Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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sr~ j IfLUKEHJ I THE II 11 By Prof. Wm. Henry Pe a r Author of the "The Stone-Cvtte |j S of Lisbon," Etc. CHAPTER XXV. Continued. **I have seen that cloud-surrounded face, my father's face, and move distinctly than ever before. The same warning, too. to beware of Harriet Foss. And am I not bewaring of that woman? John Marks will remove her to win his son. And such a son! I dreamed that idiot was m.v son, and that he called me 'Father! Father!' until my brain reeled with the shrillness of his cries. But. worst of all, I dreamed of James Greene?of James Greene and my two dead wives. 1 thought I saw him holding them by the land, and climbing up out of the old well?climbing, climbing, -until they all got in here, and then the floor opened under me, and I fell, whirling down a thousand years, amid imps, idiots and dead men. until I stopped, mangled to a pulp, in a lake of burniDg brandy! Horrible! 1 awoke, and the sun was shining in my face with a gleam that blinded me. Then I dreamed that I sought for the lost will, and not finding Jt. fired the house, and saw everybody i in it escape except myself, who was #rrasped by James Greene, and held in the well until it was red hot and I a cinder." He rambled on of Lis dreams, trembling and nervous, until Stephen sneaked into the library. "Stephen," said Hammond, "take tto'vSe letters to the postoffice. Then CRli at my office in Wall street for letters, and say that I am out of town. There's an order for you to get the letters. Then go to No. ? Mott street. Ask for Mr. Thomas Allday. Tell him his note is due, and that he will be wanted some time to-night. Teil him he shall have his note and its value in cash besides if he is found not wanting. Then hurry home." / Stephen took the letters and departed. After bathing, as was his custom, Hammond breakfasted, and was returning to his library, when old Fan sprang up in bis pa.th and said: "Mr. Hammond, I want to go away." "Go where? You are better off here * ? ?? ^ Via ftln AmVl '* mail you ciiu uujie iu cuc\iuuv, said Hammond, eying her suspiciously. "I want to go away," said the old Creature, sitting down on the steps, and rocking herself backward and forward. "I want to go away from this dreadful house, Luke Hammond. My yellow birdies aren't safe here." "Come, this is all nonsense," said Luke, angrily. "Get up; get out of my way. I wish to pass up to the library." "Not until you can tell me I can go ~can go, Luke Htftiimond," said Fan. "You must tell me.jou won't set the dogs on me, and let me go." Luke looked at her sharply. "What do you wish to go after?" aid he. "After! Nobody," said Fan. "You lie, you old hag. You wish to betray me. Go to your kitchen; and remember, my eye is on you always." "Yes, yes?60 is his?so is his!" said Fan, hiding her face in her apron. "Hie? Whose?" demanded Luke. "James Greene's ? yes! James f2ropnp's;" sniil Fan. "His eve is al ways on me?on me! just as be looked when the floor sank under.bim and he went down?down; but he comes up!? be comes up! and be creeps-'and crawls all over the house, looking at me--at u?e! and for you?for yon!" "Old woman, I must tie you up," thought Hammond, as she rose and crept slowly away. "You are growing very dangerous." He entered his library, and pulled ?. bell cord, then called out quick and harp, like a snap: "Come up! Quick!" Then, pacing around the table with uneasy steps, he muttered: "The old woman grews dangerous. We must act, and immediately." When Nancy entered be said: "Well, It has reacbpd that point." "What point. Luke?" "That point at which necessity demands that Fan shall be secured," aid he. "Does she suspect?" asked Nancy. "I care not whether she suspects or cot," said Luke, savagely. "I 6cent danger in the air. Nancy Harker. While I slept this morning my dreams were horrible?terrific. I shudder now in remembering them." Nancy smiled. "Oh, you may grin." said Luke. "But I tell you that dreams have frightened me for the first time in my life of fifty years. Ami now, at this instant, a sense of rapidly nearing peril so racks my brain, my nerves, ray whole being, that the very air smells of imminent danger." Hammond drew his tall, loan figure Tigidly erect, and tossing back his long, narrow head, until his cruel face was turned upward, dilated his eyes and nostrils, and repeated, sweeping his hands in a wild circle: "I scent danger in the air!" On the stairs, not five feet from the open door of the little library, old Fau was peeping through the banisters, her keen, witeli-like eyes on a level with the floor. But she could not see Hammond nor Nancy, and was as unperceived by them. She had crept there to listen, for in her distorted brain began to burn a ous|jiiivu mat ljUlie nummuiiu n;iu lied when he told her that Roland Dunn, her son, was hanged, and that Luke Hammond knew where that son irns. But that Luke Hammond was that son, old Fail as yet. never dreamed. "Nancy," continued Luke, "often before uov.\ during mj lite of plot aud scheme. I have felr as I now feel, and always I have acted." ^ "Act tbti)( Luke." said Nancy, who BSXSEEEFt \MMOND, 11 4ISER~ | Ck, I OojiyriKht 1896t I ft I by Eci-xit Boittob's So??. 9 3 it (Ah rights rtsrrvid.'i ' ? & was much impressed by his earnest bearing and pallid face. "You consent?" "Not to her deatfc. Lube," said Nancy, "but to her imprisonment." "FollyI I feel as if my unseen agent of success tells me to remove forever this woman. whose remorse begins to threaten my death?death on the gallows?to your death, Nancy Harker." "I will not consent to her death," said Nancy. "Imprison her. She may not suspect. Imprison her until you have got full possession of Elgin's estate, thea we will share the wealth, and you may fly to whatever place you like." "And you, Nancy Harker?" "This affair finished, we must separate." said Nancy. "I shall fly to Italy." "And where shall we imprison old Fan?" asked Luke. Until he utterfd those words old Fan had no idea of whom he was speak lllg. sne Began to creep mriiier uy iuc steps; ti?{? conversation was growing very interesting to her. "Anywhere. There are places enough in this large house to keep the old creature safe." said Nancy. "There is but one safe place for her," said HammoDd, shutting the library door, Buf old Fan's car was at the key-hole in a second. "And where is that?" said Nancy. "In the old siore-room." Old Fan nearly screamed at the bare thought of the place. "You mean to murder her, Luke," said Nancy. "I will not consent to it." "Take care, woman. You are growing dangerous. You are opposing me." "I care not whether I am growing dangerous or not," said Nancy, vehemently. "Bad as I am, Luke Hammond, there is a crime I cannot commit Our conduct caused the death of our father, the madness of our mother and were you to place your pistol at mv hpnrl and sav. 'Do it or die!' 1 "vVlli die before I consent to the death of our mother."' "Fool!" cried I/uke, in a rage. "I did not say 1 wished her death. I say she must be imprisoned In the old store-room, not beneath it. She cannot know why." "The mere fact of being there would kill her?her remorse would kill her," said Nancy. "No; imprison her in any other room." "She shall be imprisoned in the old store-room, and nowhere else. I hare said it," said Luke, fiercely. "And now to do it We shall need Daniel's help." He opened the library door, and old Fan sprang into the room, bare blade in hand. "I know you now! I know you both!" screamed Fan, slamming the door and placing her back against it. while Hammond and Nancy recoiled to the other side of the room. "You are crazy! you are a lunatic!" said Luke, while Nancy grasped his arm. "I know it!' I know it!" shreked Fan. "And wbo made me so? My children! Who slew their noble father?broke his heart?killed him dead? My children! You, Roland Dunn, and you, Nellie Dunn! Oh, Nicholas, my dead and murdered husband! could you have lived to see this day! Not content with crushing of the noble heart?not content with driving their mother madsee! bear! the parricides plot to finish by assassinating that half mad mother." She sank down upon the floor and moaned bitterly. Her knife fell from her hand, and her sobs almost suffocated her. Hammond's quick eye saw the knife, and he beg.m lo creep towards her to secure it. "Back! unnatural son!" cried Fan, snatching up the knife and springing to her feet. "Back! Roland Dunn! For years in my feverish, fitful madness I have vowed to avenge the death' of my husband. But my brain?my brain reels?and I cannot kill my children! No! I cannot!11 thought I cotrtd ?I thought it would be a pleasure; but I was insane?I am insane now?it cracks my brain to try to think. How came I here in New York? I know not. Wbere have I been? Here and there ? wandering, wandering, ever wandering; scorned, jeered, laughed at ?made a show, a scoff?by whom? By Hiy childreu. Ah me! I am going mad again?I feel the fire rushing back upon my brain?ah! wait! wait, let me think; oh. my son, 'twas you made your old crazed mother an accomplice in a murder?what murder?-r-let me think ?yes, of James Greene. Oh, my husband! let not the deedJBtand against me upon the dread records of heaven! T knew not whnt T ilid! I am .Ivinsr!" She sank forward upon her face, as weak as a child. ' She is dying," said Nancy. "Help me to place her upon the settee." ' No. She must not die here," eaid Luke. "Come, we will take her to Catharine Elgin's room up stairs." He was fearfully agitated, and perhaps at that moment even his soul writhed with remorse. They raised the unconscious form of their mother, and bore it to the room formerly used by Kate Elgin. They placed their mother upon the bed. and she opened her eyes. They started back from the calm, reproachful expression of those dying orbs. "My children," said Fan, in a feeble voice, "I am dying. I know I am !> I *-wr T o m rrln/1 tn T t h H T11? tlint I die in my senses. Ii seems like a fearful dream, but I know it is true? a dread reality. You. who call yourself Luke Hammond, are my sou. And you are my daughter. My mind is cairn and clc?*^ was not utterly rsM . clouded as it has sometimes beeD, an I remember all, or nearly all, I hnv done in this house. At times dui n my madness 1 have been entirely san< and so great "was my misery in bein sane, that I have prayed to be ma aeain. But never have I been in ra clear mind more than a few moment at a time; and for many months I bav never been utterly mad. I have a ways believed that 1 should see m children again. May God forgive in for all the evil 1 have done, as I fo: give you, my children. I have don and thopght much evil, but I was ma< or half mad. My daughter, place yon hand in my bosom, there is a weigl there." Nancy Harker obeyed, and drew 01 the little sack of golden coiD. "Sink it! bury it! cast it away:" sai the dying woman. "How I loved it i mv madness! There's the nrice Of human life in It! Oh, scatter it to th winds! Roland, nay son." But Hammond felt weak, sick an faint, and hurried away to his librar; His face wore an appalled and gbastl look, as he departed, but there was n tear in his eye, no repentance in hi soul. He regretted?nothing more. "He has gone," moaned Fan, turnin her weeping eyes upon Nancy, wli knelt near her. "Ah, I loved my hu band too much to gain th* love of m children. Have you children, Nellie' "Yes, my mother, one son," sai Nancy. "And has he?has Roland children: "Yes, my mother, one son," replic Nancy. "I would ask maDy questions," sai the dying woman. "I would talk muc with you, my daughter. But death near me. But oh, my child, tell m have you known me to be your po( mother very long?" "No, my mother," said Nancy. "W have suspected it only a short time, wrote my father's name on the floe and you recognized it." "I remember now. I fainted. Loo at my scarred and distorted face. S( the ravages of that awful disease, tfc smallpox. No wender you did not su pect sooner. But stay, I rememb( something more. That sick man i the red room?that young maiden i the other?who are they? You do n< answer. What deed of crime are yo doing, my daughter?" Nancy made no reply. Sorry fc what she had done she was. but so: row is not repentance. She had a pu pose to accomplish, and what that pu pose was the reader shall soon learn. " Farewell, my daugnter, and ma God forgive you. May you repent an reform ere you die. And now to Th mercy. Father of all mercy, I commen my soul." Old Fan, as we hare called Ellt Elizabeth Dunn, never spoke agai] She fell asleep, and in that sleep bt tortured spirit passed away from eart forever. Nancy covered the body with a shoe and stole away to the library. St found Luke drinking brandy, and lool ing very wild. "She is dead," said Nancy, coldly. til a. _.Aii ?? ii i j xi Js> wen, bum Jjimt*. AUU uu' you must perform the duties she pe: formed for a time." "Are you not sorry, Luke:" "Of course I am, Nancy," said h< "I am puzzled how to manage aboi the burial. Trouble there?troubl ahead." And that was his sorrow! "Now, Nancy, go to Catharine Elgii Daniel must have his sleep. I muf think." Nancy left him sitting at his deskhis eyes hard, keen and cruel, an every feature growing stiff in iron r< solve. His race was nearly run. CHAPTER XXVI. JOII* MARKS EXTORT8 A CONFESSION. Luke Hammond had not been thinl ing long, when he heard the gate-be tinkle. He left the library and went to tl end of the hall, where, through th r?}nchnftorn ho rnnlrt qpd tho nprcn who demanded admittance. "Ha!" said he; "it is my dear frien< John Marks. Can be have done h; work so soon?" Then hastening to Daniel, he awot him, and ordered him to conduct ti visitor to his library. It was not long before John Mart and Luke Hammond .were once moi together. "Hal you are prompt and pale, Job Marks," said Hammond. "Am I ?" replied Marks, coldly. "Bi I have come to see Nancy Harker, n< you." "And have you no news from Harri< Foss?" cried Hammond. To be continued. It "Wag Something to Get, Anyway. .Auere is a mrg? ouite 111 iuis ujg of ours in which are employed man clerks of many degrees of authorit and many messenger boys of many di grees of vexing power. Among tt clerks is one of considerable static and not much visible authority. H orders to the boys carry little weigh Moreover, be is notoriously penuriou and is constantly striving to save bin self the expenditure of small sums b requesting service of the messeng* lads, who are quite aware of hi schemes. Though he exercises muc ingenuity and often no little humor i phrasing his requests, mixing flatter with tbpnQ. the boys are in rebellic and have agreed among themselves 1 do none of his personal errands. Bi the other day he prevailed on one. c whom he poured out the grossest fla tery as to the lad's efficiency and quid ness to carry his traveling bag to tl railroad station and have it checkei The lad was "called down" by bis ass ciates for weakly yielding to the "jolly of tbe clerk. "Wei!," said the lad in defense, "it something to get a jolly frco biin." Brooklyn Eagle. The Cool Summer of 1816. Speaking of cool summers, a eorre poudent of the Boston Herald not< that in tlie summer of 181G pi an tic and harvesting all over New Engl. went almost to naught, and there w: great suffering for want of sufficiei food. Snov- and ice in vurious par of New England v ere reported dune June and July. The year 1S1G w, called "the year without a summer and also "Eigbteen-bundred-am starve-to-death." " " ;; . J A SERMON FOR SUNDAY g | AN ELOQUENT AND HELPFUL DISgj COURSE ENTITLED "LOST AT HOME." y The Tev. I. tffcCnntiell rreafhon s Interactively ? ? the Pavabte In Lnke, e Which l>e?I? With the Grace ol God Toward the Lost. , y New York City.?"Lost At Home" was e I the subject oi' the sermon preached Sunday 1 evening by the Rev. Francis J. MeConnelJ, r* | pastor ot the New York Avenue M. E. { j Church. The sermon was based on Luke ] I xv. Mr. McConnell said: ' j All the parables of this fifteenth chapter Ir | oi Luke deal with the grace oi Cod toward It I the lost. There is the .-tory of a sheep lost, another of a .coin lost -and another of two I sons lost. The parable from which the text : of the evening is taken is not the parable j of the lost soi;. luit the parable of the lost $ i Hons. A great many ot t;s stop at the twenj ty-fit'tii verse. We rejoice in the eound of D music and dancing which welcomes home a ! the prodigal, and prefer that the story ie I should end with the hnppiness of the banquet. The remaining verses, perhaps, seem to us somewhat out of place. The beautiful d narrative is marred bv reference to the a ugliness of the elder brother, but if we Itfave the elder brother out of the parable y we have lost in large part the Master's 0 point. Remember that Jesus is speaking je of the lost: He is justifying His dealing with publicans and sinners. JThese are lost sheep which have wandered away from the 6 shepherd; lost coins which have eluded the o fingers of the housekeeper and fallen into fh*. (-.racks; lost sons who have wandered k" far from home to spend all in riotous livy ing. TJie parable was spoken in response >" to the murmurs of Pharisees and Scribes. ^ With wonderful exquisiteness .Tesus puts the Pharisees and Scribes into the parable. The elder brother is the Scribe, who cannot Understand the love of the Master for publicans and sinr.ers. It requires but a moment's glance to see that in the Master's thought the Pharisee is lost?lost not in id open prodigality ar.d outbreaking vice, but ,v lost in false conceptions and false feeling.-;. Jesus does not say. indeed, that the Phari1S see is lost, but He imulies as much. When e, we look at the parable in the light of the jj whole teaching of .Jesus, we can see clearly the "lostness" of the elder brother. r Possibly it would b? well to say just a f word about the sense in which the word I "lost" is here use'd. "Lost" in the gospel r means not that destruction has already come upon the soul, but that the soul is in the grip of forces which, if left to themk selves, will.sooner or later bring disaster. >g If the steeple-climber loses his hold the onlookers cry out "Lost," not because the Ie death-dealing shock has already come. ^>ut s- because the steeple-climber is in the grasp of a force which will inevitably bring him *_ to destruction. If a ship falls into the u clutches of an irresistible current running n upon the rocks the watchers upon the shore cry "Lost." At the moment of the cry the ship is as staunch as ever. The " "lostness" consists in her being in the frasp of a /cite that must, if left to itself, ring her to doom. The sheep out in the wilderness had not been killed whfcn the shepherd found it. It, however, was lost r- because wandering aimlessly in the presr. ence of danger that must, sooner or later, bring the end. The coin in the dust was as good as ever, but in danger of being y swept out upon the rubbish heap, where d it might never be found. The younger son _ had not yet lost his life, but his days were ^ short if they were to be left to the forces d preying upon them. Now, in this sense of the word, in the sense of being in the grasp _ of death-brjnging forces, the elder brother was lost as truly as the younger. a Of course, there may be degrees in "lost!l ness." Or.e man may be further fronvthe v right road than another, though any man on the road is lost. A respectable-looking Pharisee certainly does not seem so bad t, as a dissolute spendthrift reduced to the | company of swine. But when lostness is under consideration, nothing is so decep?* tive as outward appearances. Physical vices that manifest themselves in outward signs are no more deadly than some subtle spiritual vices that work quietly within. w Not al) vices are rough and boisterous, r- Again, in the parable Defore us we may fail to see the lostness of the elder brother because he remained at home. We are very apt to think of lostness as spatial. The e. younger son was in a far country, and whether we realize it or not, something of our thought of his lostness has to do with 'e his geographical position. The eldar son was at nome and. therefore, safe; but the lostness of the parable has very little to d<*with Bpatial relations. The father could ^ not have saved the younger son by fasten8t ing chains upon him and keeping him at home. The son was already far away when he clasped his father's hand to say ~ goodby. Nearness in a spiritual sense is d not at all a matter of physical distance. e. The son who remained at home was in a spiritual sense as truly lost as the eon who wandered into the far country. Spiritual lostness consists in false ways of looking at and feeiing about spiritual things. It may be that some will object that the Pharisees were a particular class of people living at a particular date in the world's ij history; that they have long since passed on, carrying all their frailties with them. Af ttt'Ii i f 4/\ pr>oAlr PKoto'eflAn f VI TT I i CI 1/ UPt l,U .TJICtt/V Wi M till IPCCO IrU Vift j . le It must be responded that this view is wholly superficial?(hat Je3us spoke for a.ll ages; that in Pl;;iri?aiair were certain funD damentnl trait? that appear over and over again. Pharisaism is not yet dead; the j name is changed, but the characteristics .1 reappear. Few men are far enough beyond IS Pharisaism to make a protest apamst the discussion of the lostness of Pharisaism e especially relevant. First of all. the stay-at-home was lost in his thought of himself. "Lo, these many years do I serve thee." The word "serve' ;s is not at air accidental; it is a very essential part of the picture; it strikes at one deep faults of Pharisaism?the inability of the Pharisee to rise above the idea of serD vantship in hi? thought of man's relation to God. The elder brother did not take himself as a ton, but as a servant, and it therefore was lost in his thought of him)t self. After the prodigal among the 6wine came to himself he said, "I am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants." The "prodigal thought of himself as lost forever to sonship and hoped only for servantship; and yet the great redeeming fact in the reck less sinner'8 case whs that he had come to the point where he could appreciate sony ship. Upon that fact the father restored him." The prodigal had learned something y in his disgrace. He had learned to think J' of himself a* one who had sinned against sonship. With that lesson there followed ie "I will arise and go to my father." So far as this essential realization of sonship was 11 concerned the elder brother was as lost as ia the wanderer who had gone to the far f country. Looking at the parable in the light of its ' eternal spiritual significance, this must br said, the man who strives to serve God iy as a servant and not as a son is lost. Not that he is a villain or given to outbreaking transgression. but so long as lie merely IS serves God he is lost to nil jov for himsell d? and is a dead loss to God. I say lost tc n joy, ba-ause there is no joy in merelv | Berving God?that is. if we take the work 'y seriously. Ji we look upon God as a great in taskmaster, a great lore over servants, wc ;0 are lost in misery: for we make so many . | mistake? and we leave so much undone and we absolutely fail so many times that wc 'U | get but little satisfaction out of the work t- itself. Ji we re&ny iook upon uoa as u . taskmaster we must honestiy confess that v we can never please Ilim. With our limit 'G cd insight and our blundering faculties wc J. nre lost to the happiness of successful ser0. vice. The more we strive the more we ? blunder, and the more we bluuder the inorr ' lost we feel. An evening comes on and the hour draws near when we shall face 's the taskmaster, we look back upon all the pitiful failures of the day and cry out in woe. But. looking upon God as a father, see how ciuickly and surely all this is changed! The father is not a taskmaster, but a father. He take,! the will for the g- deed; He looks upon all our doings as the expression of a filial spirit and is satisfied, But if the work be done slavishly we have 'S no joy in service and are a dead loss to id God; for. looked- upon merely as servants, after we have done all we are unprofitable, True, wc look upon some things we have accomplished and we pronounce them ta j great. We talk about our bringing in the ; material kingdom of God?about our inj ventions?steam, the telegraph, the mighty ,s 1 railroads and the pteel monsters that j trample down the waves of the sea. II j. I these are done as. works of sons; if they ' 6how the wish of the sons to struggle up to * "-'v.*'.' f--' *?F*8B/&ttes3piga the immensity of tlae Father's thought, God must take supr?m': dslight in them. They are creations of His children; they take value from the fact tli.'.t the children's fingers have toiled lovingly upon them. God values our doings because we are Hi6 children. If we come, however, claiming to be M-.vants and pointing to the great things mat we nave done, i.ne omy response i& i ih?!t wc are unprofitable sen-ants. The stay-at-home was lost so long as he looked upon himself as a servant. The first step towards recovery- was for him to take I himself a* a son. Th<; first step out of the 3o.st.ness of the servant life is to ,'ake sonship for granted and to act upon the assumption. Again, the lostnes:; of the stay-at-home appears from. Jas thought of service. "And I never liarsgressed a commandant of thine." These words arc no more accidental than the others. The Master is cutting close to the essential weaknesses in the creed and practice of Pharisaism. The two weak words here are "never" and "commandment." The elder's son's thought of service was partly negative, and for tilt | rest consisted in keeping commandments. The Pharisee habitually thanked God that j he "was not as other men, extortioners, j unjust, adulterers, or even as the publican, > but fasted twice in the week and gave | tit hep ol all that he possessed. First, the negative aspect of the Pharisaic creed. According to Pharisaism relieion consists largely in not doing. "Never'' is the blessed word. Adherence to the "never" creed causes the inert and passionless worshiper to mistake the list essness of death for the peace that passeth understanding. Negative piety is often sheer lifelessness; there is not vitality enough to break forth in sin; there is not i strength or spirit enough to make temp- i tation possible. How exasperating it is to j hear a dry. withered soul declaim on the | follies of vouth, or a mind sluggish with | stupidity boast its freedom from doubt! TJiere is a long-lived heresy to the effect that the .heart of religion is repression. No longer do this, or tbr.t. or the other! j Drive out the devils, sweep the house, set the furniture in order, board up the windows, lock up the doors and hide the keys! This, as of old. overlooks something?the skill of devils as key-finders. Back they come with others worse than themselves; or, if they do not come back, I the house stands empty, %vhieh is about as bad. Redemption really means abun- < dant life. The lifeless and inert seriously starting toward redemption may possibly make more mistakes in the first six months of activity than in all the previous years of listlessness, but they are better nevertheless. One of the most disagreeable features of this elder brother is hinted at in this word "never." It suggests a staid, j lifeless, ploddingness beside which the rollicking prodigality of the younger brother seems almost a relief. It is almost a relief. too, to find that the elder brother becomes angry, for anger is sometimes a sign of awakening life. The more of the merely "never" there is in a man's religion, the more completely lost the man is. And then the other part of the creed? the word "commandment." What the Master had in mind was the Pharisee's living by rule. He is exposing the woodenness and mechanicalness of Pharisaic piety; He is showing us the lostness of i Jiving by rule. Witb the i harisee life had become a round of ceremonial observances and Pharisaism was lost in the abundance of its rules. Any man is lost who tries to be good merely by rule. Of course, many of the great principles of the Christian religion can be brought down to the compendious statement of rules, but in these the principle is kept in mind. I am speaking of Pharisaism as the system which slavishly learns the rules anii follows them. Such a course leads inevitably to the wilderness. If we i iose 6ii?nt 01 tne spirit ana principle, we j must liave a rule for everything. _ This | Pharisaism strove fcr and was lost in its j own cumbersomeness. If the system is j not complete, if ther? are spheres of conduct for which the Pharisee has no rule. I then in those spheres he is apt to feel I free to do his worst. I Living the good life is the finest. of the fine arts. Fine art is not a mechanical observance of rules?it is an absorption of spirit. In the religious life it is being filled with the spirit; and he who has not the sprit of life is lost. The lostness of the stay-at-home still further appears from his unnatural heartlessness. "Thy 6on!" These words are doubly heartless, they repudiate brotherhood with the returning prodigal and they reproach the father for not loolring upon such a son as his own. Henrtlessness almost inevitably follows roechanicalism. It is natural that it should be so. There is no heart in a cumbersome set of com- I mandments. Commandments having to deal ' simply with doings and not with feelings are in the nature of the case wooden and ! lifeless. If life be looked upon as something to be fitted into a scneme of commandments. all the fragrance of-flue feeling evaporates. This picture of the elder Virnthor ic tfio norfpft apttfnor forth of the heartlessness of developed Pharisaism. The heartlessness camc not out. of deliberate diabolism, but out of mechanical legalism. In the end, however, these two are not far apart. In this world of ours we are compelled to make assumptions, to choose Mween views either of which may be correct. So far as the great mass of things is concerned. there is no way of getting absolute pl-oof beforehand. We must assume and see. Now, concerning men and things, good assumptions and bad assumptions are i possible; but as a matter of general attitude of mind and heart toward things only one way is safe. That is, to put the very best possible construction on the lives of men and the working of things. This, in a word, is Christian faith. Christian faith does not start by proving things. It assume? the best. If a man is actually bad it looks hopefully toward the better i manhood which is, in almost every case, r a possibility. Jesus called Judas "friend," j and accepted his kiss even on the night of his betrayal. Christian faith looks out ! upon the working of the entire universe j and assumes that they are righteous. In i that trust is found peace. , Suppose, one were to assume in dealing j | with men that all men are liars. It can- j | not be proved beforehand that all men are ; nnt liai-K m- even that any one man is ' , absolutely truthfuJ; but how hopelessly lost in his dealings with men would be the one who should start with the assumpi tion that all men are liars! The safe path :n the long run is the assumption that there is good in all men and that the (rood can be reached and made better. In particular cases this mav fail, but it is in general the only Christian view. He who. like the elder brother, holds to the idea that the returning prodigal is hope; lessly and irretrievably lost, is himself { i wandering in the wilderness far from j safety. Lastly, the lostness of the stay-at-home ; appears from his thought of reward. > "Thou never gayest me a Kid." The elder brother seems to have been serving with I the thought of material pay. He was > doing 1.he work for what he could get out ' of it. His thought of reward moves along ' a low plane. Jesus condemned Pharisaism i because of its low view of reward. The ' taskmaster was to pay at the close ^>f the day. Similarly some of us seem at times to think of heaven as a place of material ; and rather earthly prizes. And again, the elder brother was lost in placing emphasis | upon an extraordinary forgiveness and > welcome as of more than the favor of the father's continued and ever present affection. It is sometimes suggested that one ; of the important lessons of this parable . is its rebuke of the Christian who com! plains because the contrition of the return ing penitent sometimes is rewarded by > more of ecstatic blessing than is his own long continued service of God. However ; Uiis may hp as a mow'i m smti ,* ! is perfectly clear that the thought 'which ! rates the exceptional manifestation of ini terest as of more value than the cor:tinncd , favor of Ihe father's presence, wanders far i astray. "Son, thou are ever with me. and , all that is mine is thine." This is the great ? reward, the favor of companionship" and i partnership with the Father?a spiritual i benefit and blessing, besirle whiel^ all ma ferial things fall into nothingess. The prin- i t cipal reward is spiritual. We are not to , think of pay but of companionship with 1 the blessed Ood! Any thought of reward i lower fhan this is lost. There is a sense j i in which the stay-at-home was as prodigal i i as his brother. With his niggardly thought of lower reward, he recklessly overlooked and wasted the companionship and love which were poured out around him. There j : were two prodicrals in the family. It would be rather a difficult task to decide which ' i i was the worse. j THE RELIGIOUS LIFE T READING FOR THE QUIET HOUH IN WHEN THE SOUL INVITES ITSELF. Foem: Only One Life?We Are to Watch Sl For the Coming of the Lord sua Hope For That Coining In the Near Futun ? Let No Duty lie Undone. Men may talk of the turf and the bowl: m Men may revel in songs that are wild; .,t But when all has been said, and sung, soul, There is only one life reconciled. ^ When the battles are fought, and won, ^ man, ... fii And riches come in with the tide, ja Even then cries the heart in the van,. There ie only one life, without pride. You may boast of your fortune to-day, You may travel to'climes that delight, I)( But the scenes that entrance plainly say, Jg There is only one life that is right. w In the midst of your pomp and your pride, When the nations look on with dismay, <j There's a voice must be heard at your side, ^ There is only one life, and this way: j( You must all use your wealth and your minds, hi In the service of Christ on earth; ju For in doing God's v/ill the soul finds, 0t There is only one life, a new?birth. T Why We Are to Watch. tx The busy world divides its time between gr petting treasures and trying to Keep ttiem. st After a man has gained a yttle wealth the ar ne:;t thing is to know whqre to put it that re it will be safe. If the inhabitants of the yi towns about Mont l'elee had known for a tc surety that there was to be a fatal erup;ion qi on a certain day thry would not have put pe their all, or kept their all, in a position ar where they would be sure to be destroyed, or But so long had they watched the distant ve smoke curling from the crater and seen the ail days go by sunny and undisturbed, and so ot comfortable were they there that thev be- ' gan to think, as some Bible men of old fo once did, "For since the fathers fell asleep Sr all things have been as they were at the ni beginning.'' and did not get ready for the st coming of the danger which threatened. w; We put' our money that we have gained ev into real estate, which may burn up or m depreciate in value; we buy stocks and re bonds, which may turn out valueless; we ca place it with trust companies, which may th fail, and we put our treasures in safe de- nc posit boxes which, with even the cunning- an est devices against burglars, may be taken sa from us. All this to provide for our , old ar age, which seems to us an eternity. And d< yet each one of us knows that we may be a called at anv moment to leave this world, tr where gain netting seems to be the main bt object, and to go into a world where such nc treasures cannot be carried and will credit ac us nothing. pi For years has stood the warning to us ot who journey all unthinkingly to a coun- ha try whose borders we may enter at any bv moment, that we turn our treasures into pr coin of that land, that we provide ourselves nc "bags which- will not wax old" in which to ht keep it. H But the Lord delayeth His coming. We ev have grown used to not expecting Him. ar Death, common as it ie, seems but a shadow in the distance, and the coming of "J the Lord Jesus Christ is not even believed h? in by the many. Since the days of the apos? L ties there have not been lacking in every cu age men to confidently predict the imme- Pf diate return of the Lord. Many persons nf have been carried so far by the fears in^ tb duced by these predictions as to part with TJ their property, turn their attention alto- ki gether away from semlar to spiritual hi things, and even gather white-robed at the w time and place appointed by the self-styled to prophets for the Master's appearance. The W final effect of such upheavals has always ar been evil. A careful, prayerful study of bf the spirit of Christ's words must have pre- fo vented any such action. We are inaeed th enjoined to watch, but this watching in- in volves in its very essence a constant dili- Gi gence, a careful, unrelaxing attention that no duty be left undone, that no enemy gain fa admission, that no temptation take us un- fo awares. We are to watch for the coming fe of the Lord, and even though the ages have been rolling on since first this hope wa? fu given, we ye,t haye a distinct, right to hojv> h< for that coming in the near future. G\ h? His coming we know not the day nor the hi hour/though we are nowhere tola that we w may not search to know it by the signs of to the times and by the signs of prophecy. A ai Sreat blessing ie promised to those who are ?* aily expecting Him. Who knows what bt that blessing may be? Blessed are those H eervants whom the Lord when He cometh shall find watching. h< You all know now it is when you are ex- m pecting home a long absent loved one. How the house from one end to the other i^put L in order, how the tab'e is set with the oest dishes and the fine linen, and how the b< breath of flowers is in every room. Not a mrnpr of the house is left in disorder, for all must breathe to the loved one of wel- D< come and home and peace. And while we wait at the window and glance out to see K1 if the train is in yet, we look now about ^ the room, and cast our thoughts all over t*1 the premises to see if aught tnere be that Pf yet needs attention, and we stand in front "'c of the glass to put up a stray lock of hair "I and straighten the collar that we may look our best to the loved eyes. When Jesus ? comes will He find our corner of the earth jj? in order for Him? Will the perfume of the f11 incense of prayer reach Him? Will the 'n sound of praise of redeemed souls greet Him? Will there be no sin in your heart a.s to mar the child He loves? Will all the souls about you know that you are His and A that you strive to follow in His steps? And m even if it be that you and I are numbered t"1 among those who "sleep" before His coming, still will He come to each at death, ! ivp mn?t !->#? readv to eav: ac: .And come He soon or *ate, 7 The Lord of the estate 04 Shall find me watching still. _ w ?Grace Livingston Hill, in the New York a' Mail and Express. Cod's Promlte* Sure. God is ever better than we think. We art ^ not so ready to realize that God is sure to make good Hi6 promises, as He is ready to j0 remember His every assurance and to give good gilts according to His children's ve needs. One of God's loved and loving chil- jt dren, expressing gratitude for the coming of a longed-for blessing, said: "God told me ^ long ago that some day this should come to me, and I could not doubt His word. jn When it came I was not surprised, only in 0r a way as the coming of the inevitable sur- tr prises us. Sometimes, you know, we are surprised to see the sun rise or the tide 22 come in." Oh, that all of us were as ready ~ to be as sure of God's word as of the rie- ?0 ing of the sun or the coming in of the tide! pr Splritnnl rrocretn. se Every sincere wish and prayer for good- K ness. every earnest attempt to fulfill diffi- je< cult duty is sure to help on our spiritual progress, either directly or indirectly. By one road or another every such effort nom-or in <?nrl ?.lamps Freeman ' Clarke. is* iti re Clinging to the Worthier*. a? It is not always the thing of value that Lc we hold to. "A feeling of revenge is not ari worth much, that you should care to keep 6 it," said Philip Wakcm. And yet many a man in a pitch of excitement would let go yb a fortr.no rather than east out a burden of J;"1' revenge from his heart. No good can come l"1 of his horrid possession, yet how he hugs ve it! Men are not only wicked?they seem an determined to be foolish. "It's poor fol- an ishness to run down your enemies." Ha- nu tred and revenge never harm any one so un much as the hater, and stiil he will npt let his destroyer go. Oh, for .7 man who is strong enough to part with his weakness! Cost of Kecord-Breakicg. It has been calculated that in order to (),, increase the speed 01 a Iwenty-five-knot mc vessel by one knot an hour it will be neces- no nary to add thirty fe t to her length, cj( 16,000 horse-power to her motive power en and increase her coal consumption by 1255 |jj tons. The displacement must be increased |ja, by 3100 tons, eighty men must be added to |ar the staff of the engine and boiler room, | and the cost ol the vessel increased oy vc; ,250,000. ar? ha< Horses Killed For Food. More than 30,000 horses are killed for rend ir. Paris and its environs every year, lhe average weight ol a French korse is J 5ol pounds. m HE SUNDAY SCHOOL I TERNAT'ONAL LESSON COMMENTS' >".* FOR JULY 26. ibject: Sanl Rejected m Klnr. 1 Sam. xt., 3 3-23? Golden Text, 1 Sam. xr., 28 ? Memory Versea, 20-22?Commentary on the Day's Leuon. Connecting Links. After Samuel had ade his farewell address to the peopie' /. Gilgal. (Saul quietly assumed the work king of Israel. His reign seems to have ;en one of almost constant wariare. hapters 13-J5 of 1 Samuel contain a defied record of three great errors of tbi? -st king of Israel: 1.-His disobedience ia ilmc to wait at Gikal for the coming ; Samuel to offer burnt offerings; and lere, where lie bad been confirmed in the ingdoin. it was solemnly declared to .4 m thnt his kingdom would not be per- 'Jfa ituated in his own posterity (1 Sam. !:J3, 34). 2. His rash and foolish vow, hich he was unable to fulfill, but which ought great suffering to the people fuad ell-ingh cost the life of Jonathan his son -? Sam. 14:24-45). 3. His failure to execute ie divint judgment on the Amalekites as W ?hovah commanded, the details of which. e given in this fifteenth chapter. All ie subsequent misfortunes of Saul and. 8 insane pursuit of David were fruits of . dicial blindness, the penal consequence? these three fatal errors. .' I. Saul's act of disobedience (vs. he command was to utterly destroy this . jJSf malekite* and their possessions; but the t; eat wealth which they possessed was a rone temptation to caui ana iiib iming* ? id the command no doubt appears up- vj asonable to them. Then it was that they t, .? elded to the temptation to appropriate SVffl themselves the riches of their con- \ lered foe. and with Saul's consent the \ lople brought borne the best of the fioek* id herds alive for their farms, destroying 'gSES llv the poor and worthless. This r* aled their covetousness and their dispo- ) tion to satisfy themselves rather than , , to >ey God's plain command. 13, 14. "Samuel came." The Lord in-. rmed Samuel of Saul's disobedience,' and tmuel was grieved and spent the whole \ght crying to God. His great soul waa ; irred to its profoundest depths, 1. He J is disappointed in Saul. 2. He say the ; . $ il effect Saul's act would have on the orals of the people. 3. He saw that thia jection of Saul would result in great Jamity to the new government and to. ' , # v e prosperity of the country. He prayed, > doubt, that the king mignt be forgiven: ?^ id the threatened calamity averted. "Saal id." Saul was either blinded by a partial .?*' *A /IaIucItto oolf.lAM nr h* WM in 'claration to Samuef acting the part of bold and artful hypocrite. Perhaps Saul ied to persuade himself to believe that-' icause he had gained a victory he would , >t be brought to a strict account for.his ticms; but success will not take the ace of obedience; neither will a partial >edience answer. "Samuel said." Samuel,>. id a very unpleasant duty to perform*it after praying all night he was fully epared for it. Saul is convicted of false>od by the voices of the animals which > ims fpared contrary to God's command, is eagerness to declare his obedience was idently an effort to quiet his conscience id cover his sin. r ^ ~ ?g|3 II. Saul's vain excuses fvs. 15*21).' 15. faul &aid." After distinctly stating that i had performed the commandment of the 3rd he now proceeds to make three ex-^ ' '< \ ises for not having performed it: JL The'- .'''& >* iople were to blame. 2. Only the best id been spared. 3. They disobeyed for e Lord's sake. "The people spared." ngj lis was a shameful excuse for a stroller , 'pngjike Saul. Had his people overruled .#3 m and epared these animals th?n he ould have had cause to plead his sorrow Samuel, when thev met. "To sacrifice." 'hat goodness could they claim by eoch XjjSis i act ? God appointed these animals to, > eacrificed to Him in the field, and there- gjfljB re will give no thanks to those who brinr lem to be sacrificed at His altar. A goca tent ion will not justify a bad aetion^rMgg od hates robbery for burnt offerings. fiKfj 16-18. "Stay." Stop these shallow and ' . Ise pretenses. "Will tell thee." Here _ llows an oracle of prophecy as direct^' arlesR and powerful as any in the Bible. jord bath said."' Samuel carefully avoid* rther reasoning, until he should let Saul iar God's message about the matter. id not come against him to set forth V s own opinions, but only offered God'*, ^ ord. "Wast little." It would help Saul, ''f:& look back to the time when Samae] had ; ' lointed him, and when the people had & losen him for their king, and to re mem>r his modesty and humility at that tiffie~.':e would more quickly see the contrasts V\3 3n a journey." The work which God id assigned to Saul would "have been ^ ore Jike a prosperous journey than #ar, had he gone in the strength of the '.$3 ord. God would have so abundantly > mnlied his needs, that there would have :en no call to spare anv of the enemies' yjA toil. "The sinners." Sere we see the vj a! ieaHOD why the Ama!ekites were it> ' , i destroyed. 19-21. "But didst flv." With grewt eediiios. ?h a hungry bird or beast upon 3 prey. "Didst evil." Disobedience is- 5;. ie great win in God's sight. Such a dis jsition will include all forms of sin. "I ive obeyed." Saul still contends for his*, jrightness. He had gone against the nialekites, and so far he obeyed, and he ill not accept the charge offered against m. "Have brought Agag." God bade m kill all. and vet he puts in among the instances of his disobedience, that he had ought Agag alive, which he thought wasgood an if he had killed him. He in^': _ ?ts that he had utterly destroyed th<^^> malekites themselves, which was t.heV ain thing intended. Agag was probably^ i official title like "pharaoh" among the ?vptians and like "president" among ns. iVhicb fhould have been." Here - Saul ^ Irnits hi? knowledge of God's commaiid- v. ; ent in telling what should have bcea ~ v stroved. M III. Saul condemned and rejected (^t. J*:'fl 3D. m 22. "As great delight." Nothing can . gj ke the place ot obedience. vrremer ?.cuir leying outward ordinances, many prayers,.! eater generosity?none of these thing**^H i!J answer. Outward forms are nothingJ|^H the heart is not moved; God wants ve. our trust, our life. "To obey is bet- WA r." For because of disobedience is the ry reason why sacrifices are required. in much better not to take poison an<f en be obliged to call t?e physician an<f JBB ke hi" remedies. 23. "Rebellion?witchcraft." The mean~^^H g is 1 hat Saul's rebellious and stubborn^ position to God was as bad as witch- ^ aft :mil idolatry. A witch was liable to '1 ' put to death according to law (Ex. I :18; Lev. 19:26, 31; Deut. 18:10). "Ter- I ihim." These were small household fl -ds. "Hath also rejected." A man din- I ledient to God is unfit to govern his K ople. Bv disobedience, Saul turned him- I If out of office. God would not subject I is people to the rule of a r:an who re- I rted God'i rule over h';u. 1 Fttalititu Canned by Vehicle*. . I The London Commissioner of Police ha* ? ;ued some interesting figures on the fatal- I es caused by vehicles. According to his . I port, in the six years 1896-1901 the aver- I e number of persons killed annually ia H indon was 70 by vans, 43 by carts, wagons S <1 drays, i'J by caDs, ll ov omniDuses, * by private carriages, 4 by bicycles and Sj ly 1 by automobiles. The Commissioner serves: "Makine everv allowance for the I ft that the number of motor cars is still" lited as compared with horse-drawn I hides. it is still e'enr that autocars are J lonjr the safest vehicles in use in London, 9 d that the popular opinion as to the fl mber of persons killed by them is totally _ ? supported by facts. " l The City of Buenog Ayre?. 1 rhe city of Buenos Ayres, the capital of I ? "jyntine Republic, situated at the. 9E >utli oi the famous La Plata River. H t only the finest, but also the largest B y in all Spanish America. While the H tire population of the Argentine Repub- H does not exceed 4.01)0,000, Buenos Ayres B 5 S50.000 inhabitants. The city covers a gB go area, and t!ie climate compels a rcsnrt H systematic riding. Tramways are deoped on an extensive scale, "and there ; also 5000 private carriages, and 2003 fiB :'kuey coaches in use in the city. Japanese Sell Fl?h Alive. H PiFh are sold alive in Japan, the ped* ?rs conveying Iheni through the streets JHj tar.kf. _ l:&H