive in the fli'sb; in Heaven's holiest ar.iue. who arc you?" , ".ire you alone V" was the reply, in a ' - ^ W T f t ? UJI \MMOND, flISER.. || *k, I CopjTiffht 1838, 5 W I by Bobibt Boitnsh'b 8osr?. | ? {AD right* rttcrvtd.) 3 % deep whisper from the dark and narrow due. "I am, thank Heaven," 6aid Elgin. "I am a man," said the voice, still in a deep "whisper. "A man Luke Hammond deems dead; a man he tried to kill. I am James ureener For a moment Elgin was speechless with joy and surprise, and while he utters his silent thanks to Heaven for Its mercy, let us see how James Greene reached the spot where he was to be more surprised than Henry Elgin, and to be as fully rejoiced. We left him at midnight beginning his work against the walled-up fireplace in the old stone kitchen, far below the crimson chamber. He was not long in forcing an entrance into the old chimney, and was glad to find it so large and rugged that he could mount upward several feet Then he found another impediment in thick bars of iron laid closely together, and sustaining several layers of brick. After great labor, he loosened the ends of four of the bars from the bricks, and getting full possession of one bar, used it as a "crow" to pry aside the others. He then dislodged the bricks, and forcing his body through the aperture so made, found that he had entered another chimney. MT rnnnf rrn. nn lin " cnfri ho "T mUSt X LUUOb vu U|/, wu.M ~V. ? reach the roof, and then clamber along until I can drop from the eaves where they overhang the old and untenanted house adjacent to this. A leap of ten feet will take me to the roof of the untenanted house, and then my escape thence will be easy." He looked upward, but all was dark. "I might now cut from here Into a room," 6aid he, "but Into whose room? Perhaps into Luke Hammond's kitchen. I know nothing of this house. I am so turned around that I do not know whether I am In the main house or in the wing. I must go u^, and in going up make as little noise as possible." Again he began to ascend. For a few feet all was easy work. Then an iron bar opposed his passage. This he removed by beating to pieces the bricks In which it was imbedded. Up again a lew reet, ana ae iouuu ilk flue so narrow that It was impossible to ascend without removing a layer of bricks all around the flue. A new fear arose in his mind. "The continual dropping of the bricks as I remove them may cause an alarm," thought he. "Still it must be done. I see no help for it. God has been with me so far. I will trust in Him for alL" He again labored, and the bricks fell one after another, and, to his ear, with a stunning noise. Somebody did hear them as they struck far down below. Old Fan, trembling in her bed, heard them; but she deemed the noise made by spirits or by anything rather than mortal hands. She crept out of her bed into the kitchen, and crouching before the smouldering fire, trembled and stopped her ears. Greene continued his slow and toilsome ascent until checked by the Iron work Henry Elgin had thought of as he listened to the mysterious noises in the chimney. Whenever Greene paused in his toll, he listened for alarm. But there was no alarm until he heard Elgin's voice. Then he trembled indeed; for he did not recognize the voice, smothered as it was in the flue; and, as we have seen, Elgin was forced to speak three times before Greene replied. His astonishment on learning that Henry Elgin was still alive was beyond expression. Greene had b^en among those who bad seen Elgin in his coffin. James Greene had 6hed tears when the coffin 1 J i.U . was couBigiieu iv iuluu. When Elgin was again able to speak, he said: "James Greene, we have not time for many words. My jailer?, or Hammond himself, may enter this room at any moment. God be with you, my son, and may you escape. You are now opposed by a strong iron frame, placed in the main chimney to sustain the weight of this flue. If you can overcome that obstacle, you will find much difficulty in going up, as the flue narrows and takes a turn some feet farther up. Would to Heaven I could aid you!" "I am nearly famished," said Greene. "Ha\e you food and drink near you?" "I have," said Elgin. "But how can you reach it?" "Thrust your hand up the flue as far as you can," said Greene. Elgin did so, and his hand "was grasped by that of the brave young carpenter. "May Tve soon be able to grasp each other's hand face to face," said Greene, pressing Elgin's thin and skeletoD hand. "God grant that we may, my son." said Elgin. "And now loose my hand, and I will give you food and drink." "When bis hand was free, Elgin took meat and bread from the small table near him. and passed it up the flue. "Water?I must have water," said Greene. There was a half emptied bottle upon the table. This Elgin filled with water nnrl nnccrtil nn iha flIIO 1JLULLI a piVVUVA, UUU |UICCVU UJf MM?., "Hunger and thirst till now I never knew," thought Greene, as he ate and drank. "Hasten, my son," said Elgin. '"This room may be entered at any moment by our enemies." "Enough," said Greene. returning the bottle. "And now to work again. I shall escape by the roof. How far am I fro in It?" "Yon will hare to pass through no less than thirty feet of flue," said Elgin. "I shall escape, never fear," said J>'' ' t - - ' ' / . ?. ' ' . V Greene, ?s he struck the iron framework. Then pausing, he said: "If any one is about to enter youi prison, cry out boldly In the chimney." ?? L - a i Ji- A ik*. lie una iiuruiy uuereu luk wuiui when Elgin shouted: "Silence." ^ He had heard the lock of The hall door of the ante-chamber clash as some one turned the key. Greene suspended all work, and In a moment after Hammond threw open the door and entered the crimson chamber. CHAPTER XXIII. THE IMT09TEB UKMASKED. Hammond had just left his library, having resolved to inform Elgin first that he was not his brother-in-law and secondly, that he intended to make Catharine Elgin his wife. He entered the crimson chamber, an? was followed by Nancy Harker. Elgin saw at once that Hammond had something of unusual Importance to say, and noticed tnat ne "was paiei and sterner than usual. "He has come to tell me to prepare for death," thought Elgin, as Ham< mond drew a chair near the bed and seemed hesitating how to begin. After a pause of a long moment, Hammond turned to Nancy and said: "I might as well tell both at once; 11 will save time. Go and lead Catharine Elgin hither. But stay; where is Fan?' "She Is in her room, I suppose," re plied Nancy. "I have not seen her foi several hours." "She cannot escape from the house,' remarked Luke. "She knows the dogs hate her, and will tear her to pieces if they can get at her. Go and lead Catharine Elgin hither." Nancy left the room, and then Ham' mond's eye rested upon the emptj plates and bottles on the tabl*. "Ah!" said he, "I am glad to see youi appetite has returned. Your daughtei still refuses to eat, and will drinls nothing but water. She Is afraid ol poison." "My poor, unfortunate child!" groaned Elgin. "For two days, then, you have starved her." * JL \JL1, JUU; IttU^UUU XJUUVi k'uv starves herself. But she will eat bj and by. Hunger will conquer fear." Silence then ensued, until Nancy returned leading poor Kate. "Handcuffed!" exclaimed Elgin, ball rising. "Oh, thou heartless villain I" "I do not care for it, dear father," said Kate. "I forget my own misfortunes in seeing yours, dear father." "All very fine," sneered Hammond, "Miss Elgin, sit there?not too neai your father. So. Now, my friend, 1 have something very important to tell you. Mrs. Harker, oblige me by moving about the house, as we must guard against unpleasant interruption." Nancy left the room, lamp in hand, to prowl about the house, while Hammond locked the door, placed the kej in his pocket, and with his keen, steelgray eyes flashing from father to daughter, began as follows: "My friends, I must first Inform yor that my son Charles has returned. 1 have seen him." "Then the completion of your villainous plots draw ner," said Elgin, while Kate started with alarm. "It does, Henry Elgin," said Luke "But not in the way you suppose. Mj son will not marry Kate Elgin." "Thank God for so much," said Elgin while poor Kate closed her eyes ic terror, as she anticipated what Ham mond was about to reveal. "I have not asked him to marry Miss Elgin," pursued Hammond, "because I have learned that he is already infatuated with another woman. But as my son will not now advance hiE suit for Catharine Elgin's hand, I air about to do so myself." "You! Her uncle! Her mother's hrn+hor' Tnhnmnn nrmntnml villain!" exclaimed Elgin. "You mistake. I am not her uncle I am not her mother's brother," said Luke, "with great coolness. "Then who are you? What new villainy is to be told?" To be continued. The Alan and the Pocket. Once upon a time an impecunious bul ambitious man with expensive tastes met a young woman who had a large sum of money in her own right. Brighl visions arose in his mind, and he al once became very attentive to her, with the result that in a few months afterward they had married. Then the impecunious man with the expensive habits made a discovery, jniifh trv hie antinrnnco rmrl rh.ncrin He found that his wife held very firmly to her purse strings, and that she insisted on the disbursement of her funds to the uttermost farthing. Then he groaned and went among his old friends to borrow money. Moral?It Is extremely difficult for a man to find a woman's pocket.?New York Herald. Season* and Temperature. Air soundings of the last few years have given very unexpected temperature results. The upper air is coldei than we supposed, the average being about thirteen degrees below Fahrenheit at 20,000 feet, and thirty-five degrees below at 25,000 feet, and the de< crease of temperature gains in rate instead of becoming slower as the altitude increases. The fall of three degrees for each 1000 feet in the lowei strata becomes nearly twice as much at the greatest height reached. The influence of seasons at high altitudes is surprisingly great, and at 30,000 decrees thp average March temnerature Is about sixty-live degrees below zero, while that of August is only forty-foui degrees below.?Golden Penny. Stray of the Kural Paper. It Is the opinion of George W. Martin, Secretary of the Kansas Historical Society, that the country newspaper publisher is the most important of all the factors at the beginning of things. It is he wbo gets near the home, who is known and read in every household of bis bailiwick. Every line in a country newspaper is read by the grown folks and children alike in each household where it enters, and is not merely skimmed over, or only headlines read, as in the case with tbe city papers. Hence there is no over-estimating the sway of ths rural newspaper. A lawyer doesn't have to be much of a mathematician in order to sum up a | case, . ' .. ' . . V.V . A SERMON FOR SUNDA Y ' A DISCOURSE FOR CIRLS DELIVERED I BY REV. DR. W. R. HUNTINCTON, The Preacher Describe* Unrter wnat i;on[ dittous It U Poa?ible For ? Woman to , Become* In Very Deed and Truth, a Lady Forever? Be Oentle and Dlgnif-* I i New York City.?The Rev. Dr. Will. iara R. Huntington, rector of Grace Church, preached recently a sermon to a ' fashionable school for girls which has attracted much attention, and by request it is here given. The text was chosen from Jsaiah xlvii: 7: "Thou saidst, L shall be a lady forever." Dr. Huntington said: I quote our prophet in this fragmentary way for the 6ake of vividness. The briefer , the text, the more likely it is to be re^ membered. But if, under present circumstances, we would do justice to the man ? and to his thought, some heed must be ! given to what has gone before and to what follows. Taken by themselves the words sound as if they must have been, in the 1 | first instance, addresed to a woman, but they were not. The aspirant after an * ' ? U/l..nU?n woo r\a tvnman nf nil. | I evermsLiug lau^siu^ nuo uv -w , ! but a city?an "ancient city, a city opulent, and superb, Babylon the great, f Emboldened like ancient Rome by its military conquests, intoxicated like medi. eval Venice by its commercial prosperity, ' confident like modern London in the pos sesion of resources which seemed measure| less, this queen city of Chaldea had come to think of itself as invincible and indestructible. "House of Eternity" was the ? name it gave to one of its temples. "Foundation stone of heaven and earth" ran the ^ vain-glorious appellation of another. Gardens and parks, the city had in abundance. 5 A mighty bridge which crossed and a tun' nel which unnerran the river Euphrates . were among its engineering triumnhs. The , circuit of the wafts, lofty and broad al! most beyond belief, was between fifty and I sixty miles. ! But there was a man in Jerusalem whom | none of these things greatly moved in the 1 ] sense of stupefying or alarming him. The I | man's- name was isaian ana ms iamer s I name was Amoz. When people came to ! him with their panic talk about the bigj ness of Babylon and the littleness of Jerus alem, he betrayed no apprehensions on the r contrary, he " spoke up and harangued Babylon with much plainness of speech. "Sit thou silent," he cried, "and get thee ! into darkness, 0 daughter of the Chal j deans, for thou shalt no more be called . ! the lady of kingdoms. Thou saidst 1 \ shall be a lady forever?therefore hear I thou, thou that art given to pleasures, I that dwellest carelessly?these two things [ I shall come to thee in a moment, in one day, the loss of children and widowhood. ! i They shall come upon thee in their perfection for the multitude of thy sorceries , 1 and for the great abundance of thine en'r | chantments." Thus sternlv, almost fiercely, Tsaiah, son of Amoz, addresses mighty Babylon. He speaks of her as to a woman of rank whose Eride and indocility are presently to prove er overthrow and to transform her pleasant palaces into ruinous heaps, She leans upon her advantage of high station all un> aware that the staff is too brittle for the weight. Forgetful of the duties which condition privilege, she fancies that old time prerogative and the accumulated prestige , of many generations will be her safety. , God's prophet determines to shake her out of this illusion, to compel her to open [ J her eye9 to the hard fact and he does it, [ as we have seen. _ | With the text thus well in hand, we ' ! proceed. Under what conditions is it posI . eible, either for a city or for a woman, to become, in very deed and truth, a lady forever? ' This is the question to which I shall ask ' you to bend vour thought to-night, and ' whether we nave respect to the week , which ended yesterday or to the week which has been entered upon to-day 1 1 j cannot but account the topic a timely one. It may seem to be comparing small thing3 [ | with great to name the commencement . ! week of a scnool for girls in the same L | breath with the commemorative week of a city which has lived through the fourth , ; part of a thousand years, Dut, perhaps, I before we are done, my boldness in ven' . turing thus to couple the two may be forgiven me. , I Of the sorts of ladyship of which I have r | made mention, that to which communities . and that to which individuals may attain, we will look at civic ladyship first. With civic ladyship we associate those qualities i ' WHICH Will lur uilics a.x auum uj^ jw. Physical strength, riches, commercial en tepprise will give a city lordship. That is one thing; but ladyship is quite another. . For the compelling of respect lordship may suffice a city, for the winning of atI fection eomething of lai'-ship is essental. How about the Lady of the Hudson? Has she any better ground for counting upon the perpetuity of her ladyship than had 1 the Lady of the Euphrates? Can we trust l her any more implicitly than Isaiah trusted Babylon when she savs confidently "I ! shall be a lady forever. That depends 1 : upon the relative measure ol importance 1 | which the city, in the long run, shall asI sign to the treasures of the market as 1 compared with the treasures of the soul. ' . I am using the word "soul" in a large I and comprehensive sense. Religion and religious interests are of course foremost in my thought, since, without a ciue regard to these no city can permanently live; but when I speak of the treasures of the soul as essential to the city that would adventure ladyship I have in mind all of those precious things that go to make up the idealistic as contrasted with the ma terialistic side of human life?Righteousl : ness? Yes. Worship? Yes; but beside ^' * ?? ll'knfm'qr olao i toese, pueiry, jcucia auu ?h?.vtw ' there may be that ministers beauty to the ' eve of harmony and melody to the ear. t These last are what make the treasures of ! ! the soul. These, mingled in due propor! tion, give to a municipality what silver and gold and negotiable securities of themselves can never give?that indescribable I quality which I have ventured to call civic ladyship. ' The prevailing note during the past week has been the note of selt-congratula' tion. Whatever flags and flowers could do . to convince people through the eye, or speech and song to persuade them through tne ear has been attempted. It has been 1 jubilate throughout, as was proper enough 1 in connection with birthday festivities, and yet there is another side to it all. The statistics of the city's trade are marvel1 ous, but what of ihe inventory of its ' spiritual possessions and the roster of its great men? How many poets and how many seers, how many composers and how many artists, how many scholars and divines, how many philosophers and states1 men has this community produced in the course of its two hundred and fifty years of organized existence? 2*ay, of those , whom we recall as having come under one ? or another of these heads, how many have ? I VnA? rxf Mnl- Knur monv pvpn r\f CPP. , ond rank, when the complete census of "the great of old" is taken into account? These, perhaps, are humbling reflections, but they are wholesome. It is by count . of heroes, not by count of heads, that a tfity's place in the final list of honors is to be "determined. Whether this city of magnificent opportunities is destined to accomi nlish ladyship remains to be seen. The , balance trembles. I pass abruptly from the week of com1 raemoration to the week of anticipation, from thoughts suggested by the prospect i from your windows to thoughts suggested by the faces into which I look. 1 In what sense it is open to you girl ' graduates of this passing year, areaming your early dreams of what success in life may signify, in what sense is it possible for you to attain ladyship forever? Before attempting to answer the question, let us clear our minds as completely as may be of prejudice and misapprehension. The word "lady' has fallen of l^i years i (the more's the pity* somewhat into disrepute. Claimed as a right by the many, ' the title has come to be iightlv esteemed I as a privilege by the few. In fact, so 1 cheap is it accounted nowadays that to Hier?arH it. altocrpther. carefullv avoidinz the use of it in common conv.rsation. is l not seldom taken to be a mark of good breeding. All do not go to ttys extreme and. yet the number of those who would prefer to be spoken of and addressed ai women," rather than as "ladies," has been steadily increasing for the past twen, ty years, and this increase, I think I am i safe in saying, has been in fixed ratio to our progress as a people in cultivation and refinement. I venture to account this an ' unfortunate stat- of things, since "lady" is a word which the lan;uu^e cannot lose without sore impoverishment r.n-J one for ' f which the vocabulary of every day inten course has no synonyms. "Lady," be it observed, is a title, not a generic word, necessarily covering r.ll the members of one sex; and as a title it belongs only to those who have a right to claim it. 2s"ow, w'.io are tbey who, in point of fact, have a viglii to c'.aim it? la monarchial countries there is no difficulty in finding an answer to this question. la England, for example, the Heralds* Of- i lice, to which such matters- are intrusted, can and will give you a definition in black J '"Ulto n!fln A A "lady," by English law, may be the wife of a man above the rank of knight and be'.ow that of duke. The title also belongs to the daughters of noblemen not below the rank of earl and is given by courtcsy to tli? wives of knights. Let that pass for - ngland, but what of ladyship in America, where no sucli sharp divisional lines ar: drawn by tho pencil of authority? Here, thank God. we have a much worthier definition of tne word and more satisfactory interpretation of the thing. Ladyship, under a democracy, means and can mean only one thing, womanhood at its best. Not all womanhood is womanhood at its best any more than all manhood is ma. ' cod at its beet? wou'.d that it were. And what are the characteristics of womanhood at its best? What are the tc':e-- by which it is authenticated? We cannot greatly differ in opinion upon this point. Surely of these characteristics dignity is one, gentleness is another, fortitude is a third and sympathy comDletes the cluster. It were un reasonable," of course, to expect the fullness of each one of these four traits in any single personality, no matter how richly endowed by inheritance or carefully matured by training. And yet it is beyond question that some tincture of each one must be found present in a woman before, under democratic conditions, her claim to ladyship can be accounted valid. _ _ I Dignity?there are a thousand imitations of it, counterfeits beyond number, but how wholly admirable is tl:c genuine article, what "an excellent tiling in woman!" Not by aping dignity do we become dignified. Aloofness is not dignity, hauteur is not dignity, stiffness is not dignity, a pompous manner arad a brocaded stvie of speech?these are not uignity. True dignity is not of ice, it is of name. A certain delicate and fiery nimbus which circles the sanctuary of personality to safeguard it from intrusion and encroachment. "Their dignity," exclaims an old Hebrew prophet, giving us the whole thing in a nutshell, "their dignity shall proceed of themselves." Dignity is reconcilable with all forms of occupation, even the most mental. It consorts with many qualities, although with vanity it is reluctant to walk, and with immodesty it will have nothing to do. Immodesty is the sin against proportion, its very name so signifying, and i as the philosophic emperor remarks m his meditations, There is a proper dignity and proportion to be observed in the per- : fo&mance of every act of life." Hence to do anything out of measure and in excess i is undignified. Then as to gentleness, our second attri- | bute of womanhood at its best, what shall j we say of gentleness? Can we say anything better or truer than that it is the \ child, the direct offspring of dignity. The truly dignified can scarcely be thought of i as the ungentle, for here again that question of proportion comes jn, and rough i ways ana boisterous talk stand self-con- i demned. Few things indeed can we so ill afford to spare out of the daily intercourse ' nf life 99 \vnmi\r\'a apnflpnpss. And this is only the more true the noisier the world becomes. With life punctuated for us by the shrieks of steam whistles, the rattle of the chariots of iron and the strokes of all manner of gongs, how restful, how 1 healthful, how reinvigorating are the accents of gentleness! Ah, my dear young friends, whatever else you forget to be, remember to be gentle. An anxious fear i in the hearts of many thoughtful people, a fear which personally I do not snare, but < of which it is just as well to take note, is < that out of all this contemporary struggle of woman for a complete independence, this duplication on her part of as much of man's work as is imitabie, there may come *...11.. ? ; ?* cvtru luun.v an iiuf/aii mcub ul vug ?wuu o total stock of gentleness. Let us be misers here. The tide of this sweet grace is never i at the flood. There is no peril of any overflow. We need to treasure every drop there is. As to fortitude, I chose the word with care, wishing to mark off from courage in general that special form of this virtue which has found frequent and splendid illustration in the annals of womanhood. Courage of the sort which qualifies one "to drink delight of battle," to head storming parties and to volunteer on forlorn hopes is not expected of women, and, for tnat matter, is not so common among men as men would like to have it thought, but of that other and more praiseworthy fearlessness, which, without the excitement of conflict, is able patiently to suffer, persistently to endure, in this Christlike virtue, it is possible?it has ten thousand times been shown to be possible that women should excel. With the aroma of this virtue wholly absent no woman's character even so much as approximates perfection. But it is not enough to be able uncomplainingly to suffer?have we learned to suffer with? That is what sympathy means ?"suffering with"?remember that sympathy won the last of the four blossoms we set out to twine into our wreath. It does not matter how well bred a woman may be in other respects, it does not matter kor apnnmnliolimonfQ in f p1]ppt. ual or artistic, if tender heartedness, the power to enter quicklv and deeply into the feeling of others, if this he wholly absent, it is idle to talk about "charm," 'it simply is not there. It is this insistence upon sympathy, as a necessary ingredient of true womanhood that renders the Christian type so infinitely superior to the old classic type whether or maid or matron. That a woman can look on composedly at a bull fight is the opprobrium of Spanish civilization, but there was a time when not in one corner of the Mediterranean exclusively, but all over the Latin world women called ladies could both tolerate and even fiercely delight in the shedding of innocent blood. What has changed all this? Only one answer to that question is possible. JesiM Christ has changed all this. To Him Ave owe it that to-day not only dignity and fortitude (stoic virtues as well as Christian) not only dignity and fortitude, but , also gentleness and sympathy are rccog- | nized aa necessary features of all true j ladyship. But who is Hufficient for these things? | With the standard set so high, the tests made so severe, who shall pass? Ah, my young friends, how glad I am i that this is Whitsunday, the feast day of j tiie floiy unost. ior \\ uiisunuuy pom is u.u to the secret of power, and hands over to lis the talisman of success. It is by the strength of God that womanhood struggles upward to its perfection. The ages of chivalry gave to the Virgin Mary the title of "our lady." Judged by some standards of ladyship nothing could seem more inappropriate, but judged by the true standard nothing could be more iust. "And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord, be it unto me according to Thy word." Catch that spirit, and it shall be granted unto each one of you, young i women, to become "a lady forever," yes, forever and ever. Occupation and Character, It is not your occupation that deter- j ! minen character; it is more likely that your j character will determine your occupation. ( Occupation?granted that it is honest?is 1 not essential to character; a noble life can ; ^ be lived under the most adverse condi- ! ^ tions. White hands and a white pair o? j ( cuffs do not guarantee a white life; nor do i ^ b'.ack hands determine the color of the ! , heart within. The tailor does not make | J character?he makes clothes, and his best clothes sometimes cover the blackest of j ^ hearts. It is a mistake for a lad to feel j that dirtv hands indicate a lack of charac- j ter?not his occupation, nor his "calling"? hut his moral nurcoses. There i3 one thing | only that may he called wrong in any oceu- 1 , pation. no matter how high or how low; it | is when manhood is not possible in following it. The end of every occupation ought 1 to be, not money, but character, not on'v a 1 prosperous business, but a growing life. 1 He who cannot see manhood emerge out of 1 the success of his occupation or business i* j in a bad business, and the sooner he is out of it the better. He who makes his living 1 by his wits may wear fine clothes, but he 1 is not thereby made a better man; he who lives by his hands, hard and rough though they may be. may be one of God's gentlemen, if he wishes to be.?Baptist Union. Sonic fellows can stand on their dignity j jvea when they have sore feet. ' . t THE SUNDAY SCHOOL international lesson comments for july 5. Subject: Israel Asking Fora Kirr.l Sam. Till., 1.10? Golden Text, 1 Sain. tU., 3 ? Study Veroet, 1-22?Memory Vccieii 4-7?Commentary on the Day's Lesion, 'I. The Israelites desire a king (vs. 1-5), 1.- "Samuel." Samuel was both a prophet and a iudge in Israel. He was brought to the tabernacle when very young and put under the care of Eli, the high priest. Samuel was the last and best of the Hebrew judges. "When he assumed charge of Israel, the twelve tribes were in a low condition both morally and politically. He induced them to abandon their idolatry, freed them from the Philistine yoke, administered justice wi".h vigor and impartiality. promoted education and true religion (2 Chron. 35:18), united the tribes and raised them higher in the scale of civilization. "Was old." Hij age has been placed all the way from fifty-four to seventy years, but the consensus of opinion is that he was not far from sixty years old at this time. "Sons judees.' They were not given authority equai to his own, for Samuel was the last judge in Israel and he exercised his office until the day of his death; but they were his assistants who attended to judicial matters in distant places. 2. "Joel." The meaning of the names of Samuel's sons may be taken as indications of the father's pious feelings. Joe!, "Jehovah is God." Abiah, "Jenovah is father." "Beer-sheba." "Their chief seat was there, as Samuel's was at Ramah. Probably the Tecovery under Samuel of many cities from the Philistines (chap. 7:14) made it expedient to have some land of magistrates appointed in the southern part or the country." 3. "Not in his ways." Samuel's son9 did not follow in the footsteps of their godly father, but were bad men who disgraced his name by dishonest proceedings. After lucre, etc. "The three evils here mentioned cannot be too strongly reprobated in a judge. The Hebrew word translated lucre, means properly ill-gotten gains ?that which is obtained by violence or fraud. The iudge who covetously puts his hand on ill-gotten gain will be easily overcome with bribery, and he who takes bribes will necessarily pervert judgment and truth." 4. "Elders of Israel." Before the exodus Israel possessed an organization of elders to whom Moses was directed to deliver his message (Ex. 3:16). The title gradually acquired an official signification; in the wilderness Moses appointed a council of seventy to represent the whole body. After the occupation of Canaan we find mention of (i) elders of cities, who acted as civil magistrates; (2) elders of tribes, or districts; (3) the elders of Israel, oj united body of the elders of the tribes. 5. "Thou art old." Although not so greatly advanced in years, yet Samuel appears to have been worn out, having spent nis strength in the cares and burdens of public business. "Make us a king." What higher tribute of esteem and confidence could a people show their governor than to submit entirely to his hands the reorganization of their government, and the selection and appointment of a king? But this action seems to have been attended with a clamorous and mandatory spirit which was displeasing in the sight of God and of Samuel. "Like all the nations." But God had cautioned them against following the example of other nations, and this was a bold step in the wrong^ direction. This should be a -warning 10 ine cnurca at the present time. When God's people undertake to blend with worldlings and thus lose their distinctive characteristics as true Christians they will invariably lose their spiritual life and power. While the effort with us should not be to be unlike others merely for the sake of being peculiar. yet the saint of God lives a separated life, unlike the world, forsaking all its customs to a great extent and opposing its sinful and selfish practices. The Christian conforms his life to the life of Christ. II. God's answer to the request (vs. 5-9). 0. "Displeased Samuel." Because, 1. Samuel saw that they were about to reject the divine government of God. 2. It was an affront to Samuel, their aged miirt Vio/1 oronf V?io lifp in untinnff JU&UC1 , ITUW UUu wy>vu w Miw .... ... w devotion to their interests. 3. It was a disappointment to Samuel that the people should reject God and choose another leader. The demand for a king was the direct outcome of faithlessness. It was a defection from God. "Prayed." Samuel knew where to go for direction. He did not let bis own personal feelings decide, but he wished to know the mind of God in the matter. 7. "Hearken." God was displeased with them, but allowed them to have their way. God grants that in His displeasure, which He withholds in His mercy. "Not rejected thee." From this we judge that Samuel in his prayer had complained that the people had rejected him and were dissatisfied with his administration. '"But?me." They had not merely rejected Samuel, but they had rejected God as their ruler. They failed to see that their misfortunes came not from lack of care on the part of Jehovah, but because of their o-?n ins. Had they humbly and devoutly inquired the will of God in the matter, and e^ked for a Governor after His owr< heart, and not after the model of the heathen powers, a most propitious change might have been effected in their form of eovernment. 8, 9. "Have forsaken Me." All the sins they had committe- since they left Egypt were against God. "Unto thee." Samuel was faring no worse than God Himself. This He speaks for the purpose of comfort-? Somnol "Protest 1UK UIIU vmuitavia6 - solemnly." If they persisted in their rebellious course they must do so v.*ith their eyes wide open to the consequences. God still warns sinners, but they have it in their power to persist in their wickedness and go to destruction. "Manner of the king. Show them what they may expect from .in earthly king. It was a great mistake for the peoole to forsake God and choose another king: but many to-day with much greater light than Israel had are making the same mistake. .Such forget that the service of God is the easiest and be3t to be found. III. The rights of a king (vs. 10-18). 10. "Words of the Lord." Samuel did not speak his own words or give his own opinions. He told the people plainly what they might expect if they persisted in their determination to have a king similar to the nations around them. IV. The reply of the people (vs. 19-22). Tfie people refused to listen to the voice of Samuel. They were determined to be like the nations around them, and were willing to submit to the demands which a king might make upon them. Samuel then took the matter again to the Lord, after which '"he sorrowfully dismissed them to their homes, that he might have time to take the necessary measures for effecting tVn'j nroat fhnntrp " God still lets people have their own way and permits them to lean to their own understanding; but not until He has warned them of the great danger of taking such a course. Value of the Ampere. An electrical experiment of immense ralue to science, the determination of the absolute value of the ampere, will be tried it the University of Michigan. Preparations have extended over six months in charge of Professors Garhart, Patterson iinil Tiuth. If the experiment is successful the Government will be asked to change the present law stating the value of the impere. which is the amount of current J that will deposit .001113 gram of silver fa a j second. This is the la*^- also in European countries and slightly in error. Scientists have several times attempted to correct the last figure Scientist* to Study Bahama Ialanda. The Geographical Society of Baltimore has chartered a ship, and will fit it out with all the necessary appurtenances for studying the geology, zoologv, botany, cli? matology and the meaical ana hygienic conditions of the Bahama Islands. Fifty men, skilled in these various branches of research, will go on the ship and the expedition will be made this summer. The party will live on the ship, with all the latiora- 1 tory accessories that they may need. Parlilani Who Own 8209,000. Not more than 2500 persons in Paris have a capital of as mucn as $200,000 and leany one-third of these are foreigners. J 'THE BELIGIOUS LIFE | READING FOR THE QUIET HOUR: v WHEN THE SOUL INVITES ITSELF; j Foam: Nothing Shall Separate Ui-the Fine Art of Charltableneia?To Be Kind ' f': In m Kindly Way la a Christian Grae* Well Worth Cultivating. From Thine eternal love, 0! God, J Nothing can separate Thy child; No fearful height, no darkest depth, No pang, or death, or creature wild. Still on Thy love we rest and hope, Tho' threatened by the heart's alarms; ^ For in the strain of grief and fear, ; We feel Thine everlasting arms. Thro' the fierce fires of ceaseless pain, j The furnace of an agony, Still near us walks the Son of God, > To damp the flame and set us free. After the storms have waged around, _. J And nights were dark and waves rolled I ? high; 1 ' Igm ' But heavenly love across the sea, j Sent the sweet message: "It is I!" We falter sin, and rander far, i Yet this is still our shield and sword: ; "Nothing shall separate us from _ I The love of God in Christ our Lord/'. , I ?The Rev Samuel J. Fisher, in the NeHf A. York Observer. Tbe Art of Gcnaroalty. I Some people think that all generosity ' d comprised in the fact of giving, and act ac? cordingly. Then they complain of the lack I of gratitude they are sure to find. Arfr T , they reasonable? Should one expect any* thing from a gift when nothing hag been* ?| I put into it but the bare, plain cash? Giv? ing is a very delicate business when come to think about it. It is a sad thine j that has two sides, not only the giver'# 1 side, but the receiver's. Generosity is an ~ flin/rinn a( /^imoa and l' j j ttl L, UUb <X ixnyiinisai. u uiugiu| v& utiuvo ?? I dollars. "Would you know how to give/*" > says the French epigram, "put yourself in the place of the one who receives." % i> I This rule, in the first place, says Phila- ; I delphia Young People, makes giving unset , j fish?which it always ought to be, but fre1 quently is not. We put a nickel in the col- | I lection plate because we cannot attend 1 church without giving at least that, and keep their self-respect. Ik> we think of the interests of the churcH, and put ourselves in the place of the treasurer, bur dened with bills and short of a cash bat ; ance to pay them with? Not at all. If w? | put ourselves in his place we wonld ; /. | promptly search our pockets for larger | change, and replace me nicsei cv a quorwr ; I or a half dollar, if possible. If the collee* , ! tion is for missions, do we think of the- 7 I earnest laborers in the heathen fields cripI pled for lack,of funds, and put ourselves , in- the places of the darkened souls that V| j wait in vain for the light? No, we are- ' considering how much we need, something: I we have set our heart upon, and deciding I how little we can consequently spare for j missions. There is no generositv in our* I thoughts at all if we regard ourselves honestly. : | But in these cases neither church treasrarer nor missionary are personally hurt or humiliated by our selfish attitude, although 1 they lose by it. In the cases, however, ; where our rude methods of giving bring ar ' 1 personally in contact with the receiver, weshall cease to wonder at his or her lack of 1 Gratitude if we out ourselves in hig or. Mr ' Dlace. A gift can be as unpleasant' to # ; ? blow, if we fling it carelessly in a reclp* * ient's face. Instead of gratitude an in?? pressible though hidden resentment is the* , ? natural result. If we had to take from' a careless or contemptuous giver, would we- t^j not feel hurt and humiliated? Truly, taxless love and sympathy go hand in hand' with giving, we have no right to look for good feeling in return. The art of generosity is a delicate art;, 'Jj only learned by tact and practice. But , o I when it is learned, gratitude rewards it Ja j largely and always "I have never met* jjjifl with a grateful person in all my experience," said a wealthy woman who distributed large sums, but cared nothing for the > people she helped. "People are always em- j barrassirgly grateful?far more so than I J deserve," "said a woman of small means who put interest and sympathy into each small '.gift she gave. Which was right? One was an artist, the other a bungler. The joy of giving, the reward of giving, depends upon whether we learn the jjrincioles of the art ? of generosity or ignore its existence. Onr Will and Oar Belief*. Belief and unbelief are not simply the effact nf mnw or less evidence presented to ;| the mind. If they were so and the hnman -' mind acted in this uniform way upon evidence we all would come to an agreement J about things great as well as small, and I that very ouickly. But we see that the J evidence which convinces one man Reaves I another untouched by its force. While 1 other elements enter into the problem it I is not to be doubted that the choice of the I will has much to do with our beliefs. We 1 1 decide to believe or to disbelieve, accord- I ing to our notion of what will suit us. The I man who is following a course of conduct I which must fall under the divine condem- I nation, has a great inducement to disbe- J lieve either God's existence or His retribu* i tive justice. As Clough says: . j * " 'There is no Ggd/ the wicked saith, ' 'And. if so, it's a blessing; - iHH For what He might have done with aS It's better only guessing.'" But he who is striving toward a Jigtoer A and purer life has an equally great induce* H ment to believe that God is, and is the H helper and in^pirer of all honest, effort to- B ward things above Him. His needs mak* H him welcome every disclosure God makes H of Himself as the sum of all perfections* In and man's guide and support in seeking H| perfection. Tonr Choice,Tonne Man. Jn "Near, so very near, to God, Nearer I cannot be; , WHj For in the nerson of His Son. I am as near as He." Hfi Whom or what should one in that faitB fear? Your choice, young man, is between jav-? ing no confidence and having all confi- H dence, between having fear ana being fear* I less, between being timid and being coor* 1 ageous, between beinc weak in a sense of H your unaided strength, and being strong JH in the strength of faith, which confidently BH j takes hold of the eternal God, and of Hie unfailing power and promises. Therefore, ' in all your course in life, and in every Hflj emergency, have the manly courage of faitoi and in the strength and cheer of that, H "Write on your doors the saying, wise and ?id, am 'Be bo.'d! be bold! and everywhere?be mSB bold: Hj Be not too bold; yet better the excess Saw Than the defect; better the more than BH less." . H '-Sunday-School Times. j^H The Bible. jEB From the apostolic ace till the present j hour have there been attacks made upon HhE the Bible from every conceivable source. BBl Where are the men and the books which j have attacked it? They are dead. The ! book on any science written fifty years ago BjH | is out of date to-day. Meantime, what of the Bible? There has not been taken from En it one "jot or tittle." The presses of the Bfl I world can hardly keep pace with the mill* SB ions of copies demanded yearly.?The Rev, W. A. Bartlett. Prayers breathe hope and prayer witj^^H out hope is sinful prayer.?John SergieJ^H^^B The Cedar Tree* of Afonnt L,ebaaon^|HH A report from Palestine is to the that the once famous cedar trees of Moun?BH| Lebanon are dying out. According to Dr,^^H Harries there are but seven trees left in; H0 the Eden Valley, and these are said to be HK the finest of their kind in the world. At. HS the end of the seventeenth century there] I were still sixteen of these famous trees,! l and as far back as the year 1550 there; Kjl t ?pro twentv-eiflfht. In Europe the finest? BO cedar tree6 are in London ana Paris. Thfj Hj London trees are over 200 years old, \ Chalk In Salt Water/ 9 In a layer of sea water a mile square ?9 ; and 600 feet deep there are sixteen tons of ||j| A'TCflB