Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Ill V* By* WALT; I " CHAPTER IX. 0 Continued. ' "Catherine," said Lily, when thej :were in the street once more, "there is something wrong about that man. He las done something. He can't look yon in the face, and he turned red and pale and all colors at once; and why did he keep wiukiug with both eyes?" "I believe that Tom and he were not exactly friends. But he said he wouid made inquiries." "He certainly said he would, whether lie means to or not: but why shouldn't he? He will send in a bill for his ser .vices, I suppose. Katherine, if I were you I would put in that advertisement as soon as there was money to spare for it." But of money, alas! there was none. When the girls were gone, James sat down with a perturbed countenance and an unquiet heart. He had no longer any desire to sleep. Presently he rang the bell, and one of the old clerks answered it. v "I want," he said, pretending to search among the papers, "to find the . last receipt for an annuity which my uncle used to pay to Captain Harry Willoughby, who appears to have died about six months ago." The clerk brought the book 'with all the receipts. , "This is his signature, is it? Very good. The last, dated January, of the present year. Yes. Do you remember Captain Willoughby?" "Very well, sir." I "Where did he live?" "I do not know. He came here once & quarter and drew his money." "Thank you?that will do." The signature of the receipt corresponded exactly with the writing of the torn letter. There was now not .the least room for doubt. This girl? rjLuiu s uuncee?was uie ueiress ui ixie itrust money. It was his duty?it was fcis clear and certain duty?to give up {the whole of it. It was no longer possible to juggle with words and to gloss over things; the heiress was found?he toad to give up the whole of that trust money to the girl. What a terrible ihole it would make in his income! SThere was no other way out of it. As (for what he had already done, courts of justice might take a harsh view of {that; but it was houesty itself compared with keeping the property now that he had found the heiress. She must have been led, he thought, to his office by the dead hand of Tom himself. James Rolfe was not a superstijtious person, but he had read novels, and he knew very well that dead people do constantly visit evil-doers with curses and-bring trouble upon them, ^Specially wieD they have dealt wickedly with wards. Yet, he thought, being a man of this generation, and therefore little afraid of dead hands, what harm could a dead man's hand do to him compared with iwhat he would do to himself if he gave up the property. And in what jwords should he explain to Harriet? 'Apd how would that dear creature regard the loss of three-fourths of her income and a return to the old life? He put the torn scrap of writing in tlie safe along with the old letter from Miss Willoughby, the only evidence of the trust; and then, though it was only ' half past three, he took his hat and walked out ot' the office. He could no longer sit there. When he was gone, some of the former rest and oalm returned. The visit of the young ladies had brought no work. The two old clerk? began to doze again. Eut the hoy, disturbed by the appearance of youth and beauty, and no longer able to sleep, read a penny novelette. In the evening, James argued out the ^vhole thing with himself over some stimulant and a pipe. He was no worse off, he assured himself, than he had been before the young ?ady turned up. He knew, to be sure, [who the heiress was; he was not obliged, however, to know; there was nothing forfeaally and legally to connect Miss Capel with the daughter of Captain Willoughby. What did it matter that he himself knew the fact, provided that he kept it to himself? No />ne could possibly find out that he knew it. But oh! what a difference there would have been if Tom had known it before he went away! He had promised Tom to give her all that was left after the trust was paid. A ridiculous promise extorted at a moment when his mind was not in the usual judicious balance. Ridiculous indeed! But no one knew it except Tom. Yet he though it would *>e well to keep the promise to a limited extent. He might give her all the money that was in Tom's name in the bank when he went away. How much [was it? Thirty pounds or so. He would send?and tnen he laughed, remembering a most r-markable occurrence. He had quite forgotten to ask the lady her address. Therefore hf could not send her anything. Noi could he dp anything at all. It was midnight. He sat in the li trrary, which was perfectly quiet, be cause it was the back of the house and everybody was gone to bed. Sud denly?no man was more free from su perstition than James Rolfe?he fel a horrid tremor seize all his limbs and cold dews stood upon his forehead It seemed as if Tom himself?his dea< cousin Tom?stood beside him. invisibh but audible, hurling reproaches a him. calling him "Cur. Liar. Thief Blackguard." and similar t:ngent!e iiiiun.v jiuuies?utMiii;, m iitii, n jut-iii advantage of his ghostllness. He a!s< threatened vengeance in some unde fined manner, which made James fee just as uncomfortable as Moab o Asealon might have felt when it wa: reported in the Bazaar that a Prophe had been predicting woe for its people James seized the decanter. Whei. he went upstairs, some tim tifler. he awoke his wife?who wa sweetly dreaming tli.v. she was goin; to live forever, always young and a! .wars beautiful, with silk drosse /, , I' - - r" * > -* " &* *- -*" *- - - - ' - % - - j?: ' -j. _ . . . _ Ill ERBESANT.^ 4 III trimmed with lace, and every night a stall at the iheatre?by banging bis . chin against the sharp edge of the coal . scuttle. This is enough to make a most | pious man awake his wife. "Good gracious, James," she cried, , "what is the matter? Can't you turn | up the gas?" He replied somewhat thickly, rub. bing the injured part: [ "It's?it's Tom's dead hand, my dear." CHAPTER X. The Last Shilling. The two girls sat together on Kath( arine's bed. Spread out in Lily's lap ; was all the money that was left?twent ty-two shillings and sixpence in silver. The iittle heap meant a fortnight's support. ; "Let me reckon up," said Katharine. ? "You are so stupid at figures, you poor i thing. There's three and sixpence for bed and one and nine for breakfast; that makes five shillings and threepence each." She set aside ten shillings and sixpence: "There?that is one week; there is left twelve slhilings for the next week." "But there must be washing, Kathorinn* on/1 aIi I hnnr />on tca Htta nn <1 few slices of'bread and butter taken in.the morning?" "When the money is all gone, where is the bread and butter to come from, . Lily?" "Where indeed?" "It is all my fault, Katharine," Lily burst out. "I have been eatfng up your money?oh! I will run away and leave you, at least to have all that is left." "Don't, Lily. We are all alone; let us keep together, whatever happens. Lily let us only keep together. Let us say to each other that we are not quite alone in the world." "What can we do? Oh! what can we do?" "I do not know. There are too many of us, Lily. There is not enough work \ for all, and somehow we do not seem to get even our share of what there is. Let us have patience. Put away the money, dear. There is a whole fort- * night before us. Let us try every- ( where. It isn't so hot now." "No. But it will get cold soon, and < then?why?Katharine"?she laughed 1 bitterly?"with no work to do, no i money for lodgings and food, and no * Cioiues nt ior winter, 1 ao 1101 minis we shall be the two happiest and merriest and most light-hearted, girls in all the world." She laughed again, but hysterically. "We will go about hand in hand, up and down the streets, laughing and singing. We will go to church to join in the liymns of thanksgiving. Everybody will wonder to see 6uch a happy pair." ' "Don't, Lily." "I must. Sometimes I must speak. Oh! I must, when I think what has happened to you and me, and^what happens to other girls. Somewhere or other there are your cousins and mine, sitting in ease and comfort, talking about their parties and their lovers, while you and I are looking forward to starvation. What have we done that we should be punished in this awful way? I say, Katharine?what have we done? What have we done? This was the question which she asked herself continually. She sprung to her feet and rushed to the window and threw it open. The cold autumn air blew unon her fore head. Above the chimneys and the roofs and the stars in the clear sky 1 there shone the calm, cold moon, full 1 and bright. "Oh!" she cried, "I am full of dreadful thoughts?of things horrible and detestable. We have done no harm 1 to anybody, though we may have had bad thoughts. Why are we so horribly punished?" "Don't Lily?what is tbe good of asking?" "I must ask. I have prayed?oil! I have prayed for hours in the night, I have torn my heart out with prayers. Is it wicked to pray for work and food? Why, there are thousands of wicked women who have plenty of food every day and no anxiety. Is there any such thing as wickedness?" "Don't Lily." It was all that she could cay. "The heavens are silent. Look: there is the cold face of tbe moon. There is no care or trouble in it about us. Pray ?Katharine?pray, like me, till you feel as if your words were echoed back from the hard and senseless rocks. Oh! why were we born? Why are we allowed to live?" She gasped and panted because of the , thought that kept coming again and , again. > "We are not obliged to live," she went on. "Katharine,'I am full of the , most dreadful thoughts. It must be . because we have so little to eat, I sup. pose, and because the future is so . black. Horrible phantoms fill my } brain, asleep or awake. I can't tell . you what they say to me." "Let us pray again. We shall get, . for answer, patience and resignation." Lily threw herself upon the bed, her face in her hands. But Katharine ' knelt beside her and prayed for both. In a fortnight a great deal may be t done if you have luck. Alas! these girls had none. In October the people, it is true, have all come back, but the I work has all been given out. At the > Museum, Katharine, a newcomer, was t known to few; and there was very , little work going at an. uutsiue, mere . seemed 110 situations vacant; even the ! cashier's place in the draper's shop at > seven and sixpence a week was filled - up?yei how readily now would they I have taken that place. i- They read all the advertisements and s applied at all the offices; but there was t nothing. Then for a week they lived on the breakfast bread and butter! and in the P evenings they sat silent, always hand s in hand, in Katharine's cubicle, waitrv ing for the dr.y when there should be 1. 110 more money, hungry, foot sore, and s heart sore. And in the night there ( \ . -'v. ^ came the dreadful dreams which torture those who are insufficiently fed. There came at last one evening?it was Friday evening?when there was no money, except a silver shilling. Saturday morning is tliat on which the residents of Harley House pay in advance for the next week. If they can not pay they must go. The rule is imperative. If the Matron were t? break that rule in favor of any resident she must pay the money herself in advance. There is no suspension of that rule allowed under any excuse whatever. To suspend the rule would eonvert Harley House into a charitable institution, which, as is proudly stated in the prospectus, is not its character. Therefore the two girls would have i to go. I think that the committee, had a they known the facts in the case, } would have relaxed that rule, or even paid a week or two in advance themselves for these two girls. By this time they had suffered so much that they spoke but little of their sorrows. They sat together and waited in silence. Next day they would not even have a bed to lie upon or a place wiere they could sit apart from the rest of the world. What would it be like? I think that even in facing the most terrible suffering there is something that consoles in the curiosity of wondering what it will be like. , There is nothing in which people differ more than in the way. they take disaster. Most of us are distinctly "worsened" by misfortune, particular jy in youtn. ui tnese two gins, one at least, the girl with, the splendid physique, born for the enjoyment of her youth, took punishment in the most rebellious way In the world. The more she was chastened the less was she resigned, until, in these days of the direst calamity, she was maddened with the sense of undeserved suffering. What had they done? Well, they had had fathers; Katharine found that o explanation of their troubles long ago. I It really explains a great deal of hu- > man suffering, although. two of the t Prophets disagree about it. Katharine endured in silence, and put no question to the silent heavens. Things that are ordered must be endured. Down stairs, in the drawing room, the residents were talking of them. Ladies who go in hunger are very slow to speak of their own sufferings, but they are quick to perceive the privations undergone by others. "They have not taken tea for a fortnight," said Miss Beatrice; "the Matron told me so." "Katharine Capel has sold her engagement ring," said another. "Nothlni? hnf tho rrmst drpn<lflll TlPCPSSitV would compel her to do that." "They have pawned all their clothes except what they stand in," said anather. "They have tramped over the whole Df London and they have found nothing." "And they have no friends at nil. Neither of them has any friends or any relations that she knows of." Then there was a murmuring among jach other, ar.d presently Miss Beatrice went round with a pencil and 1 _iit of paper and whispered with ?ach.*v It was Lily who really understood tvhat their future meant; at least she ihought she did, and she began to draw i realistic picture of what was going to happen. It was almost worthy of the great Master of the Horrible and the Disgusting. Over a great part of it I have dropped a veil. "To-morrow," she said, "we shall bejin to starve. We may, if we are fortunate, catch cold and die quickly of pneumonia or bronchitis. That is to say, you may. As for me, I never ?ateh anything because I am so strong. We have got a shilling; we shall use up in penny loaves; I don't know how long it will last, because I am not ?oing to keep any account of time. What does it matter whether we starve in a week or in a fortnight? The sooner 'tis over the sooner to sleep. Because starving, you see, Katharine, is a very slow and troublesome way of [lying. We shall wander about till we are obliged to sit down, and the policeman will order us to move on. Then we shall feel very weak, as well as very tired, and we shall stagger as we 1 go, and tumble down, and they will 1 carry us to the station, and say that * we are drunk." "Don't, Lily." ] But she went on. It seemed to con- J sole her, or it fed her rage, to picture the very worst that could happen. (To be continued."* _-.tT Bucolic. It was a country road. The automobile was sweeping down at a high clip. Directly in its track an old man leisurely shambled behind two cows which he was escorting homeward. When the machine was almost on , top of them, one of the occupants angrily called out: "Why don't you get out of our way? Do you want to be i run over?" , "Well," responded the farmer dry'y, "I was jest ruminating which'd be the most profitable, to let you run over them cows, or run over me!"?Brooklyn Life. Til* Kxplanutlon. 1 The photographer was delighted. "Seldom," he said, "have I had so ' good a sitter. The expression is exactly right, the command of the facial muscles perfect. You are, perhaps, an actor?" "No." "An automobilist?" "Yes." i "Aba, that explains-'lt. You have learned to submit to arrest and a large i fine every time you go out, and still < to return home looking as If you had j enjoyed yourself."?Philadelphia Bui- i letiu. i Interrupted. There is an actor who is more re- ' in.n.L-ihin fnr his talents than for his good looks. On a recent occasion ho was appear- ' ing at a provincial theatre, and the . heroine, in the course of the play, had to observe: ? "Ah! you change countenance!" The moment she pronounced these words 1 a voice from the gallery cried out: -<*}h, for heaven's sake, don't stop h?m! Let him ch:. ige."?London TitBits. Great Britain's Kailroail Men. The railways companies of England and Wales employ between tbom 312,000 men. The Scottish and Irish companies employ 40,000 men between lh*ui. I f *YC New York City.?Full, draped waists liade of the soft, filmy materials are mong the prettiest and most attractive aodels shown. This one is exception illy graceful nnd is so elaborate in efect as to make it suited to occasions f dress, while it is simple of construclon and has the great merit of closing sfil! Fancy Yoke Wal it the front. In the illustration radium silk is combined with velvet and lace, ;ontrasts of exceedingly thin and heavy materials making a notable feature of present fashions, but everything that Is soft enough to be shirred and draped with success can be utilized, while the trimming can be almost any contrasting material that may be liked. Silk and cloth, braided or embroidered, arc 1 exceedingly handsome on thin materials and much in vogue, while lace without the velvet can always be used if a lighter effect is desired. The waist is made with fitted lining, which is closed at the front, and Itself consists of fronts, back and chemisette. The fronts are gathered at their front edges and joined to the trimming portion and both fronts and. back are shirred at the shoulders. The chemisette Is arranged under the waist, over the lining, and the collar finishes the neck edge, the closing of the waist being made invisibly beneath the left edge of the trimming strap and collar. The sleeves are moderately full ones of the latest style mounted over linings, and can be finished with the bands and frills as illustrated or made with deep cuffs that extend to the wrists, as liked. The quantity of material required for The Beauty of Lnce. An exquisite example of the beauty of lace was seen in a window of a large New York shop. The window was draped in rich, dark velvet and the only object in the space was a court gown, of white satin and a brocade which might almostliterally have stood alone. The grouud was creamy white and the large ugures were sonu snver and gold thread. The wonderful beauty of the fabric was nearly lost sight Df when the point lace which adorned the entire front of the gown was beheld. There was a deep bertha of the lace, and a wide drapery down the front of the waist and skirt. The lace was the work of the most skilled bands and was probably worth tbe traditional king's ransom. The Automobile Coat. It looks seamless. It Is straight front and bnck. Tbe sleeves are cut in witb the body. It is made of a waterprOv>t worsted. It Is as immeusely roomy a Chinaman's coat. Save for Hie 0nisbino *>its it is cut In three pieces. jyAs.LvV.--' . n . _ . 7-7*' : ~ ^TEST : >rk. V tbe medium size is three and one-half yards twenty-one, three yards twenty- e seven or two yards forty-four inches 0 wide, with five-eighth yard of all-over lace for the chemisette, one-half yard . of velvet and two and one-half yards of F applique to make as illustrated. c Shirt Waist or Blonse Sleeves. g The up-to-date sleeve is absolutely t essential to the style of the waist or the gown. No other feature changes fc so often and none so surely marks e the fashion. Illustrated are some ad- t mirable designs which can be utilized * alike for remodeling and for new ma- * terial and which afford so great a va- ^ riety as to suit almost all occasions and ^ all materials. The long sleeve with the deep cuffs is exceedingly charming p for the fancy waists of simple occas- I ions, while the elbow and three-quar- a ter lengths are equally desirable for the t more dressy - blouses, and the shirt 1 waist model suits the plain tailored * sort. In the illustration the long fancy ? sleeve is made of lawn with tucking | and embroidery,, the elbow and three- .. quarter sleeves are of soft silk with ? lace trimmings, and the shirt waist s sleeve is of Madras, but every sulitable b and seasonable material can be utilized S with whatever trimming may be preferred. *! The fancy sleeve is made with full * i ii v c i ^re ; \,i i 6 F at, 82 to 40 Bust. 1 S < t upper portion and deep cuff -which arf y joined one to the other. Both the e - * bow and the three-quarter sleeves ave made with full portions only, the lower E I edges held by bands, and the plain s sleeve is in regulation sbirt waist style with a straight cuff that is but- ? toned into place. n Skirt* and Sleeves. Oce authority declares that skirts are to be a fraction shortev than during ? the winter, but those who ought to know declare that there will be no ^ change in the length or thape of the n sleeve. We are also told rhat tailor- t. mades -will be more severe tnan tney q were last year, but that there will be t little difference in the garniture and y effect of the frock for more elaborate t occasions. Sleeves have been given a I1 great deal of attention the last few years, for all couturiers appreciate the fact that this part of the dress demands vital attention. a As a matter of fact, sleeves can hard- c ly be improved upon. They are neither [ huge horrors nor strained skimps. T Rather are they charmingly graceful e bits of drupery of whatever length Is j most becoming. The plain coat sleeve \ is right in its way, too, being suitable t in every detail. c Bolero Novelty. Among the novel little boleros springing up are some made of alternating ^ rows of Valenciennes and heavy lace b and others of velvet and jet. It , t1 [HE SUNDAY* SCHOOL : MTERNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS FOR MAY 13. icbject: A Fierce Demoniac Healed, Mark v., 1-20? Golden Text, Maik v. 19?Memory Verse, 15?Toulc: Grea, Facts Kespecttng Salvation. 1. Tlie fierce demoniac (vs. 1-."). 1. ] They." Jesus and the disciples. "The ther side." They crossed the Sea of ] ialilee from Capernaum to the Eastern hore. "Gadarenes." This name in lattbew is Gergesenes, and in the Re- ^ ised Version is Gerasenes. , 2. "The tombs." These tombs were ither natural caves or recesses hewn ut of the rock, with cells upon their 1 ides for the reception of the dead. A man." Matthew mentions two men. J lark and Luke speak only of one, trobably the fiercer of the two, withut denying that two were healed. 1 Unclean spirit." Called unclean be- ( Al- l-li .1 . rj 1 _ ,1 Ua4K a use uue spun uemeu uuiu uuuj uuu oul, the outward filth being a type of he inward defilement. J 3. "Could bind him." Attempts had r ieen made to bind him because he was xceedingly fierce (Matt. 8:28). Luke ells us that he was naked. 4. "Fet- ] ers and chains." Fetters were for the eet; chains for any other part of the j iody. "Tame him." It was impossile to bring bis wild, savage nature un- ( er restraint. 5. "Night and day." He was derived of sleep. "Mountains?tombs." lere the demoniac had his home; for II maniacs were outcast as soon as j bey became violent, for that age had o provision for taking care of them. ^ nstitutions of pity for the unfortunate re among the gifts of Christ; an- ^ iquity knew nothing of them, or of he spirit that would produce them. ] Crying." Probably with hideous yells. Cutting himself." Here is an impres- r ive picture of what all men would ecorce under the absolute dominion of latan. II. The demoniac goes to Christ and 3 delivered (vs. G-13). 0. "Ran and worshiped." As a man he is attracted r?77ard Christ, but -when under the afluence of the demons he desires to j withdraw from Christ. 7. "And ried," etc. It is impossible to account 1 or his strange consciousness of a i wonderful power in Jesus, or for the i tterance of language which comes, as < t were, from a being within the man I n any other hypothesis than the ex- i tence of beings superinduced upon i len. "To do with Thee." Literally, t Vhat is there between Thee and me? Vhat have we in common? Why In- t erferest Thou with us? The devils t t once recognize their great enemy f rith divine power. "Torment me not." I lerein the true devilish spirit speaks c ut. which counts it a torment net to ( e suffered to torment others, and an t ajury done to itself when it is no more ermitted to be injurious to others, t . "What is thy name?" Christ asked 1 be man (not the demon) his name in a rder to get his attention and bring 1 im to e consciousness of his own per- 1 onality. "Legion." The demon an- a wered, speaking through the man. c 'be Roman legion consisted of about s ix thousand men. The word has come e o mean a-^y large number?a host. 10. "Besought." The demon knew <3 ?ho was in authority over him. "Out f the country." This is explained in t ?uke 8:31. They did not wish to be t ent "into the deep;" that is, the abyss c f hell, into the bottomless pit (Rev. s 0:3). Send us anywhere, anywhere e >ut to perdition. Send us to tbe most s hattered man; send us to the lowest c reature, into man or beast, bird or ( eptile; anywhere but into hell. 11. i' Great herd." Though the Jews did ot eat pork the Roman soldiers did C nd the swine -iy have been kept to t upply their wj? 12. "Into the h wine." How c. a demons enter . s wine? We do not know. But we see t nnnv <hinrro finite AS difficult trt Under- I e tand. The connection of mind and ?i >ody in us is an equally great mystery, e 3. "Gave them leave." The devil annot so much as trouble'swine with- o lit leave from God. "Were choked." i Javilers have charged our Lord with i prong doing in "sending" the demons t nto the swine and thus causing such a J ;reat loss to the owners; but it should ? e noted that what Jesus did was to r. rive them cut of the man and then i iermit then to go where they wished, c III. The effect of the cure (*s. 14-17). f 4. "Fled." Their occupation was i one. "In the city." Gergesa, near t he sea. "Went out." The quickness c fith which intelligence flies in the a Sast. Matthew says, "Behold, the t /hole city came out tc meet Jesus." a 15. "See him?sitting." There is n n aarvelous contrast between the man's a ormer and his present condition. In- r tead of wandering among tombs, in lakedness. and filling the people with If error by his wild, maniacal ravings, d le is now sitting at the feet of Jesus, ( lcthed and in his right mind. Those /ho come to Christ and take Him as 1 heir Savior always come into their t ight mind. "Were afraid." They a :new they were in the presence of one /ho had great power, and perhaps c hey feared Jesus might send upon ? hem the punishment they knew they h leserved on account of their sins, t Vben Christ comes into a place there <3 s either deadly fear or great rejoicing, g 0. "They saw it." Those who fed ?s he swine and others who may have ? leen there when Jesus landed. Then, ( nn +lio riisrinles mav have told the I tory. 17. "Tc depart." They 110 ioubt feared greater losses. They preerred swine to Cliriit. IV. The saved man at work for ' ,'hrist (vs. 1S-20). 18. "Be with Him." low different is this grateful man rom what he was before he met the Savior. He loved Jesus now and deired to join himself to Christ. :Lfi. "Go homo?tell." We owe our t irst duly to our home and friends. 20. c Decapolis." From deka?ten, and a iolis?fitv mpnninc ten oitioc g Town'i Only P?up?r on Strike. Burlington, Vt's., one pauper, Henry Imith, is going to quit. For months . e has yearned for company. None has ] ppeared. So irksome lias the loneli- : ess1 of his estate become that he has . otified the officials he prefers to go o work. This is good news for the j uthorities, for a few days ago when he town found tha* it cost $3G5 last ear to run the town farm for the enefit of Burlington's one solitary ? iauper, it was voted to sell the farm J nil h/iarrt mif jta inniatA. Woltei In Indiana. ; WOlves in muiaini are buluc?.luii vi . novelty. During the recent siege <jf old weather and deep snow it is reicrted that a pack of wolves, driven iy hunger, left their haunts in the vild forests of Brown County and raid- * d a flock of sheep belonging to James J lelms, a farmer living near Nash- t ille. Several of the sheep were said 8 o have been killed by the ravenous ^ reatures. i A 15,000 Ejtk Incubator. An incubator with 15,000-egg capac- T ty has just been completed at Pem- 8 roke, N. Y., by W. P. Hall, who says ^ t is the largest and best equipped in 11 be world'. .. V m^ughts d a -1 , at evening" time."" XT OlACK HILL. ' * ' ? t ' y Come unto Me all ye that labor and M* , leavy laden and I will give you rest.?* * tfatt. 11:28. - / iow sweet this hour, my dearest Lo{d, When, low on bended knee, listening for Thy in-breathed wcrd, Find rest in Thee! rhe -world that claimed me all the to* I Is .silent for a space? ' come to Thee, for Thou dost say, "Seek ye lly face." Dw face, Lord, will I geek, and there Find pardon for my sin, ? ^ balm for pain, an ease from care. And peace within. \nd since this wayward, Bin-stained heufk "Tv T j rrL... J j. J ; _ utar jjuru, jliiuu uuut uesue, >h. purify its inmost part , " With cleansing fire! "sjv >* [ come?such failures bow my head-* No gift n in my hand? rhou, who hast trod the path we treadWilt understand. For still Thou leanest in the strife, And when we fail art near. ^nd wnen we look to Thee for life We lose our fear., 5o I would trust Thee every day, And in Thy love confide? rhv Word, a lamp to light my way, Thyself my Guide! #' ' f ' V'jrcH ^h, take the contrite heart I bring And make it all Thine dwn! Xeign there, my gracious Lord, as King Upon Th;* throne! rhv stars are saining, clear and still? The night is full of Thee? 4. Draw near?with Thy sweet Spirit fill The whole of me: rill all my will is merged in Thine, - . The life lost found in Thee, '||V , 5 \nd all within, one deep, Divine *~S & iranquiiaiy: , ?London Christian. \ )'Thi Vital Clirtitifn Principle. I would thou wert cold or hot?? ; SlPOc., iii.,,15. These words of the beloved disciple J, ead us to suspect that something more s demanded of Christians than mere tcceptance of doctrine and the doing >f good works. Unless the motive jower behind the good works be vital* zed by inspiring goodness their perormauce cannot be viewed as a dis- j inctly Christian act. The text has no reference to sinners ixcept in the sense that "the just man alls seven times a day." Its lesson 1? or those whose lives are relatively; terfect yet cannot show any positive ; ict to further the honor and glory of 5od ot to secure their own progress la he spiritual life. Such Christians are apt to deceive hemselves as to their true condition. Che facts that they do not transgress ind that they contribute to or engage n philanthropic works . are glaring ights that injure their spiritual sight ind they are unable to perceive their >wn destitution. To these the apostle, ays: "Anoint thine eyes with eye alve, that thou mayest see." ? . .. Our blessed Lord said: "He that . 1 loth truth cometh to the light, that bis vorks may be made manifest, because hey are done in God." Here, then, is be crucial test?are your good works lone in God or through a desire to hine before your fellow men? The oost genuine character, moved by the incerest human motives, can produce inly pagan economy if the Spirit of iod be not his guide, for "that which s born of the flesh is flesh, and that phich is born of the spirit is spirit." ^ )f such St. John says: "Knowest nbt bat thou art wretched and miserable nd poor and blind and naked? I counel thee to buy of me gold fire tried, ' hat thou mayest be made rich and oayest be clothed in white garments, * nd that the shame of thy nakedness aay not appear." I The fire tried gold is charity, or love if God. Hence, whatsoever is done, f it be not done through love of God, t avails us lathing. St. Paul expresses his, saying: Though I bestow all my ;oods to fee? the poor, and though I ^ive my body to be burned, and ha?e ' lot charity, it profiteth me nothing.* Igain, speaking of the basic principle f aft good deeds, he says: "Other oundations can no man lay than that s laid, which is Christ Jesus." Chrisians without spiritual motive exercise inly their natural gifts in doing good, nd forget that it is only through the Qerits of Christ that we are fitted ' bove pagan virtue and are what "we re. The pagan Christian acts are not i ccording to grace, but according tolature. Prayer, attendance at church service, arge contributions to religion are as [ross if the motive be not primarily Jod and secondarily himself, his felow men and the world. Such Christ tad in mind wnen we uttered tee remke: "I know tliy works, that thou ire neither cold nor hot." It is only rhen the humiliation of calamity omes, and we despair not of God btjt if ourselves, that we realize the merft, uraanitarianism of all done. Then the,' ruth dawns that the building of good'*--; leeds was erected on a "foundation of old, nilver, precious stones, wood, hay, tubble." In the hour of tjjal the ? tructure collapsed, because Jesua Christ was not the chief cornerstone. ,et us always, therefore, "follow aftep harity, and desire spiritual gifts," hat all we do shall be done for God hrough the saving grace of our Lord resus Christ.?Rev. John J. Donlan, , ^hurth of the Transfiguration. Brookjrn, N. Y., in the Sunday Herald. i JL UQ t pU KIIU UUTTIII, | Look to the East, the dawning of he glory is near. Your Guide is good S ompany and knoweth all the miles md the ups and downs in the way.? Samuel Rutherford. How to Become Thankful. To think the best of people and no! he worst, to say only kind and graious words, to be brave and true and lopeful and undaunted, to rest ou 2od's will as on a soft pillow, to keep he child heart to gray hairs, and to lave the Kingdom of Heaven within 'ou, are all parts of your duty, and beong to the birthright of good men andl food women. To despair of none, to efuse help to none, to give, to lend, o love, to live for others, these are the ilt?|J?JlIIg-siUli('7? iu inn iuautt/.ujucaa. , Margaret E. Saugster. Last of Great Baltimore Fir*. What ivas probably the last spark or he big fire at Baltimore has just been: >ut out, having smouldered for just wo years and two months?a remarkble record. While workmen werei learing the debris on McClure's Dock, be site of a seed warehouse, they came ipon a heap of bricks. As they dug? hese up, a tiny sheet of flame shot up* v-hen the air struck the debris below, nd then a volume of smoke continued intil the debris, w^hich is supposed to* lave been the remains of pea aeed,: i-as completely removed^ ? . . a i ii nil riMi^Tiid