The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, September 09, 1908, Image 6
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CHAPTER XVII. 10
CoutlnueJ.
"I tore it up," he said, curlly; and
her face lightened.
"You felt?and very properly-that
you would not ho justified in
accepting money for what you havedone?"
"Not as you offered it."
"Well, you decline it at all events,
and?and I should not dream of hurting
your feelings by offering it to you
again; but of course T can't keep the
portrait now."
"It Ik mine again!" he cried. "Ah!
If you had only said so at once!"
'T did not know then about the
check," she said, with a deeper tint
on her apple cheeks. "And I was angry?and
quite rightly?then. But
it is understood, then?the whole
transaction is at an end? I keep the
money, and the portiait is yours to
destroy as soon as it conies back from
Srosvenor. I don't wish?on calmer
reflection, to perpetuate a work
which can only damage your reputation
in so many ways."
"You are very considerate?if it
comes a little late," he said. And
the truth was that Mrs. Staniland
had beeu blaming herselL' for some
time for paying so large a sum without
necessity. She had bought with
it the right to revenge, but revenge is
too perishable a commodity to seem
long an equivalent for hard cash.
Meanwhile Babcock was engaging
thp rolonel. blissfully unaware that
he had already inspired that officer
with a secret hut cordial dislike.
"Of course," he began, "you and I,
as men of the world, know what to
think of all this tomfoolery; but, unless
you put your foot down pretty
Grmly, I'm afraid, from all I've seen
~ to-day, that you daughter may, ah?
allow herself to be impressed by it!"
"You may leave that to me, sir,"
said the colonel, with a little movement
of weak irritation, for he felt
ao anxiety to put his foot down on
Babcock's behalf, and yet he foresaw
he might be obliged to do so.
"You don't seem to understand,
colonel," he said, "that, unless you
are careful, you will have Sybil flinging
herself away on that scoundrel
over there; but perhaps that would
not displease you?"
"I should most certainly put a stop
to anything of the kind," said the
colonel coldly, "so you need give
yourself no further trouble. But, as
far as the young fellow himself is
concerned, he seems to me a gentlemanly,
nice young fellow enough.
What have you got against him?"
"I should have thought there was
enough against him; and I don't see
myself how all the occult haukypanky
in the world can whitewash
bim," said Babcock, waspishly.
"I think I've some reason to bear
a grudge against him, too. He deliberately
ruined the best picture I
ever painted, or ever shall paint."
And he told again his oft-repeated
story of the fakir and the British
landscane. which it so hannened the
colonel had not till then heard in all
its bearings, and which, as Babcock
told it, made things look very black
against his rival.
'You're right," said the colouel
at the end of it, with a feeling that
this would at least strengthen his
case against Campion; "that was a
shabby thing to do?he's a dangerous
fellow, and 1 must get rid oi him."
He crossed to where Campion was
standing with Mrs. Staniland, and addressed
him with a marked change in
his manner. "We have had some
extraordinary statements this morn<ar."
he began, "and we were required
to accept them as excuses for
your behavior. But there can be no
excuse for the disgraceful way in
which you have betrayed your friend
Babcock?for he was your friend
then; you have probably, he tells
me, crippled his artistic career."
"I can only say," said Campion,
"that I did it in all innocence?if poor
Nebelsen hasn't convinced you that
some abnormal iuflueuce was over
me, nothing I can say will. I offered
to paint out the fakir as soon as 1
saw what I had done, but Babcock
declined to let me touch it. And
really, if he thought it was crippling
his career, he would hardly let Seiditoff
exhibit it by artificial light at a
shilling a head!"
"You didn't tell me that! ' said the
colonel Babcock.
"Don't see how it affects what no I
did," replied Babcock, rather sulkily.
"As 1 :.aid," Campion continued,
"I've as little to do with any credit
for the thing as for any blame, so fa;as
intention goes?but he might sit
off the one against the other, particularly
as Sieditoff told me I without
knowiug I had any part In it) he had
bought the picture entirely for the
eccentricity of the thing."
"Well, I must say," said the colouel,
"I think you might have mentioned
it."
And soon after this, Babcock, perceiving
from the colonels manner
that he had over-reached himself,
withdrew, without evcu having the
courage to try to conciliale Sybil, as
he had promised himself he would
do before he left.
"Well, X r. Campion," said the co.ouel,
"1 won't say?I can't say, that
avc may not have been iod to misunderstand
you in some respects. 1
don't mini' admitting that, whatever
may be said about?er, well, any alleged
supernatural incident?, 1 can'',
take upon myself to consider you
very greatly to blame in all this."
"For my part," said Mrs. Stani
land, "my opinion has nut altered i.i I
tho Ijast?nor will it, Hontrf!"
Ah?precisely,' he said hastily.
"I dlti't know ih;J iiiinc has?<>uly,
well, after all, Hilary!"
"What iuy 1 rot her i.i iryic^ tof
say," interrupted Mrs. Sianiland.
that, though he i-s willing f.? admit
'.'acre tnaj be excuses for you ('iiouglj
I confess i can't agree with him;,
^hat cauaot possibly affect liig objee
N IDOI,
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L. AINoltY. vi;>l/^^vW/^AtA^jiJ/vlAt/\V
lion to any engagement with Sybil?
he is quite firm upon that, are you
not, Horace?"
"Quite firm?that is, well, you're
not in a pcsition to marry, you know,
are you?" said the colonci.
"But if I were to be so some day?"
lie hazarded eagerly.
"We will consider that when the
day comes," said Mrs. Staniland
sharply. "At present you're not?
and we must, decline to hear of it.
'Sufficient for the day'?and I do
tnink there has been more than sufficient!
We are going, Sybil."
And tliey took her away from him,
- " - J .. 4A
and he was aione agaiu, rcuuwu w
find such solace as he could in the
memory of those last words and
looks of hers.
And now Campion was confronted
with a fresh dilemma, this parting
legacy of his ruthless tormentor.
What was he to do about the cast
that Perceval had lent him with so
many cautions? That precious head
of Cybele, which was now submerged,
in the idol's stead, at the bottom of
the Paddington Canal!
There was no use in putting it off.
He niuc., go to his friend at once and
at the risk of displeasing him seriously
tell him?well, as much of the
truth as he was likely to believe. So
he left the house with this laudable
intention, which, however, an accident
prevented him from putting into
practice.
On the way he passed a police station?not
the one which had extended
its hospitality to him on the night
before ? and outside was a placard
describing the discovery in the canal
of a bag which struck him as being
not unlike his own.
And as he learned after inquiring
inside, it was his own; it seemed
that the solitary errand boy whose
back was turned when Campion
threw the bag over the bridge had
been attracted by the splash, and, being
a sharp youth, had instantly
informed a policeman, with the result
that the bag was recovered before its
contents were in any way injured.
Campion had to go through some
unpleasant interviews before he could
persuad? the officials to give him the
bag; but he succeeded at length, and
Perceval, when his Cybele was restored
to him, never had the faintest
suspicion that it had played Gilda to
Campion's Rigoletto.
Whether the idol's share in a series
of disasters was or was not imaginary,
it is certain and somewhat
singular that its disappearance was
coincident with the dawn of a happier
state of things. The very next morning
brought a telegram from Messrs.
Moore, Bradshaw & Moore, avIio, it
may be remembered, were the firm
employed in propounding the will
under which, had it only been unopposed,
Campion would be entitled to
a comfortable legacy.
This telegram announced that
(probably from 6ome unexpected
weakness in the disputant's case) the
opposition had suddenly collapsed,
and submitted an agreement under
which all imputations were to be
withdrawn on certain terms, and the
will admitted to probate; and thas
Campion found that the legacy which
he had long since given up as hopeless
was actually to be his without
further dispute or possibility of failure.
It need not be caid he lost no time
in writing to the colonel, and when
Eabcock heard o^ this, and perceived
decided symptoms of wavering on the
father's part, he was roused to make
one last effort for what even he was
beginning to see was a decidedly forlorn
hop";. His plan was simple, and
a development in fact of the experiment
in his own studio. The colonel
was to he woiked up to pay a visit
tc the Grosvenor and see for himself
how shamefully his daughter had
been held up to public ridicule. If
that did not put a spoke in hie rival's
wheels, Bibcock thought, it must rcll
on triiruphunt.
Mrs. Staniland, still an uncompromising
ally of his, had no difficulty in
bringing her brother to further the
scheme, and accordingly on the Monday
after the scene in Campion's
studio the colonel casually announced
at lunch that he thought .f going to
the Grosver.or that afternoon?wouid
Sybil come with hiui? Mrs Staniland
interposed?Syb'.'. was not strong
enough to bear such a trial again.
Dear Horace must not think of taking
her; she herself would accompany
him instead.
For the moment Sybil was willing
enough to be excused. But the
thought that she might show her
trust in her lover by going nerved
lier to face that portrait once more.
It was not his work, and s'le would
toil them so as they stood before it.
She would not fail in her loyalty to
Ronald, tiie more so as she suspected
the source from which the proposition
originally came.
C/a mi AT/mim'i v off/arnonn fnr
the first time since that eventful Saturday,
she entered the Gallery?this
time with a mind prepared for what
she was to see tlier?. "You know,
papa, dear," she said, as they went
upstairs, "painters sew people so difforontiy,
and?and oil! if you find
something you don't like in it, remember
Ronald was painting the
idol, too!"'
"Pshaw!" said the colonel, whose
mind had quite r??ained Ks usual
strength. "Where is this thing, eh,
Sybil? I'll tell you what I think
when I see it."
Mrs. Stan Hand declined to enter
ii 1 East Gallery, and she sat down tc
waif in (ho larger room. So Sybil
went Willi nor father alone: sho
wished licralf wel! over the next
fiv*- minutes? would jioople star? Jiiul
riiuilf (hoy luul (ion.* I hat oilier
lime.' J'.ii! now ilia* ."'lie knew, or
r.Oc.' iVi'. thai Ilonal-.I i vj no part
in thi.-f, J'or his sake she y/oubear it
all- sIk- y.'ouJd uirikc* *jt?Mises. persuade
tlu> ".olouei. if she "oald, that
tUe picture rathei flattered her tbnn
otherwise?anything hut seem to
join, even by implication, in the cry
against her poor, persecuted Ronald.
The Gallery was not, of course, as
full as when she had last seen it:
still there was a fair attendance, and
ah!?again there was a knot of people
before her portrait! She turned
faint for the moment?she felt as if
she could not face it.
"Duf <-im woe Virove nnrl steeled her
self to go on. Once more the glass in
front of the canvas baffled them for a
time and then her courage failed hsr
?she shut her eyes.
"Well," her father was saying, "I
don't call that, such a bad likeness; I
call it an uncommon good likeness,
by Jove! what did your aunt mean?"
Sybil ventured to open her eyas
again. What wonderful thing was
this which happened? The idol was
gone out Of the canvas; on the dragon
pedestal lay a spray of white azaleas,
and she herself?oh! could she be as
lovely as that!
For the pictured face had the
bloom of youth and health; the cold
malignity had died out of the eyes',
and left only a subdued amusement;
the expression, with all its animation
and witchery, spoke of nothing that
was not womanly, and tender, and
true.
As Sybil stood there, trying to
realize what had happened, aud what
1 **- ?* ? A ? I* ? ? Cfor\ilnn^ TO.
11 mignt meciu, mi o. uiounuuu
joined them.
"Horace," she said, "what <V you
think I just happened to overhear?
You know the Dorados? American
millionaire?daughter goinc to marrj
Lord Udimore?oh, don't be sc
stupid, you must have heard of them
At any rate, you have now! Well,
they were sitting next to me in the
oilier room, and I actually heard
them?they spoke so Joud?arranging
that Miss Dorado's portrail
should be painted on her marriage?
by whom do you think? Positivelj
by Mr. Ronald Campion! Why, il
may mako his fortuue, and yet on*
would think, they must have seen?
why, what, who is this?"
"It's Ronald's idea of me," saic
Sybil, demurely?"as I appear without
my idol."
"Good gracious!" was all that Mrs
Stan-iland felt equal to remarking foi
the moment, but presently she said tc
the colonel in a very awed and serious
tone, "Horace, I have always felt that
there may be occurrences we, witt
our limited knowledge, cannot expeel
to understand. I assure you when ]
last saw this picture?and now, as
soon as the actual idol is destroyed
the portrait is everything it ought t?
be! If you see no significance ir
that, I am sorry for you! You have
treated that young man very badly
Horace, and I think it right to tel
you so plainly."
But the reason of the alteratior
which had worked such a reaction ir
Mrs. Staniland's feelings was, ir
point of fact, a perfectly simple anc
straightforward one.
Now that the picture was his onc(
more, Campion could retouch ii as h<
pleased, and, by bringing special in
fluence to bear, had obtained the nec
essary permission, and, accordingly
the day before, when the gallery was
closed even to Sunday parties, hac
spent some happy hours in restorinj
the canvas to its original condition.
And now, on this Monday after
noon, the fancy seized him to go anc
see how the rehabilitated portrail
looked, and it chanced that, at th<
moment the colonel was trying to ad<
just his views to meet his sister'i
sudden change of front, he saw Cam
pion himself enter the gallery.
They had withdrawn some distance
from Sybil, and her back was
turned to them all three. Mrs. Staniland
mads a signal that he was t(
approach, and he went up with ai:
anxious heart.
44 * 1 ^ ' ivio ?c?nr
-*"l III l lU jiayc in j auouci i ^ .
he said.
"Why?you see," began the col
onel, who had not had time to lean
his lesson yet, and boggled helpless
1/, "you see, Mr. Campion?"
"Nonsense, Horace! you had bet
ter leave this to me," said Mrs. Scani
, land. "Now, Mr. Ronald Campion, il
you're so very anxious to have yoai
answer at once, the best advice I car
give you is to go over there, and ast
Sybil yourself foi it!"
And he went; and the answer thai
awaited hir being a foregoue conclu
sion, it is only necessary to add thai
the tale of Campion's misfortunes
ended almost where it began, with a:
small prospect of ever being resumed
as his sincerest well-wishers coulc'
desire for him.
(The End.)
Considerate Bridegroom.
A Brlleville girl and a young man
both of whom had steady jobs, wen
married the other day. The day af<
ter they were married the girl said tc
her fond husband: "Oh! George?
now that we are married there is onlj
one thing I regret and that is that ]
, have to give up my fine position.'
The fond young husband stroked the
[ silken tresses of the young wifey's
hair, and soothingly repiied: "Now
darling, don't worry. You needn'i
give up your position. I'll give ui
mine."?Kansas City Star.
Gulls as Barometers.
| "Every city has a number of nat
ura! barometers," said the man whc
, haunts the river front. "New York'f
Kovt reliable barometer is the se?
, g:ilis. When they fly above the rivei
so thick you can't throw a handfu
of pebbles into the water without hit
tins hs many gulls as there are peb'
bie.-\ >ou may make up your mine
that it is going to rain within a few
hours. When the gulls turn tail ant
fly ocoanward it is safe to count 01
fair weather till they come thick.'
?New York Press.
' CannI Zone lias r>0,0Ul) Inhabitants
The department under Senatoi
Rlackburn has just completed a cen
*..w. Af o-inol -//Mia Thft tnhnlfltinr
is not complete J, but the result show;
' nearly 50,000 persons, including An
con and Cristobal. About twenty pei
cent, of the total are white.
WIvite House (i'old Plate.
1 lie fact iliat the White House is
equipped Willi a service of solid gold
plate for use on slate occasions is nol
nlkari about loo loudly, a? it seems,
.somehow, to j;*.r on deim.'jralic sira*
| pUcity.?Washington Herald.
\\ Household /*|J
I Matters. I
"O1.. .Jf
'Six _
! *r^S^% -MSSe?85
V .
Luncheon Dish.
i Pare four large, firm cucumbt-rs, ;
; rut lengthwise, and place in cold, j
j salted water for an hour. Stew in a i
I shallow stewpan in clear, boilirg j
I water until transparent. Lift care- j '
| fully, *so as not to break or make J1
nnissy, and lay each piece on a slicrf ' !
! c) brown, buttered toast. Make a i j
i sauce or dressing of milk and butter 1
I with a little cornstarch; pour over j *
j and serve hot.?New York World. ! j
Cheese Omelet.
j American cheese is an addition and :
a change to the plain luncheon ome- J
let. Make the omelet in the usual i
'< way, beating the yolks and whites of , ,
I the eggs together; add a tablespoon- !,
1 ful of milk for every egg, a little salt | j
and pepper, and cook until the bot- I'
torn of the omelet is brown and the ;
centrf rare. Then sprinkle it gener- j |
i ously with grated cheese, fold, and I ,
remove from the pan to a hot plate j
j and garnish with parsley. The omelet j
should be eaten immediately.?New I
? York Evening Post. ! J
Mutton With Oysters. j
Bone a leg of mutton the day be- i
1 fore it is to ba cooked and rub a j ]
handful of salt all over it. Next I,
' day wipe off the pickle and sprinkle !
with pepper. Lay on a layer of oys- j (
' ters with a handful of buttered i |
' I crumbs, tie up neatly and put it into j
1 a saucepan with enough water to ,
1 prevent burning, with an onion and J
a few peppercorns, and stew gently
with the lid on, turning frequently ,
until tender. Allow about twenty j
minutes to the pound after the water ! (
' boils. For sauce, blend a tablespoon
of butter and another of flour to!
gether, add a cupful of the gravy and
half a pint of oysters.?New York
! World.
1 | i
Ann's Potato Rolls. ;
1
I Boil two potatoes in a bright, clean
saucepan, so the water in which they !
( are boiled wil! not turn black. When j
j soft and mealy drain, saving the wa- ,
j ter. Mash the potatoes fine and j
! creamy, add to them a teaspoonful;
. shortening, a level teaspoonful salt, :
I a teaspoonful or more of sugar, a !
, pint scalded milk, a pint of the water J
in whiih the po'tatoes were boiled aud '
J a compressed jeast cake dissolved in
four .tablespoonfuls water. Now add
, about a pint and a half good bread
flour that liao been sifted and beat j
j thoroughly.
Cover lightly and stand in warm
place for two hours or until light.
Add enough more flour to inaxe a |
1 feoft dough and knead lightly until |
I the mixture loses its stickiness and j
I becomes t^oit ard velvety. Put back j
( I in a bow?, grease the top lightly with j
; i butter, lard or drippings, so that :io !
: j crust will be formed, and set out of j
I the draught.. When doubled in bulk j
' | (and tt will take about an hour aud
I it IJLUL U1 IIYU IIUULS VU ....wv~.
. | crack) knead into a round ball, then I
t ! cut into long strips about as large
' around as a rolling pin.
From these strips pinch off dough j
! by tablespoonfuls, making tiny rolls. ;
I ! Grease these lightly over the top j
) j with melted butter, then fold over so
i that the greased surface corner to the J
j middle, letting the edges come almost !
together. As they rise they naturally j
open a little, and if folded only half !
way over they are apt to open too far. j
| i Put into a dripping pan about an inch
I apart and set in a cool place for about '
. ] an hour to rise or until raised half
J I their bulk. j
I Put into a quick oven for about
, I fifteen minutes, whence they will
emerge brown, fragrant and crusty |
outside, but delicate aud tender in
( the centre.?Washington Star. i
!
WSEHQLD^g^ |
i HINTS I
, , A little whiting put on a damp
. cloth will clean paint easily and well. '
Hams which are packed in pulver- I
t ized charcoal will continue fresh for
from five to ten years.
I Mix one teaspoon corn starch with
!! one cup salt for table use and it will j
i never gather dampness. i
' If darning must be done in the '
' evening it will be found much easier j
if a light colored darning ball be |
iicr>rf
To remove the skins of cooked
beets, let them lie a few minutes in
' cold water and the skins will slip off
' easily.
) If y^u will varnish your linoleum
about every three months it will last
, much longer thau without the coats
I of varnish.
To clcan your gilt picture frames
> rub lightly with hot spirits of wine
> or oil of turpentine and apply with
small sponge. Use the liquid sparI
iugly.
' Nails used in bathrooms and kitchi
mhuh rfomn r-infhs and towels !
' ens Ull UU1..,.
may be hung should be dipped in enamel,
so that they may cot leave
rusty marks.
; Potato parings dried carcfully and
: kept in a glass jar are handy things
' to start a fire. Also infinitely safer
' than coaxing a blaze with keroseue
or the even more deadly gasoline.
, I To keep insects from your cereal,
I I empty it into a glass jar with a screw
, top. Coffee and tea should be put
I into air-tight receptacles, and olive
, oil should be kept in a cool and dark
. place.
I A good idea in to sew a narrow
white cotton tape on white petticoats
. as you would skirt braid ou a dress.
, When frayed it can be easily re.
placed and thus prevent the throwing
. away of a petticoat which is otherwise
good.
To clean silver have a pan containr
Ing two gallons of cold water. In this
dissolve a piece of washing soda
about the size of an egg and heat to
boiling point. Let .the silver soak in
, this for three or four minutes, keepI
Ing it boiling. Lift out with wire
spoon or fork, wash In hot soapsuds,
and wipe quickly with dry towel.
This will not Injure solid or plated
liver- 1
1E0LUSE 50 YEARS j
[N FAIRY PALACE.
Mme. De P.-avigny Deatl After !
Her Long Life of Mourning For '
Her Husband.
1
Mme. De Previgny is dead after
kiroQt?e \n hor fairv ?
JcLVJlI^ livru liltj JVttlfl *** UV,. ** J
?alace in the Boulevard Poissonniero
without ever looking out upon the f
street or leaving the house, writes
.he Paris correspondent of the New
fork American. Her last will and
:estament provides that the palace i
and park be turned into a home for
the aged. For the administration of
the home she left a capital of 10,000,-' ]
300 francs ($2,000,000). ]
After the funeral of the eccentric t
Did lady the relatives hired a number 1
jf mechanics to open the windows of ^
the house and the gates of the palace ^
ind gardens. For fifty long years the ; {
shutters on the boulevard side of the
;reat mansion had been nailed down, ;
md communication with the outer <
world was had only by a small door ?'
in the wall which surrounded the ]
palace on all sides. ;
When Mme. De Previgny, now de- I '
ceased, entered the palace for the j ,
first time as its chatelaine, she was ]
just turning twenty and a bride. At 1
the wedding breakfast, scarcely an <
hnnr after the weddina: ceremony,
her young husband fell from his
"hair, dead. The bride, thus suddenly
made a widow, dismissed her rela- 1
tives and other guests, and, calling
tier servants together, asked which of i
them were willing to remain under j i
the following conditions:
The mansion to be closed up tight; j j
the horses to be disposed of, and no j
direct communication with the outer ; ,
world was to be had under any cir- J
cumstances. ! i
Twelve servants accepted the con- ! :
ditions. Of them five are still alive, j
having shared their mistress' incar- J
ceration to the last. During the fifty
years of their residence in the closed
mansion they never saw a newspaper,
never talked to an outsider. They
never heard of the downfall of Napoleon,
of Bismarck at Versailles, of
the Commune, of the Third Republic,
of the Invention of the telephone, bicycle,
automobile or the electric light.
The servants were content to vegetate,
hoping for their final reward in
the shape of a capital of half a million
francs which the rich recluse
promised to all who remained with
her.
During these fifty years Mme. De
Previgny ordered annually of one of
the big man milliners twelve white
silk gowns, with undergarments and
slippers to match, for she chose to be
always attired as on the day of her
bridehood and widowhood. On the j
first of every month she donned a
new bridal robe. Of this year's sup- j
ply five were left, and in one of them !
Mme. De Previgny was buried.
A CHILD OF THE UNITED STATES, j
General Batcheller's Story of His
Daughter's Meeting King Edward.
General George Sherman Batchel-1
ler, who died in Paris a couple of j
weeks ago, was fond of telling a I
pretty story of his first term of service
in Egypt as Judge of the Interna- j
tional Court at Cairo. During that,
period King Edward, then Albert Ed- I
ward, Prince of Wales, made a visit J
to the Khedive's realm and a great j
official reception was given to him at
Alexandria. Of course General Batcheller
was one of the guests, and as
it was an open air event he took his
daughter with him, who was a small
person, five or six years old.
Now the young lady had heard a
good deal about the Prince and she
had plans of her own in regard to
him. So it happened that when the
proceedings were at their height General
Batcheller missed her from his
side. While he was looking for her
she was edging her way through the
crowd of English and Egyptian officers,
diplomats and other high func41
?? ?*- ? *V?o
tiUiiai ie? uuui &uc icaiucu iuc |
Prince's side, where she stood for i
some time, as her father learned later
on, watching him intently.
At last she seemed to be quite suro
of his good nature, for she reached
out her hand and gently stroked his
left hand as it rested on the handle
of his sword. The Prince turned
around with an astonished expression,
but when he saw the pretty
child's face smiling up at him he i
smiled amiably himself, stooped and
shook hands with her and asked who
she was. She answered:
"I'm Miss Kate Batcheller, of the I
United States."
The Prince was greatly amused,
and when they told him who her father
was, he expressed a wish to
meet the General, and complimented :
him on his "resolutely American little !
girl," as he put it.?New York Sun.
Man's Greatest Pleasures.
What are man's greatest pleas- '
ures?
While the great thinkers of i '
thought have been publicly trying to
answer this all-important question
and as usual have only involved a <
mere intellectual controversy, we
u i i_: J J
uctve uetJii vvuiKiiig quietty ana nave obtained
some startling results. Here]
is the list complete:
Hearing ourselves talk.
Articulating. j
Listening to ourselves.
Ejaculating. j
Conversing. : (
Speaking. I ]
And last, but not least, talking.? 1
The Bohemian. <
Wolf Hunter's Record.
Ninety-three timber wolves killed
In less than a month s time is the I
record made by James Maclntyre, cl 1
Quatsino, who has presented a bill to J
the government agent here for $1,- j
395. the amount of bounty at the
rate of $15 a head. It is reported ;
that Indians up the coast, who hav? |
learned of the increase in bounty on
panthers and wolves to $15 a head
each, have taken to the woods on a
hunt, and it is expected that they
will soon have a large sum to collect '
from the government.?New Albernl 3
Press.
Owing to the decline in the value of ^
silver, the stores in China are adyanc ,
Jng all prices ten per cent. '
-
. 1 111
It-it
-? / ' r
?un5atj-scKooi
INTERNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS
FOR (SEPTEMBER 13.
Subject: David Made King Over Judah
and Israel, 2 Sam. 2:1-7;
5:1-5?Golden Text, 2 Sam.5:10
?Commit 2 Sam. 5:4, 5.
TIME.?1055-104 8 B. C. PLACE.
?Hebron.
EXPOSITION.?I. David Anointed
'ting Over Judnli in Hebron, 1-la.
[)avid at this period of his life seems
:o have taken every step in simple delendence
upon the guidance of the
Lord (cf. ch. 5:19-23; 1 Sam. 23:2,
I, 9, 12; 30: 7, 8), and thus he made
lo false steps. He obtained God's !
guidance by asking for It (cf. Jas.
1:5,7). He trusted in the Lord with
ill his heart, and leaned not to his
)\vn understanding, in all his ways he
lcknowledged the Lord, and He di
.-.1 f 7 z R \
ICULCU U1S pacuo \u. \J . <L,, . V / .
Doubtl?ss the mind of the Lord was
iscertained by consulting the Urim
(cf. Nu. 27-21; Ex. 28:30,' R. V.
marg.;l Sam. 23:2-4, 9-12). No one
knows just how the stones in the
breastplate made known the mind of
God, and it is useless to speculate
lbout it. We have in these days a
better way to find the mind of God,
by the written Word and by the
guidance of the living Spirit of God
(Isa. 8:20; Ps. 119: 105-130; Acts
8:29; 10:6, 7). The name of the
city to which God bade him go up is
significant, for Hebron means fellowship,
and David began his conquest
of the land in fellowship with God.
That is where we must all first go,
if we wish to enter upon a life of constant
victory. Many of us are not
conquerors as David was simply because
we have never gone up to
Hebron. It was in this city that
David was first anointed king of Judah
(v. 4), and afterwards king of all
Israel. The one who would enter
upon a life of kingly authority andi
power must go up to Hebron (Jno.
15:4-16). David did just as the Lord
directed him. He did not go alone,
but took his >wives with him. They
had been partners in his rejection and;
persecutions, and now were to be
partners in his glory. Just so those'
who have shared with Jesus Christ in.
His rejections and sufferings shall
share with Him in His glory (cf. Lu.
22:23, 29; 2 Tim. 2:12; Ro. 8:17,
IS). Of course, it was not right for
David to have two wives, not according
to Cod's original ordinance concerning
marriage (Gen. 2:24; Matt.
19:4-9), but we must in justice to
David remember that there was not
the clear light in hi3 day upon this
subject that there is in our day. Men
must be judged by the light that they
possess. At this point in his career
David was seeking to serve God with
a whole heart. All types are necessarily
imperfect, especially types
where men are types of Christ, yet
the wives of David are types of the
church, the bride of Christ (cf. Eph.
5:25-32), to at least this extent that
the church will share with Christ in
His reign just as she has shared with
Christ in His rejection (cf. Rev. 19:69).
These who now came into power
with David had been in sore distress i
before they came to David, "in dis
tress,"' in aeut ana Diuerness or
soul" (1 Sam. 22:2, R. V., inarg.).
Those who now rally around Christ,
and who will hereafter enter into
glory with Him, are largely of the
same class. These men dwelt closS
to David (cf. Jno. 14:3; 1 Thess.
4:17).
II. David and the Men of Jabeshp'lend,
4b-7. The action of David
might sesm a piece of shrewd strategy,
but everything points to absolute
(Sincerity in the matter on David's
part (cf. ch. 1:13-10, 17-27; 4:5-12).
David in the greatness of his soul
reallv honored Saul as his riehtful
sovereign (cf. 1 Sam. 24:4-8; 26:7- I
11). His nobility o! heart led him to ,
do the very thing that was the most
politic. There is no policy so wise as
that to which a generous heart
prompts a man. David wishes for
the men of Jabesh-gilead the highest
form of prosperity, blessedness
from the Lord. They had shown
kindness unto Saul, and now Jehovah
would show "kindness and truth''
unto them. What wo sow we also
reap. God treats uu as we treat our
fellow-men (Matt.5:7; 6:14, 15; 7:1, i
2; 2 Tim. 1:16-13). David did not I
content himself with wishing that j
Jehovah might reward their kindness,
but he undertook to reward it
also. There are many whose generosity
towards others exhausts itself in
pious wishes. As they had been
strong and valiant for Saul while he j
lived, David expected them to be val- j
iant for him now that Saul was dead j
and be had been anointed in Saul's
OltUU,
III. David Anointed King Over
Israel in Hebron, cJi. 5:1-5. After
seven years and a half of waiting, at
last the whole nation recognized
David as the divinely chosen king.
They ought to have seen it long before.
After doing all they could to
thwart God's plan and to destroy
David, they now recognized him as
their bene and flesh (v. 1), and the |
one who had led them out and i
brought them in to victory. Better j
yet, they recognized him as the one
whom Jehovah had appointed to feed
Ilis people Israel, and to be captain
over them. Israel is rejecting the
real David to-day, but the time is
coming when all Israel will recognize j
Him (Zeeh. 12:9, 10; 13:1; Itom.
11:25, 2G). The league they made ;
with David was before the Lord. The I
inly covenant that is of any real value
is the oue that is made in the Lord's
presence and for His glory.
Oxygen as Aid (o nun tiers.
Athletic circles in London, England,
are much interested in a published
record of experiments In the
inhalation of oxygen by runners and
sprinters, which show that they wor^?nal)!ed
to hold their breath for much
longer periods and to make faster
lime without the symptoms of distress
usually present attar racing.
Economy in Daylight.
The committee appointed by the
British House of commons to cousiu=>r
the daylight saving scheme hao
filed a report favoring the lntroduc:ion
of a bill to achieve the object by
iltering clocks one hour on the third
Sunday of April and altering tliem
igain on the third Sunday of Septemjer.
Xorthcliflfe and the Times.
The new proprietors of the London
rimes include Lord Rothschild, Lord
Cromer and Lord Northcliffe, the last
n rt m A/1 A> o AAwfitAllinrr
aauicu uaviug a uuiiuuiiuit, xntgtv.wv.
American Talkers in China.
American talking maciiinos with
Chinese discs are seeing in large
luantities in China. ^
I
\
\ro^L
i inhered j?r the I
ATITPT 1-lnflD 1
NEARER AND DEARER.
Nearer and dearer than ever before,
And just because sorrow has knocked at
my door;
Just because teardrops are dimming my
sight,
I come to Thee, Jesus, and look for th?
light.
Nearer and dearer! The dark and the
storm
Make me cling all the closer, heart bleeding
and torn;
mi m ? J - TM1 /Z-A /a*, mtt
mere ai i.uy siue 1 u nuu uaim m i??j
loss,
For Thou knewest sorrow, 0 Clirist, on
the cross.
?Louise Belilen, in the Christian Herald.
The Added Years.
Death is sometimes most kind whe?
Its sad work is most swiftly done.
The heart finds fortitude to meet a
sudden sorrow when it cannot bear
the long and anxious waiting, and the
hoping against hope. The constant
shadow of approaching disaster is "
more terrible tnan tne aarKness 11
self. So thought the household of
Mr. and Mrs. Kendall when they
looked forward to the long period of
waiting and the inevitable end.
Into their home they had taken
the wife's mother. She had been
long with them through the years of
her widowhood, not as an outsider,,
tolerated for relationship sake, but
as a loved and welcome member of
the family. Her presence, far from
lessening the joys of the home, added
to them, although with the joys
came burdens. They were gladly
borne, but family cares increased and
the duties filled the days, and then
came the long and lingering sorrow.
It was an apoplectic stroke, and
u seemea 10 De iaiai. nui ise uiu
lady lingered for weeks, then slowly
began to Improve. Her recovery
seemed impossible, yet in the course
of three months of daily care she
was able to be dressed and to sit in
a chair. It seemed certain, however,,
that she could never be well again,,
and the end was inevitable.
It was not the daily burden that
seemed so hard, but the long look
forward. To have her there, whole
in mind, had been the dearest pleas*
ure on earth, but to have her there
not herself mentally, for months and
months appeared too great a load to
be carried. There were weary days
when it seemed impossible to bear
under the heavy weight of the labor
and the solicitude.
It is all past now, and this is the
time to record the results of the
five years that followed. They were
years of unstinted kindness. Husband
and wife and children did their
full duty to the aged mother and
grandmother. Patience, of course,
was tried, but it did not fail; and
patience had its perfect work.
But this is not the whole of the
story; patience had also its reward.
The dear old lady's mind came back,
almost as it had been before. There
was some lack of co-ordination and
some confusion of speech, but for the
most part her mind was clear. The
joy of living returned to her; and^
she sat in her wheeled chair, and the
world which she could no longer visit
came to her, and she enjoyed it. The
seasons passed in glad procession before
her window^ Friends came and
went, and brought the tidings of
other friends near and far, and she
entered with eager interest into -the
joy and sympathy of it all and lived
a life that was full, happy and complete,
to her, at least?far more tran
quil than any other of the years she
had known. 9H
Then she died. Peacefully and H
painlessly the life went out, and the flS
look of satisfaction was there In H
death. And those who had looked !3|
forward with shrinking from the long
and heavy burden thanked God for ' H
those added years. H
If to some other home with a like H
burden the printing of this simple M
story can bring like patience and
fidelity, and at the end like memo- EH
-1 3 U n.lt1 WA11
lies ct Li 11 lUctUlVlUIllfda, It Will uc VTCI1
worth the telling here.?Youth's
Companion.
Precious Hours.
The hours of the soul's communion
with God are the precious hours of
life. Sacrifice anything rather than
these heavenly impulses. Give up
anythingthat interferes with carrying
them out into the life. They are scattered
fountains in the desert, at
which the fainting traveler reviveshis
strength and courage. Then
heavenly voices speak, and happy is.
he who gives heed to the heavenly
vision, which is from God and conducts
to God. It is a beautiful and
comforting thought that everywhere
we are surrounded and enfolded by n
the atmosphere of His love. No- 99|
where can we be apart from it; even
though we stray, we cannot stray beyond
the bounds of His love and H9
SoinetJ-nc We'll Understand. MB
When some of us get to heaven we |?9|
shall doubtless look back with won- BH
der upon the way in which God has SQ
upheld us aud guided and protected
us. We shall know then as we cannot '
know now that He helped us a thousand
times when we did not know it;
that He foresaw for us where we 99
were utterly blind; that He averted
for us dangers which would have
ruined us; that He directed for us gjjj
the chain of events when many times,
had it been otherwise, we should
have gone down. We shall then JH
know, as we cannot know now, how
good He has ever been to us.?Western
Methodist. 89
A Suffering World.
In "Things as They Are," by Amy Br
i-t. - ** Hi
WllSOn ^iU'UIlUliaei, me iuiiunms ma
is told to illustrate the love we jfiGj
should have for a suffering world: H|
"A girl came in a moment ago and MM
I told h/jr I was making a diagram. Mm
A great black disc for heathenism
and the narrow white slit for the con- ?Nfl
verts won. She looked at it amazed.
Then she slowly traced her finger EH
around the disc, and she pointed to M
the narrow slit, and her tears came
dropping down on it. 'Oh, what HB
mvst Jesus feel!'" ehe said. BW
Twins Saved Him. ~ ' gjflj
"Twins" was the message brought
to Charles Bland while he was in the |B|
dock in the police court in Nashua, SB
N. H., and the stork did his work SB
well, for Bland was saved from a sentence
to the county house of correction.
He pleaded with Judge Runnells
for a suspended sentence, stat- M
Jng tht he had a family, and the announcement
that he was the father of
twins caused the Judge to order the H
sentence suspended. The suspension fflfl
was made ou motion of Chief of Po- W
lice Wheleer, and Bland was escorted an
to Main street, whence he hurried Hfl
home to thn nRW-bnra nalr. Bfl