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(K,? * f I "ft TITTTT' i X^Mll J By Anna Katharine Green. ^ COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY .CHAPTER XXVII. * Continued. "And I will stand guard over yo\ both," remarked the detective. Slie nodded; looked at Mr. Degraw who bowed low. "I will remain here," said he. "If ' am wanted, a word will bring me James can keep me company, an< neither of us -will require any light." "Perhaps that will be as well," mui mured the lady, but she gave him ai earnest look and turned once agaii after leaving him. She may have felt anxious aboa him, she may have felt anxious abou herself; whatever the feeling was, i made her step heavy and lingering. The upper hall of this qld-fashione< country mansion ran from the front t( the back of the house, and was 60 spa cious that it was carpeted and fur Dished like a room. Over the fron door there was a reeess holding a desk and this -was made still more of a re treat by a wide curtain strung acro6 it. Toward this spot Mr. Gryce a *>nce drew. "This is good vantage-ground," h< Commented. "By drawing the curtail so, I can see everything "without beinj seen; only you must take this lightc< candle away and place it on that smal table down in the hall." J "I will," she said, and proceeded t< fwJint out the door of the signorlna'i room, after which she explained tha Deside the main staircase leading dowi at the left, there was a smaller one a th? end of the hall, which, being in i direct line between a certain side en (trance much in use, and the varioui t>edronmR of th* house, was more em ployed by her guests than the one ii {front Then she left him, and, afte: placing the candle on the table he ba< toointed out, proceeded with carefu steps to the signorina's door, upoi fwhiqh she slightly knocked. A hurried movement answered he: Jfrom within. Then a step sounded 01 tthe floor, and the tlgnorina pantinglj icried, from behind thy door: : "Who is it?" . ! "Hilary," was the reply. "I am lone tome and nervous, Jenny; will you noi ?bare my bed with me?" "Oh," cried the signorina, opening the door and disclosing herself in he] evening apparel. "I am nervous anc agitated, too. I should be but sorrj company. See! I have not even gon< to bed." Miss Aspinwall, who had not beei in bed either, as her hair and orna merits showed, flushed softly anc iturned her face partially away. Bui tne otner am not nouce. sue was in s tremor and peered out Into the hal over Miss Aspinwall's shoulder, as il come bint of the fear which had in (fused itself into the mind of othert had ventured at last to disturb hej own. "Who is that? What do I hear?" she suddenly asked, in a muffled, yet penetrating voice. Miss Aspinwall, starting, glanced be liind her. There was nothing to b( ?een, not even in the quarter where the detective stood. "I do not hear anything," she re ' plied "That 6hows you how nervous I am,' lialf laughed the signorina. "I do nol understand it, but I think I never fell Just as I do to-night. Get some one else to keep you company; I( am onlj fit to sit on the edge of my bed anc cry." ? "Then that is the best reason in'th* EWorld why we should be together I cannot go leaving you here awake, and you cannot wish to see me go knowing that I should be constantlj anxious about you." "But you don't know how peculiai I am," murmured the signorina shrinking back and trembling exces ,. siveiy. "I have spells when only soli ftude can relieve me. Such a one is upon me;to-night. If I should go intc your room I should be tempted tc shriek aloud, I have so little contro over myself when I am nervous." "And you will not let me stay here?' ' The signorina looked down, seeming ly embarrassed by the other's pene trating glance. "Oh," she whispered at last, "yoc are a woman. Cannot you understand that there are times when we would shut out even the stars from peering into our windows? Mr. Degraw, ol Cleveland, has asked for a special in xerview io-iuoitow. i ao not Know what it means; but I tremble, for ' She paused, and her head fell till hei chin touched the flowers fading upor her breast. "Can you not guess the rest, Hilary?" ( i Miss Aspinwall thought she could but did not say so. She was busj seeking for expedients to induce hei friend to accept the refuge she prof ? fered her, but she found none; anc seeing at last that her presence onlj disturbed the unhappy girl, she gave her a tender kiss and moved softlj away, saying: "Open your door and speak, if yoi need me. I shall not be asleep." The signorina looked up as if to an rwcr, but closed her lips again, and after one other frightened glance uj and down the hall, drew back into hei own room and closed the door. Miss Aspinwall passed on to where th< detective stood. "She will not come with me: sht prefers to be alone," the lady ob served, In low tones, as she enterec behind the curtain. "As she seems agitated and low-spirited, I did nol like to frighten her further; so I die not t?n her why I wanted her oom< pnLy, or s;op to urge j:er ;oo persist' entiy. Did I do right?" k "Qi^te right, madam. We musl watch her where she is. I have nc M doubt all wili pass off "well, and thai Jt morning will come without an event. W Do yon intend to go to your room or [ reirmln here?" "Oh, I should so like to stay right here. Tou inspire me with so much confidence. And then. J feel that I m*Li & * PER ^ T TAHTC 1 JJUlUli I , T* I ^ Author of "The Foriftbea 1 ought to be one of the -watchers; for. after all. this is my house and she my i guest, and my place is where I can be of the greatest service to her." , "Then come here, Miss AspinwalV after vou have satisfied the curiosity I of that person whom I see looking out of a door down yonder. I shall only 3 require of you silence; the rest I will take upon myself." She thanked him with a gesture, and l hurried down the hall. Not one person l only, but two or three others, had by this time found the courage to unlock t their doors and look out, and for each t and all she had a word or explanation t that "was either so natural or so soothing that peace soon settled upon the I house; and -when Quiet "was fully reo. stored, she came back, and, dropping - into the seat pointed out by the deteet ive, added berself to the number of t "watchers gathered to protect the signorina from the unknown danger they - believed to menace her. s Will they succeed, or will her enemy t prove more subtle than they, and find a -way to approach her, notwithstanding b their united care? i CHAPTER XXVIII. J LA SONNAMBUIA. Two hours went by?two long, be3 wildering hours, or 60 they seemed to s Hilary Aspinwall, crouching in her t dim corner and listening with divided i attention, first, for any signs of di6t turbance in the hall before her; and, x secondly, for that. something, hardly . amounting to sound, which constantly s and with increasing effect testified to - her overwrought nerves that the one i man who unconsciously possessed the r power to move her was still within j her walls, sharing her watch and more 1 than partaking in her anxiety. Pain i and pleasure often mingle strangely in our consciousness, and, though she r knew by the sharp anguish that now i and then overcame her that his j thoughts all ran by her to that lone chamber where the beautiful stranger slumbered, yet she could not but ex. perience, as the proudest women will, t that peculiar delight which comes with the sense of a beloved one's presence, r Each minute brought its own experir ence to her; and yet, if the detective I who sat at her side had bethought to r turn his head in her direction, he > would not have heard a sigh from her set lips, or discerned a wandering , glance from Ijer firm and steady eye. It was now two o'clock and the I house was still, almost to the point t of oppression. Only the sound of swayt ing boughs swishing against the walls I was to be heard from without, while f within, there was nothing to disturb the absolute serenity of the place, unless it was the beating of Hilary's heart and the tick of the great clock in the library below. The curtain drawn in front of her retreat falls without a wrinkle, and is so transparent that she sees the flare of the candle beyond burning like a hazy star through its meshes. On this star she has fixed her eyes so steadily that she see nothing else, not even the detective who stands so near her, with his ear and not his eye bent to? ward the hall. Are they wasting their [. strength in this breathless watching? t Has the danger been overrated, and ; would they be better off in their beds \ and asleep? Surely yes; for here is [ no sign of lurking mischief in the space about them, and the hour grows late, , And yet?what sound was that? Did a hinge creak, or is fancy, so long robbed of its prey, cheating our overstrained senses at last? < \ Hilary- A spin wall asks this question, but she does not betray her anxiety by so much as the involuntary catching of her breath. She feels that Mr. Gryce is listening and that is enough. But her eye is on the star I have spoken of; and, suddenly?whether it be fact, or only the effect of her imagination?she perceives that star grow I cloudy. Something, is passing between it and her; something that grows in > size and obscures the light of the flame, . and finally casts a shadow on.the cur. tain itself. The sound, which is like the softest step, fills her with a horror t that would unconsciously cause a [ shriek to leave her lips, if Mr. Gryee [ were not close at her side. As it is, , she can hardly refrain from catching him by the arm and asking him if he . hears and sees this person approaching r him. oBut his silent and immovable ? figure invites no such display of feel. ing, and fixed b.ut Itrembling she , watches the shadow growing upon the > curtain till, to her secret surprise and immeasurable relief, it assumes the proportions, not of a man. but of a T slight and graceful woman, whose out r lines she is sure she will know, if? . But Mr. Gryce is moving; he has taken I a look through the space left at the r side of the curtain, and now pulls that ; curtain back, and she sees nothing that j relieves her, though it is the figure of the signorina which stands now in the i centre of the space before her; rather what fills her with dismay, and sends . the blood in terror to her heart; for the . figure of her graceful guest is rigid, > as if molded in clay, and in those wider open and staring eyes there is no look ? of life, but rather the dull glossiness r\ f lin/inncrtlrtnenftrf o v*. uuvvuoviuuoucoo auu ucaiu. xci cm; stands upright and moves -with swift, unerring steps directly toward them. "A somnambulist! She is walking in her sleep!" whispered the detective: and he watches her as if he felt his own good sense and trained self-possession vanquished by the fascination of her mechanical approach. But, just as it seemed as if she were bent upon directing her steps ictn their retreat, she pauses, turnr, and sets her foot upon the staircase. Instantly he hroke fronj..,tbe spell which bound him, and uttering a low -whistle that scarcely disturbed the silenc. as much as the rustling of her dress against the fcani8ter8, he waited unti* he beard a. i slight movement in the haH beneath, which proved thate watchers he had < left there.had hear^ hie warning. 3Phe? he turned to Miss * spinwall "with one woTd of commendation for her selfcontrol, and drew the curtain again into its former place. Meanwhile, in the hall beneath, Mr. Degraw and James stood in the shadow made by the library door, surveying, with wondering and startled eyes, the precise and automaton-like descent of the woman in whose inter | ests they were supposed to be keep- I | ing watch. Had they not been warned, j they would have thought her a spirit, j so noiseless was her step and so like* floating . essence the delicate shape, with its etheY-eal robes ant loosened hair, coming, coming, step by step, down the dim staircase into the dim hall, seeing nothing, betraviog nothing save a dreamful purpose to enter the empty parlor. To get in her way was dangerous. To impede her steps or stop her move? ments even by a sigh, might induce consequences from whick her lover naturally shrank; so. notwithstanding his anxiety, he obliged himself to re ? ?* *? mam wnere ue wan ui?nj after her as she glided among the furniture directly to the music-box. This she lifted and put down again with what sounded like a sigh. Did she place a letter under it, or did she feel j for one, or was the action purely mechanical and the result of memories which made the artist's heart leap! It was impossible to determine, nor bad he time to consider the question, for no sooner had she restored the musicbox to its place than she turned, and, to avoid an encounter, he found himself forced to retreat in haste to his old station jn the library, from which point he' saw her glide again by the door and move down the hall into regions where he could not follow her without discovering himself. Yet, feeling the necessity of keeping her in sight, he attempted to Blip along through the pasages :n her wake, and had reached the door leading into the dining-room when he .suddenly Turr/taiirori hov potnminflr and had bare . o. k ly time to draw himself up against the wall before the was upon him, walking less steadily than before, and with a sideways, swaying movement that filled the lover's heart with terror, and made it a matter of great self-control on his part not to catch her in his armg and lend her the support of hie strength and the comfort of his tenderness. She passed straight to a table under the staircase, and halting before it showly stretched out her hand and took up the paper-cutter lying there, and which was of a make so substantial and had a point so sharp that the laughing remark had often been made in regard to it, that in case of sudden need it would serve very well as a dagger. Misdoubting her intentions, the artist was about to tear it from her grasp, when she turned in the same mechanical way, and brought it directly to him, with a glassy horror visible in her eyes that completely paralyzed him and made movement impossible. | Leaving it in his band, she went ??? *???* A?n{n on/1 ' VlO!* fctpnp U W a. J ugaiu, auu Uiivvwu^ MV. . toward the staircase, began to re-ascend them in the sarae spirit-like way in -which she had come down. When she was near the top he found breath to return the whistle which had been given him by Mr. Gryce, but he , could do no more. He' was over j whelmed by the token which he had just received, of her recognition of his presence, though that recognition was seemingly abnormal, like the vision of a clairvoyant who sees without looking and knows without any manifest effort of the faculties. Meanwhile she had reached the up- \ per floor, and Hilary Aspinwall and ' Mr. Gryce beheld her shadow reappear upon the curtain. Large at first it grows smaller and smaller as she floats away from them down the balL In another moment it will disappea? entirely, bet something alarms Mr. Gryce, and' he flings the curtain sharply aside, and they see not only the sway ing form of the signorina, but, the crouching figure of a man.creeping in from the back hall and pausing, with hand upraised and menacing eyes, directly in her pathway. So threatening is the sight and so sudden its revelation -that for an instant Hilary Aspinwall stands appalled, and even Mr. Gryce, who is J usually so ready for action, and so fearless "wherever it was concerned, remains rooted in his place. For nothing but an outcry can save the 6ignor- , ! ina, and an outcry uttered in the ears of one in her condition may cause madness or sudden death. To be continued. Hunting Kot TVIiat It tird to Be. Dr. S. J. Hughes, who hadn't hunted game for a good many years, but who tried his luck the other day. has found that even hunting, or rather finding game, has changed with the passing years. "It isn't like it used to he," said the dentist. "Why, when I was a boy a rabbit would 'stop, look and listen' when you whistled and gave a fellow a chance to shoot, but now, before you know what it is, all you see is a streak of brown and white as Mr. Bunnie hurries away from the man behind the . gun. And then pheasants! Why, they : used to fly up on a limb and wait to be shot at, but all that is changed and j before you see them they suddenly fly up right at your feet with a great flapping of wings, scaring you and your dog out of your wits, and bofore you get over your fright the bird has made a circle in the woods and is about a quarter of a mile away. No, hunting isn't like it used to be; and no wonder, with the number ot men in the woods all day and every day banging away at the game." And there are many in town who will eay "them's my sentiments, too."?Punxsutawuey News. Ad Ecpsri ment. A merchant who has become one of the leading newspaper advertisers in Cleveland sai<l that for a year or more he depended on his show windows and the good words customers would say for him for the growth of his trade, i The growth fell short of bis expecta- tions, ami he made a six months' ex- ' perinient of newspaper display adver- 1 tising. "The fact that.I am now a ' constant advertiser tell3 the result of < my experiment." he says. When a fellow rells his best girl be J isifr't worthy of lier he probably be- , lieves It?at the fiuae. ? * ^ . v- 'V " A SEBMON FOE SUNDAY AN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE BY THE REV. DR. J. BASCOM SHAW. /in Interesting Lesion Drawn From the . Text " Kun "With P?H?nce "-Keep Jeiui as a Pattern Before Ton in the Race of Life. Princeton, N. J.?The Rev. Dr. John Balcom Shaw, pastor of the West End Presbyterian Church, Manhattan, preacliea Sunday morning before the students of Princeton University. He tiook his text from Hebrews xii:l: "Run with patience." Dr. Shaw said: There is a vast difference between walking with patience and running with patience. Both are hard, incalculably hard, but they are hard in very different ways, and call for graces which are exact opposites. Walking with patience requires the grace of repression or resignation. The spirit leaps ahead but the body must needs lag behind. We want to run, but we have to walk, and a slow pace when one feete he might make haste and ought to make haste is mightily aggravating. Walking with patience is one of the young man's struggles. He wants to get on and up, with quick speed, but circumstances are holding him back. He has a mother to support, he works for an unappreciative firm, he lacks the proper influence, he has no friends at court, he can command no capital. Therefore, he must stay a clerk when he deserves the snperintendencv. He must go to business when he would prefer a profession. Creeping when you are eager to be leaping? can you imagine a greater tax upon patience than that? Walking with patience is poverty's problem. To suffer want when otherE no more deserving than you are in affluence, and be resigned to it, it is the hardest possible task. That is the bottom cause of all our labor agitation?impatience under Jim-1 itations. 1 Walking with patience is misfortune's mission. To be held back by reverses, disabled by sickness, retarded by circumstances, felled by a great sorrow, so that we must walk instead of run?these are among the most difficult experiences of life, and are these not experiences that come to all? Who of ub, the most prosperous and fortunate, those whose track has the fewest up grades upon it?even the young college man with bis own peculiar problems to solve and struggle to meet?who of us does not find frequent need to cry out with face turned upward? ? want the love that all things sweetly bear, Whate'er my Father'* hand may. choose to send. I want the love that patiently endat-es The wrongs that come from earthly foe or friend. _ j Some great soul who had evidently taken a full course in the school of; suffering and won the full diploma of' resignation, has most aptly and beautifully expressed the soul's need under such conditions in these words: The night is dark, but God, my God, Is h?re and in command; And sure am J, wbeh morning breaks, I shall be at the land. And since I know the darkness is Tn TTim no crmnipafc Hflv I'll cast "the anchor?patience?out, And wish?but wait for day. God help us to learn how to walk witn patience! But what about running with patience? Does it not call-for quite another schooling of ourselves, just as running on the athletic field demands a training peculiar to itself? Even a last walker is not necessarily a good runner. The requirement in this case is active rather than negative. Here is needed not the grace of repression, as i:i tke other case, but of cultivation, of application or concentration rather than of resignation. In walking with patience,, the weights and the brakes both must be applied in order to hold the spirit back and keep it apace with the body. But to run with patience, the weights need to be laid aside and the brakes removed that the inner may keep abreast with the outward, that our ambitions, our hopes, cur aims, may fly forward toward the goal, "nor," as the line of the old hymn luns, "tire amid the heavenly road. The very pace of the runner is itself the foe of patience. It calls, seemingly, fo. impetuousity, and the more impetuous the runner, we are accurtomed to think, the better. Its certain effect is to heat the blood and fire the nerves. Behold the athlete with ^very muscle taught, every line of his face hard set, his eye intense and ea^er, the applauding crowd urging linn oa: now can ue uu puiseiui uuu self-controlled? Indeed,- patience would eeem impossible, and impatience the very fjrice of the prize. And yet every athetic man before rae knows this is the talk of a novice. If there is anything the runner needs it is self-control, to be able "to keep his head," as we Bay, to command his nerves, to hold his strength in check at the first and let it out toward the finish, to keep from being unnerved by the shouts of the crowd, to be equal to any unforeseen turn the race may take or any condition before unreckoned with that might appear. And does it not always turn out that a running match is at bottom chiefly a question of self-commandmuscle, wind, nerve, mind, yes, and heart ?and the winner ever found to be the one who has run the race with the greatest patience? Young men, this is a running age, and a country where, whether you will or not, irou must adopt the quickest pace. "Step ively," the car conductor's inelegant command, is characteristically American, thougn it may usually happen in this case to be spoken by a foreigner. All Ameri cans are proverbiaLy in a hurry. Even our kindergarten tots have caught the step, and from childhood on it gets gradually faster and faster, until., when a young man reaches maturity, he is on a deaa run. Life these days is a veritable ru?h for existence. To run, then is an ea6y thine?it Is the most natural thing in the world to us. we have been bred to it; it is instinct, but to run with patience, to keep the soul calm when the body becomes heated and overtaxed, 60 that the spiritual does not lag behind the material life, and we grow fe- 1 verish, sordid, impetuous?ah! this is quite 1 another thing. Sr.ch a difficult task is it. 1 that, amid the clamor and tumult of our modern life, it is the rarest thing tc find ; men with tranquil temperaments, stead- ? fast, patient, reposeful. Under the strain and pressure of the times we pet irascible, restless, nervous, narrow ana shallow of bouI. Solitude has no longer any conge- j niality for us, and, as Dr. Samuel Johnson i declared years ago, "When a man cannot i bear his own company, does not like to be i alone, there is something wrong." It ( would seem as if Wordsworth were ar- j raigning our age and not his own, which ] was so phlegmatic and meditative as com- j pared with this, when lie wrote down his ] memorable lines: i "The world is too much with ujp; late and 1 soon, .1 Getting and spending, we lay waste our 1 . powers. Little ive ?ee in nature that is our; 1 We have given our hearts away, a sordid 1 boon!" _ < Aversive to solitude, and over-enamored I of society, hard driven b?- materialistic ' gain and greed, tearing ahead for a prize 1 that our nervous dutch may crush so soon ! as it is once in the hand, we outrun our re- ] ligious duty, the claims of our inner nature 1 are left away behind, and we go dashing * madly ahead, like a runaway engine, into ] spiritual, if not moral, ruin. This, young ' men, is the feverish race you are soon to ' enter. Whatever your disinclination there- ' to, you are bound to run it. The one su- ' preme question is, will you run it with pn- 1 lieuce ui, us me gi ctio ma lum v (tic e>cet\ing to do, impetuously, wildly, without seii:ontrol, and therefore unsuccessfully'/ '"What is the secret of such patience?" pou ask of me, eagerly, earnestly, in y >nr i upturned faces? i-.et our author answer. ( "Looking unto Jesus" is the sole remedy . be suggests. "Let us lay aside every i weight and the sin that doth so easily be- i set us. and let us run with patience the 1 race tli?t is set before us, looking unto \ Jesus, tie author and finisher of our faith, 1 ivho, for the joy that was set before Him. c jndured the cross, despising the shame, i ind is set down at the right hand of the j throne of God." "Looking nnto Jesus" may mean at least three things: Looking unto Him as the < inal goal; looking unto Bim as tne one t >n1v emancipator, and looking urM H:rr 1 ia a perfect model or uattim. i believe I 1 % ' ' ' : -r. " -r l; ' the author of thi$,j epistle means all this here. " ' * ' \ . I. Jesus the supreme goal of our lives? out* highest purpose, onr commanding aspiration, out to whom all our energies run and upon whom all our ambitions and activities terminate. "Lord, let me not be too content, With life in trifling service spent, Make m-* aspire. When days with petty cares are filled. Let me with holy thoughts be thiilled, Of something higher." This must be our constant prayer, if we are tj run the hurried and hurrying race of modern life and preserve our equipoise fhrrmerh it all? and that "something nigh er" to which we must aspire is the service of Christ. Let a jqajibegin to live his life in devotion to Hint.' for His sake and unto His honor, turning all the intensity and enterprise of bis strenuous existence toward that as his goal, and his life will speedily lcse its feverish heat and grow calm ana steadfast and serene. He ~eed not slacken his pace a bit. If that be its goal, be may continue to run and on to its close he will remain patient despite bis environing conditions. He may make baste to get rich, to acquire leadership, to attain success, to exalt Jesus Christ instead of self, if the unseen be his chief aim and aspiration, and the material but a means tnereunto, be will go tbrougii life patient-proof, and the tumult and fever of the ;vge will never get into bis soul. "For this is peace?to lose the lonely note Of self in love's celestial-ordered strain; An'l this is joy J-to find one's self again In Him whoee harmonies forever float l'hrough all the spheres of song, below, above, .for God is music, even as God is love." Oh! this is .what our hard-headed busi nees men need, tnis is wnac our nervous, self-centered. society women need, this is the great need of our ambitious and eager youth, to make Jesus Christ, His glory and service the sobering, absorbing, controlling ' ambition of -their Hives. I* this not the first great look our author commends to W ?looking unto Jesus, as our supreme purpose? And what is the second'/ Second?Looking unto Jesus for power in our lives, as our great emancipator from the bondage of this materialistic age. ''Have you ever thought, my friend, As you daily toil ana plod In the noisy paths of men, How still are the ways of God? "Have you ever paused in the din . Of traffic's insistent cry, To thin-, of the calm in the cloud, Of the peace in your glimpse of the sky? "Go out in the quiet fieJds, That quietly yield you.pjeat. And let them rebuke your noise, Whose patience is still apd sweet." Jesus Christ alone can bring the quietness of the fields and the calmness of the cloud info our being. To Him we turn, as t> its first great source, would we have the same atmosphere blowing through our souls. You know Mme. Guyon's definition of prayer: ''The silence of a soul absorbed in God." And Tennyson's, if possible, was even better: "Prayer is like opening a sluice between the great ocean and our little channels, when the great sea gathers itself together and flows m at full time." If you and I would run with patience, we, too, must let this tide flow into our Uvea, j and that can never he until we live in close j touch with Jesus Christ, seek His help at every turr, draw upon. Him for our | strength and depend upon His grace for i sustaining and transforming power. Henry j Drummond once said: "Five minutes in | the morning alone with Christ will change for us the whole day." What then would all the minutes of all the days in union with Him do for us? "Have you and I to-day Stood silent as with Christ, apart from joy, or fray Of life, to see His face; To look, if but a moment, in its grace, And grow, by brief companionship, more true, More nerved to lead, to dare, to do For Him at any cost? Have we to-day *1 Found tjme, in thought, our hand to lay > - ' In His. and thus compare 1 His will with ours, and wear . The impress of His wish? Be sure Such contact will endure ... m Throughout the day: will help us walk ' erect "V - Through storm and flood; detect Within the hidden life ein'j dross, its : 'stain; Revive a thought of love for Him again; ( Steady the steps which waver; he?p us see The footpath meant for you,, and roe." ; ] Forever true it is that those who run t life's race patiently are pre-eminently men , of prayer. Third?What is the third look? Looking unto Jesus as a pattern for our lives.' j There is.aemethinr about this pattern pe-. j culiar to itself. Expressed in a word, it ! has the perspective of eternity. Christ 1 J lived His life not to gratify a fleeting, temporal, selfish sense, like avarice, fame, 1 success, pleasure, but to fulfill a God-given 1 mission, to reach up to a divine standard, and work out an eternal equation. Put together three heart utterances of His and the full pattern will be before you: "J do ' always the things that please Him"?duty ; < to His Father, His will ever yielding itself i td'the will of God. "I am come that they 1 might have life and that they might have i it* m?re abundantly"?duty to men and .< complete dedication of Himself to the ful- H fillment of that duty. "I must work the ' 1 works bf Him that sent Me"?duty to Him- 1 self as "the sent of God" whose one pas- J sion was to mane msine juBiuy its tugu purpose. As some one has phrased it: < "On one great mission bent, j He sped for God, forever unencumbered j Of earthly ciogs whereby our souls art i numbered, j In glory excellent." . > 1 Keep this pattern before yon. my fellow < runners, consult it the first .thing in the 1 morning, turning to it often through the 1 day, and let it be the last thing you look i upon at night ere your eyes forget to see,v t and you will be too serious to be otherwise 1 than calm of soul; too much in earnest to i lose your poise, too set upon linking every 1 moment of time with eternity and working out the answer of your life to God to let temporal aim command you or sordid fhiniro onal.ivp von. Then the weiehts shall j be lifted off the inner and laid hard down ! upon the outward life, and you will con- ' tinue to run?perhaps, your pace may quicken?life will be a prompt, an earnest, eager, intense race, but you will run it j clean down to the end witn patience. This ' is the trinal secret I bring you: Christ the r purpose of our lives. Chriat the power in J Dur lives! Christ the pattern for our lives! j Common Days. One of the chief dangers of life is trust* j ing occasions. We think that conspicuous j events, striking experiences, exalted mo- . ments, have most to do with our character . md capacity. We are wrong. Common ^ days, monotonous hour?, wearisome paths, , plain old tools and everyday clothes tell the j real story. Good habits are not made on ^ birthdays, nor Christian character at the new year. The vision may dawn, the J iream may waken, the heart may leap t with a new inspiration on some mountain top, but the test, the triumph, is at the foot of the mountain, on the level plain. Fhe workshop of character is everyday Life. The uneventful and common-hour is where the battle is won or lost. Thank LJod for a new truth, a beautiful idea, a * flowing experience, but remember unless , ive bring it down to the ground and teach \ t to walk with feet, work with hands, and , stand the strain of daily life, we have j Jnof if?wo Wve Vipfn hurt hv n Vi OC HiO.II IVOW *w "W ...... t. A new light in our heart makes an occasion, but an occasion is an opportunity, lot for building a tabernacle and feeling ;hankful and looking back to a blessed j nemorv, bnt for shedding the new light on ;he old path, and doing old dutie? with lew inspiration. The uncommon life is i -he child of the common day lived in an incommon way.?Rev Maltbie D. Babcock. SIiows Himself a Beast. We believe there is truth in the old saying: "In vino Veritas." Wine, when c ;nough of it is taken, lifts off the cover. ? \ man not only tells the truth when he t s druni . but he shows his secret disposi- s :!on. If he is a beast, be shows himself 6 aeastH*. If he is at heart cruel and re- l reugeiul, he may beeome a murderer. It a le js lustful, he becomes licentious. Strong i hink exaggerates that which without it p night lie Intent and unknown during a c ifetirr.e. t a At the Yeovil (England) bankruptcy q ourt recently a Burton innkeeper main- g .ained thHt the reason of his insolvency g ,vas because "all the ' eople in the village c iad turned teetotal* '' - ? y . . .. ' The Lens. I who have harbored doubt, am now A freeman, ridden of my fears;Clear writ across the morning's brow: I read the premise of.the years It dazzles od the face of noon, Limned there in letters planet-bright; And though there shine nor star nor moon, I mark it in the front of night. 'Tig through the lens of Faith I heed The huddled flight of all my fears; 'Tis through the lens of faith I read The radiant promise of. the years. ?Clinton Scollard. The Prodigal Son. This story has grown so familiar through Arm/tn onnrr ann +lio? if molr?a Vmf* little impression to-day, and the prodigal sons, jocosely called probable sons," are grown both more prodigal and more probable. The modern: prodigal son says to hi* Father: "Heavehly Father, give me the portion of the good things of this life which are my birthright?health, wealth, fame, friends, beauty; all that you mean shall be mine/' Then straightway, scarcely stopping to value the great fortune that is placed in his careless nands, he takes his way into a far country, a place as far from his Heavenly Father as it is possible for him to get, where he .cannot even visit Him on Sundays, because the fapd into which he ha* journeyed with his birthright is ofte in which they have no Sabbath. It would seem that he does not knotf the limit of his substance, for he wastes it with a lavish hand, never stopping to think that there may be an end to it. His health! How he spends it, burning up his very life tissues in wanton pleasuring, and expecting them to gush forth fresh the next morning. His fame, his influence, his friends?he draws upon them all as if they were inexhaustible. Now, .had he been at home, ii close touch with the Father who had first gj.'en him these gifts, they might have been J?; newed, for the Heavenly Father's,, wealth is countless and He loves to do for His own. But suddenly the supply of all his fortyne runs dry. And now, just as in the dayB of the first Prodigal son, when this happens, the next step for him generally is to "Jaire himself to a citiaen ftf that country," that far land away from God. He does not like to feed pigs. He would not have chosen to engage in a questionable business when Be first came out there to live. It all seemed pleasant then. Bat now it seems that he is obliged to accept this disagreeable, loathsome task. He does not think that he may, instead, return to his Father. How many prodigals, in need of money and offered a chanoe to do some dirty work, remember that instead they mav even then return to God, confess their sins and be forgiven! No, every prodigal thinks he has got to feed the pigs. He must accept that position in a brewery, or work-on Sunday, or carry on some dishonest dealing, for the "citizen" in that far country has him in his power, and not until he has reaehed the depths of humiliation, the utter ^ emptying out of flelf and the entire aeknowl edgment of the greatness of his Father. ia he willing to return home. . Notice that the Prodigal Son was not doubtful of his Father's reception at any time, but only asked to be made a servant instead of a t son because he felt his entire unworthy MM. And was ever Father like our Father in heaven? The robe of righteousness He puta upon v the wand$*e*,r- signifying a cleansing from all sin. The riag He puts tttopn the -.jpngtr to signify .that he is not only forgiven, 'but is* to cifrry about with li'im a sense of his Father's great love.. His feet ajg shod with precious promises that He may go forward in the way of p^ace, and then the fatted calf is killed that not only may h? be forgiven-and rejoice and feel once more , his Father's love, but he may also be-happy in it and thkik.no more of nis sins, for they ate" utterly -forgiven. There is a point not to be forgotten in the Father's talk with the elder brother. "My child," He says, "you are'valwaya with Me. Everything I have is yours." Is there the. least bit of gentle reproach that the elder hrnther had not exercised all hia privilege*? Is it not possible that the elder brother, if he. haa lived closer to his father's heart, might have been better understood and partaken of His deep love or the wandering, sinning brother??Grace Livingston Hill, in the New York Mail md txpreaa. The Open Heart, the Attentive Ear. Never a day passes, hardly an hour in which the cry for help of somebody worthy Df help?and all who need it are worthy of it in some way?is not near us, if we would bat open our eyes to see, our ears to hear tnd our hearts to think. Therefore every lay and hour brings us a iiew responsibility. None of us may know how much of bhe blood of our brothers and sisters mav be crying out-against us from the ground, bow many appeals for help arrogantly or wantonly unheeded by us, haVe" preceded death and ruin which we might have iverted or postponed. As we hope to be listened to when we cry aloud or make our mute, pathetic appeals, as we may lire to bold in our hearts the longing that somebody will understand what we cannot or iare not tell and will stretch out the hand to help,, whether it be for the relief of unspoken necessity or hidden distress, with influence, sympathy or consolation! so should w<? teach ourselves to look and lisnrvnnrtunit.V trt hpit). It 18 irilDOS- - aible for us to make better"investments of time, patience or moner. i A Golden Text. ' . ii ' A lady tells of a visit she made afc one :ime in a beautiful home where lived a lear old lady, Aunt Abby. Seeing her sitting in her rocking-chair by the window ( ane day, and looking a bit lonely, as she passed by she put her arm around her and desed her cheek. The old lady flushed vith pleasure, and said, "Thank you. dear. 1 Thank you." "Why, Aunt Abbie," said ;ho lady, "I am surprised that yon should 1 teem to care bo much." "My dear," she said, earnestly, "kiss your toother; kiss her )ften. You don't know how much good t will do her. Ah! we kissed them so nuch when we were little ones, the darings! But now they have so much to do, Hid so many c..res, it is not strange thafr 1 ;hey se.m to forget. They are so kind ind good. They want us to have esverv- ' ;hing, and more than we need. It is. only that they are always so busy. Don't forret, dear, to kiss your mother every day. 1 It will make her very happy, and?when she is gone, the memory will be all the sweeter." Having Faith. I I do not know when or how jt may Dlease God to give you the quiet of mm'' fou need; but I tell you that I believe ;hat it is to be had; and in the meantime ?ou must go on doing your work, trusting n God even for this?George Macdonald. Seek una Find. Find your purpose and fling your life ont to it, and, the loftier your purpose is. the nore sure you will be to make the world richer with every enrichment of yourself.? Phillips Brooks. ^ i Will Import Milch Goats. The Department of Agriculture has deided to send a representative abroad to dl the countries of Europe and the East o make a special study or goats, and buy pecimens of the best breed of milch and hearing animals. There has of late years iecn a demand for goats' milk for children nd invalids, and it is believed that the ntroduction of milch goats would prove a ! >rofitable investment. The usual price j if the milk when it can be had at all is wenty cents a pint, and the daily yield of 1 n average milch goat is from two to three 1 luarts. There are no distinctively milch >oats in this country, while in all the outhern countries of Europe they are a onmoa source of milk supply. ! ' S mmmrnrnrnmiamm+mmmmmmmmmmmm 1 THE SDNDAY SeBOOi} | INTERNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS 9 F03 FEBRUARY 7. 1 ??? j; Subject: A Sabbath in Capernaum, Mark. 1., 21-34?Golden Text, Luke It., Mainory Tenet, 21, 22?Commentary on the Day'a Lnwb. 1. Teaching with authority ( ?. 21, 221> . 21. rhey. Jesus ana the four awcipie* He had just called. "Into Capernaum..** Christ now makes Capernaum Bis home, and the centre of His ministry for morev than a year. .It ia called Hi? own.citf.^ (Matt. 9: 1), and here **a citizen He paid the half shekel (Matt. IT; 24). His mother and brethren came here,With Him (Jobit. 2: 12). "The Sabbath day.* His firat Sabbath in Capernaum. "The synagogue." This was the gift of a centurion (Luke 78 ?). Schools and colleges were often. conV nected with the synagogues. They werdr the centres of rengious and intellectual life'; "Taught." It tm common to call upon any suitable person to speak in the J synagogue services. It is not unlikely that at this time He repeated what He had said at Nazareth (Lttke 4: 16-30). It was truth that produced results, whatever may have been the subject. . "j 22. "They were astonished." . At the matter minMf. anirit (nfhnritv .ttf His teaching. 1. At the range of &? intellectual gifts. 2., The forceof His iJlpstrar . tions. 3. His acquaintance "with the human heart. 4. His deep knowledge of the divine law. "Authority." He spoke as one commissioned by God, and He laid great stress upon Himself. He said: "Isay, unto you," -without quoting --their tochers. He -was: 1. Dignified. 2. Origjnak .3. Convincing. 4. Consistent. . "'Not a* the scribes.'r The scribes were without spiritual life, their manner ifoe cold, andr .. J LtJU t ni_? !%!_ - *1 !_ *_!* ? i* witn an unnoiv arauuion, mey sougni meir own and God s doiy. They coulu only ingist upon the observance ot petty rules invented by men Jilte themselves,., II. Power over evil spirits (vf. 23-28)? 23. "A man wifehan unclean spirit." Lufce Bays he had "a spirit of an unclean devil'* and "cried out with a loud voice (Luke 43 33). There' has been much discussion regarding this "unclean spirit." Many hold that those who were said to have devils, were simply diseased people, and that thefe" strong paroxysms were only "fits:" We-' cannot agree with this, however, and mvAbi insist that, difficult as it m? be to understand, yet real demons did inhabit tbiw. man and those referred to in verse 32.< This country abounded in demon*. "Cried out." An evil spiriti* stirred to it* - icpth* wneii in ciUHCi who uegoi. 24. "Let us alone;'/-'; .The d*ril' al*ay? desires to be let alone, and bad men do -not want to be djAtrrbed with 'anything, good. We hear this ay the. moment wound er take to , deal with unclean thing#, to-day, such aa' intemperance and the bo-: rial evil. "What have' we to ,do- withir Thee?" Nothing at all. There is no concord between Christ and Belial. "To de-, etroy us." To drive us from onr abode' back to our native: place. "I know Thee."j Imagine ?obm -iiseeae, like the apoplexy,} thus addressing Christ! No, Const is dealing with devife now, and they knoW,. Him well, "ilia Holy'One of God." Thai Messiah, who has come to destroy the-1 kingdom of the devil J1 John 3: 25| "Jesus rebuked him." He doe* hotrfeur*. the testimony'of devi's 'to'prove His Meefriahehip. Throughput.His ministry Christnever for a moment countenances any-' thing that might be. construed into, a-truce unfK Sftton . 4rWnlil thv nftooo ifTriton C "be thou .muzzled." It ia a word for a" beast. .''Come out- of 'him." He speaks with au?thQrity. He will show who He >3. by casting opt the devil. 28. "Torn him." Or .convoked him"Came out." Even tb? devils obey Biw word of command. This is an evidence of i th? great object in Christ's mission?to destroy the works of the devil. 27. Whit thuoc is this?" God's wonder* are more wonderful than the devil's wonders. Je*u* taoght by what He did ? well as by what He 6aid. "TheVdo obey; Him." Tnus Jesus established Bus mission, by the miracles .He wrought, and the* Could not doubt; it. 28. Fame spreaa; abroad." This miracle was wrought in tbe^ public congregation,-and thorc who saw it published it wherever they went, and tb^ people ^throughout al]\Grablee were soon discussing Him and His work. He did not need devik to^pabHsh Him, and We donot need to compromise with the world, the flesh or 'the devil ttj-day in order toKp fn 4H?rrv nn Hifl tirnrlr K 1 ' /. III. Healing in a borne (vs. 29-31). 29. "They entered/' etc. Peter and" hi? brother Andrew, although natives of Bethsaida: (John 1: 44), were now living at Caporr, naum. Jesus, James and John had en-.' tered Peter's house. 30. "Simon's wileV mother." Thus we see that Peter wa? a, married man. It is strange, indeed, that the Roman Catholic Church should lay eo much stress on the celibacy of the clcrgjr when Peter, their chief cornerstone, bad a wife. "Lay sick of a fever." Luke calls, it a great fever. See Luke 4: 38. t She was; prostrated with a burning fever. "TtyyJ tell Him." This was really a request for; healing^ They kucw He could restore ber. 31. 'Took her by the hand." Could any thing, on this side the unlimited power/ of God effect such a cure? These proof* should demonstrate His divinity to tie-ina ? v - t xnni _ .4^' teingence 01 every man. ine iever jcjv her. Christ has power over disease." B* H can, and frequently does, heal to-day;; and -H yet we cannot test the state of the son! by the health of the body, gome of God's best 6aint8 have suffered with bodily in-, H firmities and h?ve been ei^c. It is the', H "prayer of faith" that saves the sick, and-H he who offers that prayer will see immedi- H ate results. "She ministered." She was Hj perfectly recovered and performed the or- H dinary duties of the household. She was D not obliged to wait a long time for her strength to. return. jM IV. Many miracles (vb. 32-34). 32. Hj "When the sun did 6et." The Sabbath H| ended with the setting sun and then they H| brought their sick to Him. It would not lB have been a desecration of the day if they H had come before the eua went down. Jesus had just performed a cure on that day, but the superstitions of the afflicted ones Ha and their friends kept many from applying ? to Hiin on the Sabbath day. "Unto Him. I Chj-ist has a panacea for all our aches, ills H3 and troubles. All a suffering world needs to do is to go to Jesue. He is still the H[ name living, mighty One, ar.d is able, will- Vj ing and anxious to deliver us from the power of the devil. c QB 33. "All the city." Not necessarily every; H| person, dui a very large company, or. n "Healed many." Matthew pays, "all that BV were sick." Luke says He laid hands oa^E them. Jesus healed all who come, and KB they were many. ' Diseases, devils." A^Hj distinction is made here that we most not.^1 fail to notice; diseases were "healed" and^B devils "cast out." "Suffered not.J' See on HX verse 25. This had been a great day at Capernaum, a day filled with stirring H| events. May God give us suck days in ail^H ? I XovlBflr t Blr Llijhthonie. UB The United States Government' is en-HE gaged in a novel undertaking at Benton H| Harbor, Mich. A lighthouse has bee'n.s^&Hfl on rollers and is being moved about lOOO^H feet in the. lake. This work was occasioned^? by the extension of the main pier 1000 feetHfl into Lake Michigan, and the ligbthouseHS will be moved ouc to tne ena 01 tuu*^m pier, providing it doe9 not topple over and^H elide into the lake. When tne lighthoune^H is again in position it will be possible to^H see the range lights from fifty to 100 J"<lesH9 along the Michigan shore. 53 Town Motcs Seventy Miles. 98 Calientes, which was a town of 2000 popo-Hl lation, in Nevada, has been virtually wiped^B 3ff the map in a day. Senator Ciark s^Bj transcontinental railroad, which is b'iild-^M in^ toward the Pacific Coast, runs r?.\cntv^H innes beyond Calientes, and it requiretlH| sniy twenty-four hours for the population^H Calientes to bundle up and build a tow*HI m the new site touched by the road. ' B Galveston'# Cau?eway. 'Hi The Southern Pacific Company has HE igreed to join the Rock Island Riiilro&d^H n spending $1,000,000 for a causeway 500H feet wide, with concrete retaining walls, [rom the mainland across the bay to Gal-^H pes ton, Texas. _ jpH Minnesota's Frog Product*. H[ The State of Minnesota now proiiuces^H >,000,000 frogs annually. }