Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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? <?EHSH5E5H5E5HSH5H5HSrH5H= S' THE MAN1 | By EFFIE ADE ^iSSaSHSHSHSHSESSSESHSHSi CHAPTER IV. 4 Continued. The next day came the news tha Dorothy would leave for Barrow-cuii moor ? Lord Derriman's estate 1 Scotland?with Lady Derriman, an & week went slowly by, during whici time Enid lay in bed, too weak t speak or evfe'a to look about her?th tension on her nerves had been altc gether too much for her. But on morning she took a turn for the bel ter, and then every hour she seeme to grow stronger, although it is to b doubted whether she might not hav Dassed away altogether from shee Inanition if she had not been so ur tiringly, so marvelouslv nursed. Simmonds had not failed to obe Dorothy's order to write to her eac week, and he put the subject c Enid's health to her briefly ye Btrongly, but Miss Krebwell did no deign to answer. For all she care her cousin might have died. Enid's thoughts were trouble ones as she sat beneath the shade o the trees. She had heard from Simmonds c her uncle's bequest, and when sh thought of her future her heart wa full of gratitude to the dead man. "How I wronged him," she musei one evening, one of the late July days as she moved slowly up and down i: the cool with a white shawl wrappe around her. "While I called him un kind he thought of me, poor Unci PrtVioT-tt WJth thic mnnpv T ran npv er Btarve. When I am a little stron ger I will go away and make mone somehow. I can paint or teach, or? The thoughts ended in a fluttei for, turning quickly, Enid saw ? young man beside her, and with sudden start recognized Lord Derrl man. "Miss Leslie!" he exclaimed in sui prise. "Why, I never dreamed to se you here," then in a tone of conster nation, he added, "but you are ill!" Enid's pale face flushed, and sh sank gratefully into a chair near a hand. She was not strong enough fo surprises. "I?I am better now," she sai '1T V? r? trn n a! V? Trat?w wal lain LX j x uavc uui uttu TTVI lately." Lord Derriman stood and gazed a her. Her great blue eyes filled hir with admiration and pity, too. Wha a sweet, childlike, pure face hers was "Your cousin has known nothin of this," he declared after a paust "or she would have been terribly die tressed. She thinks you are stayin away, and wonders why you have nc written. When I tell her?" "Tell her nothing," Enid saic Bpeaking firmly and almost contemp tuously; "I would rather not distres her!" He noticed nothing in her word but a sweet unselfishness. "Good-bye, Miss Leslie; I trust yo will soon be yourself again, and I ar not to tell Miss Dorothy? Well, pei haps it is best not, she has had s much suffering lately; we must spar her all we can." . A color mounted to his face -as h spoke, and Enid guessed his secrei j . When he grasped her hand a Strang sensation crept into her heart?a mix ture of pain, of envy, of unspeakabl desolation, and as he strode awa two great tears rolled down he cheeks and fell with a splash on he hands. CHAPTER V. The Betrothal. After Lord Derriman's brief visi and the additional proof of Dorothy' . falseness and unkindness that he ha unwittingly given Enid had one d? sire clear and firm in her mind?t get as strong as possible and to stai her life of independence. So, when the afternoon heat wa cooling down, Enid, with her modes belongings, was carried fleetly to tb neighboring station, while Simmonc sat on the back seat of the phaeto with the proud satisfaction of knov ing that, as far as lay in his powe; he was showing full respect to tb young girl, although those nearest t her neglected and deserted her. Meanwhile, up at Barrow-cuii moor, Dorothy Knebwell was living brief life of perfect happiness. Da by day she felt her power growin over Gervais, and, basking in the d< light that came from her strangel passionate, almost unreasonable lov< she expanded and softened into th finest imitation of a pure, sweet, ur selfish woman. Even Lady Derrimai who combined strong common sens with her other good attributes, wq deceived; she was won by the girl< beauty, her charm and the undeniabl truth that Dorothy loved Gervai with a love past description. One evening the two young peopl had sauntered out beyond the bounc ary of Barrow-cuir-moor. The da had been oppressively hot, but on th heather covered hills a gentle breez was blowing that justkissed the girl cheeks with a soft touch and mad the thin, black web dress she wor cling closer to her lovely form. They walked on, speaking ever now and then, and at last came to standstill, and their eyes met. Dorc thy's breast was filled with a tumul of strong sensations. Hers was on of those natures that when love come it comes in a wild, passionate, sens? less way. holding the object belove as something beyond and above a else, till reaction follows, as follow : must, and gradually the hot tide c passion dies down, leaving naught b( hind it. So it was that Dorothy love this man. While he? As he stoo gazing at her vivid beauty it seeme to him as if he could find no praye or thought sufficiently strong to than heaven for the happiness in store fc him. He spoke no words, but simply pu out his hands and drew t'Jj slenue] graceful form to his heart. "My love! my darling!" he mui n Mfc?????? n > r5SH5E5SSHSH5SSESHSH5ES55575> P she loved] ! HMH^ nj S LAIDE ROWLANDS. 1 ! H 5 JSH5HSH5HS5SHSHSS5a5HSHSaiJi^-' a mured, as after one moment lie bent 8 his head and their lips met. * j. Dorothy was no shy, coy maiden; ^ she was a woman, with all the attri- . butes of a woman about her. His heart, bis senses were blinded by the ? . joy her love brought him. "Why have you not spoken to me f before?" she asked, half reproachfully, as they rose at last to go home- ? ward, and she slipped her hand through his arm. "T "Have you hungered for my words, r dearest?" he asked, interpreting her 8 speech a6 meaning only more gladness for him. "Ah, if you only knew a how often I have been tempted, how 8 often my heart has failed me!" . "Didyou think I should be unkind ^ to you, Gervais?" { "I don't know what I thought. You ' are so beautiful, so wonderfully love- 1 ly, my sweet, I feared you might have ^ nothing to say to me." . "Foolish boy!" Dorothy laughed d softly, and she lifted her lips once 8 j more to his. ' "And now it is really true, and I 0 j hold you in my arms, my life, my a 1 wife?yes, my wife?I can scarcely F e believe it." !! s - ... I Dorotny clung to mm suaaeniy. ^ . "Yes, yes; your wife!" she repeated, hurriedly. "Gervais, make me " 5' your wife soon; don't 'let us wait . j long; I am frightened!" "Frightened at what, my darling?" F l" and he gently caressed the golden 8 pe curls on her forehead; "nothing earthly shall harm you while I am near you." ? "I am frightened lest you should f* be taken from me," the girl said, and ' for one moment her cheeks blanched, ^ a and even her lips turned pale. "Oh, ? think of that! Think how awful it ? would be, Gervais; so?" He folded his arms closer around , " her. d e "You cannot long for our marriage, Dorothy, as I do; it has been a golden dream bo long, I yearn for the reali- ? ? zation." I Dorothy laid her head on his shoul 1 der and carried his hand to her lips. " "I am ready when you ask me, Gervais," she murmured, and there was an eager, anxious look in her eyes e which he did not see. "Don't think me terribly forward," she added, with ^ "J a soft laugh, "if I say I cannot bear the thought of waiting, dear." '* Gervais' heart thrilled fast; he saw g in this only a reproduction of his '* own great love, and it brought full a and complete gratification. ? "We will speak to our mother, c dearest," he said, tenderly. "Yes, dear mother will tell us our r ' best course," Dorothy agreed softly, but her face was turned from him, 8 and he did not see the frown that his words had conjured up. Dorothy was j; 8 not only wearied with Lady Derriman, she was jealous of her, too. u She could not understand the love * J1 that Gervais had for his mother, nor the respect and admiration he poured E 0 upon her. But the time had not quite , e arrived when Dorothy could arrange 1 things as she liked, and so she posed 1 e as a loving child, anxious for Lady Derriman to settle matters as she s e liked, the while the girl's selfish, all- s " dominant nature fretted and fumed ? beyond expression. T CHAPTER VI. r Your Child. Enid had not reckoned without her host when she had thought of making her home beneath the humble roof of Mrs. Lawson, laundress and it shirt ironer. s "Well, to be sure! And you're a d sight for sore eyes, that you are, }- miss! Come in, come in!" and Mrs. o Lawson hastily dusted a chair with t her spotless apron, and turned her back on her hot iron and the many is flounced petticoat that she had been st working at. e Enid felt a lump rise in her throat s Is and tears spring to her eyes as she n beheld the once familiar face and the r- misery that had been on her when r, last she had seen it, but she success ie fully choked down her emotion and o busied herself with helping her carry her trunk up to the tiny room, having r- come to a speedy and satisfactory ara rangement with Mrs. Lawson. y "And it's me that is glad to have g you back again, Miss Leslie, that's ?- what it is," she declared, "and I'll y make you as comfortable as I can. ?, I'm only sorry, miss, that yer can't e have yer old room, but it's let by the l- year to a gentleman who attends to 1, pianners, and so, you see?" e "But I would much rather have the is small one. I don't want large rooms, is I am alone now," Enid returned, with e a faint smile. is Then began a curious life for the girl, and by no means a pleasant one. e August in London is synonymous 1- with discomfort, even to those dwelly ing in palaces; how much more so, e then, to the poor whose homes are in e dingy, squalid courts and lanes. Mrs. 's Lawson's tiny, ill-ventilated house e was in a turning off one of the side I e streets in Oxford street, and Enid up in her attic suffered both in body and y mind. a Each morning she was up by dawn ^ )- and hard at work, placing her easel It beneath the skylight to get all the j ? f +V? A TT-in^Aw OVIG hnt M UCUC1H VJL LliC niuuun out wuiu, ^ ? v j >s her hopes and ambitions were soon i i- depressed, for she had spent her first d day in town in trailing wearily ( 11 through the hot streets, with a few j it paintings held carefully beneath her j if arm. to every color shop and artist's ( emporium she could find round about, j d and in one and all she had been re- c d ceived the same?the pictures were J d viewed in a half-contemptuous, half- ] ;r pitying manner, and. she was told ( k there was no opening for such things, r that no one bought paintings nowaday?, and that the market was overit stocked. With a disheartened shiver 1 r. | of fatigue Enid had wended her way 11 I home, and put the small painting-i 11 - j in their corner again. It was the ! e . , - roverbial story of an artist's ill forune; but Enid was endowed with lenty of moral courage and common RJ ense. She determined, if the picures were no good, she must do omething else, and even went so far 4. ,s to ask Mrs. Lawson to give her ^ ome ironing to do; but the laundress g hook her head. "You can never do this, miss," she [eclared; "your back 'ud break and ^ ou'd die of the 'eat. The 'eat is ' omethlnk awful!" "Well, I must do something," Enid n .nswered, with a forced laugh, and he turned out-of-doors again, with a t( uist before her eyes. n How hard life was! How different ler lot from that of Dorothy's! One jj lad all that made existence happy, .nd the other nothing but despair and Jsappolntment. f( She went along very slowly, her a ace looking pure and pathetic, her ^ yes veritable stars of beauty under j. he brim of her dheap black hat, and a ier profusion of hair that shone like t] ed gold in the sun, coiled behind her rp mall head in* a picturesque knot, j, ier dreBS of black cotton was made s simply as possible; her gloves and p hoes were shabby, though neat. r( She put up her umbrella to shield ^ ler head from the broiling rays of the a ua, and walked slowly on and on 0 ill, unconsciously, she found herself n lear Regent's Park, and with a sigh g if fatigue she turned in and sank w wearily on one of the benches placed c ieneath the trees. Few people were a bout, and of those the majority were n lurse-maids and children; but all at 0 mce Enid's attention was riveted on tl , man who was crawling along the tl iath in her direction. He had his tc rm in a sling, and a slipper on one oot that dragged a little when .he h ralked; his head was bent like an old tl aan's, but as he drew nearer she saw o hat the feebleness came from ill- u lealth, not from age, and that the (1 f< iale face, under his straw hat, was h trangely familiar to her. 0 She knit her brows, and tried to f< hink where she had seen him before, a srhen suddenly he lifted his head, o ,nd like lightning her memory fled a >ack to the day of the garden party o t Bromley Manor, and to the errand E )orothy had made her perform, and w he recognized the singularly beau- g iful, yet brutal face that had almost a ascinated her. As the recognition j b awned in her eyes, so it came to the a oan also. n He stopped in his weary walk and o ;azed at Enid till the color mounted d o her cheeks. n "So this is how you get paid for loing Dorothy Knebwell's dirty work, rr s it?" he said with a coarse sneer, p You've learned what she is, 'ave youi H h ?" , . li Enid's answer was to rise hurried* n y; there was a tone in his voice she p lid not like, but he put his stick out a ullenly. w "Don't be frightened, I ain't going o hurt you, miss," he observed, with g . faint smile that disfigured the ^ tatuesque beauty of his face; "and I tl an't run after you, you see." ^ tl Enid's quick compassion was ci oused. P "You are ill," she said, in her soft, tl ow voice. "I am sorry." b He gave her a sharp glance from c< lis deep blue eyes, and then turned tl lis head away. a: "You're made of different stuff w rom her," he answered, enigmatical y; tnen suaaeniy: -wnere is sne iow?" si "Dorothy?" asked Enid, startled y nto replying as she was about to n nove on. "I don't know." o The man sank heavily upon the h eat and wiped his pale brow with the & leeve of his coat, and the girl stood ? indecided. She longed to be away k rom his presence, yet some influence e leld her to the spot. While she hesi- , n ated her strange companion went a: n i 9 ^ "I'm a little changed from the last " ime you see me, ain't I, miss? d Veil, being pitched headforemost out ri if a cart takes it out of a fellow, I w :an tell you." ^ Enid's eyes were full of pity as she flanced at his face, on which lines of 11 >ain and suffering were legibly writ- d en; then, blushing slightly, she put a ler hand to her pocket and took out ler slender purse. a "If you will let me help you a lit- ^ lt> " cho sfliri timirtlv "Mv rnnsin N old me you needed charity, and o?" (To be continued.) . s The French Sunday. V( It is really remarkable to find the o French Chamber adopting an obliga- s] ory Sunday rest for the working ilasses by a majority of 575 to 1. b ^robably the one considered that this fi ialutary proposal was a truckling to ti eligion, which, of course, is not to o )e contemplated for a moment, and it t< s rather astonishing that not more e han one Deputy did so. The demand tl or one day's rest in seven, in France e is in England, comes really quite v is much from those who have no wish hat any of the leisure so gained shall y >e spent in church as from the re- a igious; and, with the provision of ihifts for the special cases of res- 1; aurants, museums, bakeries and the s ike, Sunday is obviously the most b onvenient holiday for the community n general. While the British Sun- h lay is becoming much less British a han it was, it is very noticeable that fi ho Printinpntal Sunday is gradually o Ucontinentalizing itself. ? Loudon 'all Mall Gazette. t li Roosevelt's Scnrfpin. c I ? One of the recent pictures of the _ President showed him with a stickrun in his black four-in-hand cravat. Lese majeste! or I'm a fakir. When 3e last sat to a portrait painter in the White House he posed himself in his ^ )wn style and offered numerous sug;estions. After a week or two of ^ :hese sittings, as the artist was leav- ? ng the Executive Mansion, the Presilent rushed to the door and shaking ^ lis fist at the retreating form, t shouted: "Hey! Hev Don't you dare c ;o paint me with a stickpin! Do you ^ iear? No scarfpin! I never wore me!"?New York Press. ^ The sale of land reclaimed by the rederal reclamation service is ex- 1< >ected more than to repay the $60,- n 100.0on expended to date by the Gov- h rnment. E I J NEWSBOY GAME EXPLAINED. [r. Joe Rosenthal Brings Topple and Kiddie Into Maleflciol Notice. "Hello, fellers!" said Joe Rosenlal, president of the Downtown ewsboys Club, as he swung Into The un office for his weekly visit last ight. "Say, what do you think? A iller come up to me yesterday and ;lls me that all the sheets has been iking notice of me letters. I looked trough them all and ain't found one of them has done it. Nix on lem kind of jokes. I guess I better jll them what iB interested in the ewsboys all about how they does the ame. I writ out a little letter telllg how it is done. Here it is." The letter read: "We gits down to the bridge at [ jur or five o'clock in the afternoon nd buys out the kid what come on at j wo o'clock what bought from the [ id what come on at eight o'clock i nd so on and then we quits when j ae early morning ones come out. he morning ones is sold by an old idy. "Whenever a boy don't sell out his apers it is very tough for him to sturn his papers. He has to buy one undred papers to return just five nd by that a boy would loose most f his dough. So the thing they eeded was a speculator. So Jack ullivan, the King of the Newsboys, ho started the Newsboys Home lub, Fent to all the newspapers and | fter much hard difficulty got per- | lission to put in a certain amount j f returns. So when I told the boys lat they wouldn't have to loose all ley got stuck on they were tickled ) death like. "In a day each kid gets some six undred papers but don't sell all | lem though. What they can't sell i f each edition he gives to the Spec- i lator and he sells them to the offices ' Dr ten for six cents, you know. We as two boys who has the Standard 'il or them trusts beS.t to a frazzle )r money making. This is Kiddie nd Topple, they deal in all kinds f stocks. Toppie, who only needs bout thirty cents more to buy anther house, does all kinds of sceams. [e brings his lunch from home, hich is sort of cheap, and when he oes home he goes through the trains nd picks up all the seat papers and rings them down the next morning nd returns them. That way he saves is car fare. I don't think any more f that way of making money that I o of the Standard Oil and that ain't luch. "Kiddie is another guy that makes j loney. He is at the Bridge, and is | resident of a corporation hisself. [e made it. He has other kids work- i lg for him, too. He buys up early j lorning editions at a cheap rate and i uts them in with the other papers nd makes some nice money that ay. "Business isn't about one-third as ood as a few years ago and so that's | hat's wrong with the Bridge and i le subway. The tunnel which runs irough the East River keeps the rowd from the Bridge. I wish the eople would buy their papers on I le streets and so give the poor news- | oys a chance like. Some big con- | srn goes and runs the newsstands in [ le subway and on the elevated road j ad they sure don't need money like e does. "Here's a way that some, boys I lake money. I don't think it is very i :raight, but then it seems all right, ou know. When a feller comes run- I <n?r nn +r> no at flip Rridee and veils I iub f ? w- at, 'Anything, in a hurry,' we gives | im a German or Yiddish paper and ; e don't know the difference until he | ets on the car and then he needn't J now, you know. Most women is i asy to fool cause they don't see ! othing, it seems. To them we give ) ny old edition that we have in our , and, no matter how old it is, and i ley never knows nothing to it. Some : ishonest kids does this, which ain't i ,ght. They gets hold of the papers i hat has cowpuns in them and cuts I lem out and sells them right away. "When one of the fellers quits selllg papers and gets a good job they on't go back on the gang. He will lways drop around to the club or at le old stand where he used to stand nd then he chats with the fellers, hat's all I can tell' you to-day."? ew York Sun. The Cannon Roared. While campaigning In his home tate, Speaker Cannon was once ln=igled into visiting the public schools f a town where he was billed to peak. In one of the lower grades an amitious teacher called upon a you.thjl Demosthenes to entertain the distinguished visitor with an exhibition f amateur oratory. The selection atsmpted was Byron's "Battle of Watrloo," and just as the boy reached i he end of the first paragraph Speakr Cannon suddenly gave vent to a iolent sneeze. "Eut hush! hark!" declaimed the oungster, "a deep sound strikes like rising knell! Did ye hear that?" The visitors smiled and a moment iter the second sneeze?which the | peaker was vainly trying to hold j ack?came with increased violence. "But hark!" bawled the boy, "that ! eavy sound breaks in once more, j nd nearer, clearer, deadlier than be- i re! Arm! arm! it is the cannon's | pening roar!" This was too much, and the laugh bat broke from the pany swelled J auder still, when Speaker Cannon j huckled. "Put up your weapons, ! hildren; I won't shoot any more,"? i udge. Overdoing It. A young Englishman, after he had een in Devil's Valley for a couple of ionths, began to grow thin. Wyomig cooking did not appeal to him. I lesides his squeamish appetite .there ras another thing that the natives eld against him?his outlandish cusom of taking a bath every morning. I >ne day his landlady was discussing im with a friend. "I tell ye what, Sal," said the vis:or, "he's jest wastin' away a-grievi' for some gal back East thar." "Nolhin' o' the kind," said the mdlady contemptuously. "You mark jy words now?that young feller e's jest a-washin' hisself away.'"?; !verybody's Magazine. AO* OPTIMISM. rhon canst not find it? Only turn and look; "Tis writ on every page of Nature's book; It is the bird-song, clear above the storm; Upon the cloud, it takes the rainbow's form; It's on the crocus, springing 'mid the shoto y The flush of dawn, while yet the night hangs lowAll these and more; but in thy heart, 0 man, It's name is faith; and wilt thou mar the ' Plan? ?Minnie E. Hicks. "Birthright op Pottage." | And Esau said, Behold, I am at the point to die; ? and he sold bis birthright unto Jacob.?Genesis, 25:33. A birthright for a mess of pottage ?so reads the story. All that is meant to be the eldest born was sacrificed for a bowl of lentils. The savory steam of a present advantage shut out a vision of future glory. A succulent dish looked bigger than a farm. Esau was defeated by an appetite; sold out for a mess of pottage. It Is an .almost Incredible old tale. But for some present day transactions which retell it we might be inclined to deny its truthfulness. I knew a man who trafficked away his greatness for a morphine needle. The question once lay between a few moments' ease from pain and a lifetime of honor, and, like his ancient prototype in Scripture, this modern Esau let go the greater for the less?sold his birthright of eminence for a mess of doubtful pottage. Of course, we do not really intend to give up the greater for the less. I have always fancied that Esau thought he would continue to be hie father's favorite son. It is because we do not expect an act of business treachery to affect our permanenl standing; because we count on being just as good men after a gambling debt or a season of self-indulgence; because we fail to 6ee any particulai Jeopardy in an occasional lapse of virtue?in other words, because we expect to eat the pottage and still re[ tain the birthright when all is said and done?that we repeat the old transaction. No man, however, car have his cake and eat it too. Nothing is got except by the sale of something else. The spirit of Esau, then, is the spirit of the moment. It is an unhealthy opportunism. It lies not onlj by the day, but for the day. j3sau constantly exaggerated the va'ut ol Impulse. He was the sort of cii'zer who would have cheated his creditors out of seventy-five per cent, and ther written a generous check for charity "When I want a drink I take it," said a friend in my bearing, uut it aoes' n't take much wit to live by thai law. Surely a man would be a fool to take a drink if he did not wan1 it! But not to take it though he wants* it ever so much? that requires the whole man. But the spirit of Esau is, most ol all, the spirit of unfaith. He sole what he could not see for what he could see. He traded his birthrighl because the birthright was a far ofl possession. It is so still. Each mar must devoutly believe in the wortt of an inheritance of honor and truth Only as he comes back from frest glimpses of such values is he safe li the presence of Jacob's succulenl pottage. Such is the office of faith? to hold us firm. The principle is th( same whether for the laying of i cable, the fighting of a battle or the saving of one's soul.?George Clarke Peck, in Sunday Herald. The Valley Walk. The walk is not in the valley, bul through the valley. Ah! then it mus1 be a straight and plain path, and one that leads somewhere. It must be ? direct journey to a. distinct destination. Yes, I am assured that it is and that the destination is nothing less delightful than heaven itself, How, then, can I fear when once bj faith I have connected the valley witt the heaven to which it leads. This going must be like the flight of z bird through some dark cloud, anc then out into the full light of the sun It must be like some traveler journeying through a deep shadowed canyon between the mountains, and ther coming out into the broad and smiling country, where the sun is shining in its glory, and where every greer herb and beautiful flower is springing up to bless. Surely, if it is only f. quiet walk through the sheltered valley, and the valley itself opens ou1 full and broad into the shining fields of heaven, why, indeed, should ] fear??G. B. F. Hallock, D. D. Prayer. The house of my soul is too straighl for Thee to come into; but let it 0 Lord, be enlarged, that Thou mavest enter in. It is ruinous; repaii Thou it. It has that within whicl must offend Thine eyes; I confess and know it. But who shall cleanse it." or to whom should I cry out savt Thee? Cleanse me from my secret faults, 0 Lord, and forgive those offences to Thy servant which he has caused in others. I contend not ir judgment with Thee, who art Truth: 1 fear to deceive myself, lest my sir should make me think that I am nol sinful. Therefore, I contend not in judgment with Thee; for if Thou Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, l Lord, who shall abide it??Saint Augustine (A.D. 354-40S). The Simple Life. Be content to lead a simple life where God has placed you. Be obedient; bear your little daily crosses? | you need them, and God gives them to you only out of pure mercy.?Fenj elon. Honest Donbters. Thomas was an honest doubter; I therefore the Master was anxious to I help him. Honest doubters are | treated in like manner to-day.?Rev, , Orville A. Petty. Grow Lobsters in Pacific. In furtherance of an effort to establish the lobster industry on the Pacific Coast, a carload of live lob j sters was started from Halifax, N. 1 S., for the other side of the continent. Lobsters were shipped in a similar manner about a year ago, and I are reported to be thriving in the waters of the Pacific. in tne saion at Twelve. Marcel Levallard, aged twelve years, has had a picture accepted bj the Salon des Artistes Francaiees, Parle. ?p?? : THE CRUSADE AGAINST DRINK i ! PROGRESS MADE BY CHAMPIONS { FIGHTING THE RUM DEMON, j i ! low We Raised Ten Thousand Dollars. i So yon want to print the story? And you'd really like to know How we raised ten thousand dollars in this town some years ago? I can give you facts and figures, and I'll guarantee them true, But to make the tale worth telling?well, the rest is up to you. Now the art of raising money isn't taught in many schools; So we hired a splendid teacher?hired the one that teaches fools. And the lesson that he taught us?nevermore to be forgot? Wasn't "How to Do the Thing," but rather "How to Do It Not." Years ago this town was rated as the.best one of its class? Waterworks, paved streets and sidewalks, parka, electric lights and gas? Everything was strictly modern?all ex' cept our city hall; That was quite an ancient structure, almost tottering to its fall. But improvements are expensive, and our taxes were so great That our people wouldn't stand for any increase in the rate. Still we secretly were hoping that old Bhack would tumble down; Then somehow we'd have a building that was worthy of the town. Just about this time a handsome, oily, prepossessing man Came along with just the nicest, neatest, simplest little plan. "If you'll license twenty barrooms at five hundred each," said he, "You can start your city hall fund with ten thousand dollars. See? . Issue bonds and Duiia your nan ana pay your bonds off at your ease; 1 Hi us your hall will soon be paid for from your liquor license fees," i Touched us on our tender spot and found us just as soft as -waxBeautiful new city hall and not a single cent more tax! ' Let me see?our population was about ten thousand then, ' v 1 And we had at least a hundred good, substantial business men. 1 Not a nicer little city, north or south, or , east or west? . ' Schools and churches, well attended, all well fed and all well dressed; ' Seldom had a business failure, never had \ i a sheriff's sale, ! j Not a pauper in the poorhouse, not a ; ! prisoner in the jailJust a sort of modern Eden till the , tempter came along. Since we listened to the Serpent everything's been going wrong. Poorhouse fall and jail is crowded, church L neglected, schools run down: [ Same old story, why repeat itf just a i liquor license town. Home deserted for the barroom, husband at the "poor man's club;" ' Wife, who once was blithe and happy, makes her living at the tub. s , Wages go for beer and whisky, trusting Twnfr?VioT*+fl Viav?? tft Wflit: r | Business failures, vacant, buildings, cheap. I est thing 1b real estate. j Everywhere you see "FOR SALE" signs, c I everybody wants to sell: 1 j One sarcastic owner says, "I'll trade this ' i lot for one in Hell!" L , Yes, we built the city ball, but who can [ count its fearful cost? I Leave out everything but money?just the l | money that we've lost? [ What's ten thousand dollars yearly? Count it any way you will, t I Fifteen times ten thousand dollars will not ) ! pay our liquor bill. j ; Twenty barrooms?each must average twenty-five, at least, per day. Don't you see? they've got to get it, or the business will, not pay. 1 That's one hundred fifty thousand that our * hundred merchants lose, t Should have gone for food and clothing, C , books, and hats, and boots and shoes. J Bteter for those hundred merchants, with their goods upon the shelves, Each had given his hundred dollars?built 1 ; that city hall themselves, l iSaved their trade-and saved tne city; yes, t and saved the human souls . That the monster DRINK is claiming as , he gathers up his tolls. .Would you balance that ten thousand which they pay us year by year ' "Gainst that tiny drop of water that is * j called a woman's tear? By what subterfuge of reason, by what sophistry beguiled, J Would you take ten thousand dollars for the safety of your child? t t There you have it in a nutshell. There's , your liquor question square. What's the answer? Read the papers. You can feel it in the air. , Ask your neighbor. Ask the ages. Place > your ear upon the gTound. Listen closely. Don't you hear it? Don't , i you hear that rumbling sound? Like the sound of many waters where ' some mightjr torrent rolls? Tis the voters of the nation, and they're marching to the polls. God of Battles! God of Ballots! Thou ; who led the Fathers on, Lead the Sons and give them courage )41J . j the final victory's won. . | ?Russell Thrapp, in The King's Herald. I ' Slays Ten Per Cent. | j If only one per cent, of the total , fleaths were due to drink it would ' : mean ten thousand slain every year i in the United States. But most emi[ j nent medical authorities put the pro! i portion at ten per cent. It is. not r | claimed that one in ten who die are drunkards. But that the disease that hurried them to the grave was induced by alcoholic poison. t r~~ ( i "College Makes Drunkards." j E. C. Mercer, a reformed drunk ard now engaged in evangelistic i work, In an address to the students i of the Northwestern University, Chi' cago, declared that one-third of the ! ! men who came to the Water Street : j Mission in New York, ragged and dir j ty and begging for food, are college ! | bred. Wine, women and song in coli | lege life, he said, are responsible for I this condition. : I [ ! Alcohol the Great Curse. , .j Dean Vaughn, of University of I j Michigan, says that the greatest curse . I to university students to-day is alcohol. Temperance Notes. 1 j The saloon is in politics: the only ' j vay to get it out is through the trap door. 1 The Dutch (and all others) are ' lafer when they put up the dikes against Holland gin Since the dawn of history this mon' irter. Booze, has been devouring men both body and soul, destroying their , i self-respect: scorching them with i | shame and remorse and filling the ! world with misery; yet we cherish it ! tenderly and protect it with laws. I About 3000 persons attended the ! ^ n. o tonmpr,inpp restaurant j VPCU1U5 V/i M. in Malmoe, Sweden. The institution tvas a success from the start. Mrs. Alice Hewitt, of Camden. N. j J., has brought suit against a saloon I keeper for $5000. She warned the I dealer not to sell liquor to her husj band. He did, and when she remon| strated the saloon keeper dragged | her out into the street by her hair. The temperance question cannot al ways be kept out of the general mind. The class is large and permanent to ' which it appeals, and it is always liable to emerge when there is no other ' great issue, and always liable to be j crowded back when there is. I INTERN ATION All LESSON^HHB MENTS FOR JUNE ? Subject: Heroes of Fai^ Heb^^EBw 11:1-40?^Commit Verses ?Golden Text, Hebrews ll^Hj^H Commentary on Dfey's Lesson^H^H TIME.?Uncertain/ PLACE? certain. / HHBH EXPOSITION.?-I. What is F^H^B 1-3. Faith look^ at the WorcS|^^H God, sees whay He promisee rests assured that it will all con^HHH| i pass just .as He says. It puts ! the test by /Acting as if it I It asks np- questions, but bel^H^H| I what God say8 will come to pas^^BS^Q ; obeys what God commands. 1 lleve Goc Is to rely upon or bav^^H^^BH I hesitating assurance of the tru^H^H uoa s testimony even though <lt supported by other evidence, rely upon and have unfalteriip^^MHfl Burance of the fulfillment/*?iF^^^BM promises even though everyt seems against such fulfillment (cJ^HM John 5:10, R. V.; John 5:24, H V.; Acts 27:22-25; Rom..-4:3, 19-^MB Heb. 11:13). It was lh faith thH^H "the elders," the heroes of the pa^^^H obtained a good report. Believld^^M Ood they went ahead and did as said. Faith in the certainty of God'.HM Word lay at the foundation of al1^H| their achievements. It is by faith^^J I that -we understand how the worldswere ma^e,- i. e., by the mere word of God. II. Four Heroes of Faith, 17-22. Abraham stands out as the first and I pre-eminent hero of faith in the Old Testament (Gal. 3:7-9). It was by I simple faith in God and His word that he left his country and kindred and went out, not knowing wither hff I went (v. 8; cf. Gen. 12:1-4). By ; Bimple faith in God and His Word he j saw his seed as the stars in the heavenr | and sand on the seashore innumerable (Gen. 15:5; Heb. 11:12), and I "it was counted to him for righteousj nefis" (Gen. 15:6). By Bimple faith In the certainty of God's Word, when ! he was commanded t.n nffAr tin Toooa j for a burnt offering he did bo. ! Whether he was to actually alay him he did not know (Gen. 22:7, 8), but he stood ready to do even .that (Gen. 22:10), accounting that God war able, If necessary, to raise him upeven from the dead. Abraham'? faith stopped at no sacrifice. Truefaith never does. It was only when his faith was tried that his faith shone forth (1 Pet. 1:7). It waa through the trying of his faith that \ Abraham's name came down for admiration throughout the ages. The sacrifice that God called upon Abraham to make, God Himself made (Gen. 22:2, 16; cf. John 3:16). SoAbraham became a type of the Father and Isaac a type of Christ. There V" had never been a case of resurrection before Abraham's time, yet Abraham accounted' that God was able to do it, though he had never heard of such a thing. Isaac'B return home with his father was like a resurrection from the dead. Abraham knew that Isaac would return with, i him (Gen. 22:5). Isaac walked in j the steps of his father's faith. Hej made prophecies of rich blessing on both his sons (Gen, 27:29, 39, 40;i 28:2, 3) though he had no ground for expectation of the fulfillment of the prophecy except thevbare Word of God. Jacob followed In the stepsof the faith of his father and grandfather. As he died he prophesied great things concerning the future ' of Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen. 48:1 ( ' 5-22). Joseph in turn followed in .the footsteps of his father, grandfather and great grandfather. He would not allow his bones to be buried in Egypt, nor even to be taken over into the promised land at the time of his death. He had God's Word for it that the whole people were to return and gave command aicui cuavciutug uio uuucb, CUttl lilt;/, should be kept until the people returned (Gen. 60:24, 25). His encoffined bones, were a constant index finger pointing the children of Israel | to the promised land. III. How Moses Walked by Faith, | 23-29. A mighty king issued a strict commandment, but the father and mother of Moses knew a mightier King than he and believed the mightier King's promises and were not afraid of the mighty king's commandment. Faith knows no fear. How can a man who believes in God fear man? (Ps. 27:1-3; Heb. 13:6; Ps. 56:4; 118:6; Is. 8:12, 13; 41:10r 13, 14; 51:7, 12; Dan. 3:16-18; 6: 10; Matt. 10:28). It was a great honor to be called the son of the mighty Pharaoh's daughter, but It was a greater honor to be. called the child of God. Mo9es refused the former for the sake of the latter. The pain ne cnqse was one 01 sunenng affliction (cf. 2 Tim. 3:11, 12). We are called to be soldiers and must expect to be glad to endure hardness (2 Tim. 2:3). But it Is better .to j suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. "The sorrows of the Christian are sweeter than the |oys of the world." Sin has its pleasures, but they are "but for a season" (cf. Job 20:5; Ps. 73:12-20; Luke ! 12:19, 20; 16:25; James 5:5; Rev. | 18:7). Moses bore the same kind of 1 reproach that Christ did, reproach i oecause of loyalty to God sand the | right. The Old Testament Scriptures | prophesy of the reproaches the Christ I (or Messiah) shall bear (Ps. 69:7, j 20; 1 Pet. 1:11). All who follow j Christ must suffer reproach (ch. 13: ! 13). Even the rerroach of Christ is ! greater riches than all the wealth of ! Egypt. Ring Back if Jilted. Justice J. M. Denning, of Norfolk, j Va., held that a girl who refuses to | marry a man must return her engage ment ring without question. The ! court gave J. D. McFarland, a young I hotel steward, judgment for a $55 ! diamond ring against Miss Lula B. | Short, who, McFarland declares, i jilted him without cause. The girl appealed for a jury trial on the i ground that it was not an engagement ring but a Christmas gift. Justice Denning said young men don't give $55 diamond rings just for Christmas Dresenta Drowns in Canoe Upset. Paul M. Friedinger, twenty years i old, a Government clerk, was drowned by the capsizing of a-canoe j near the Highway bridge on the Po? I tomac River. Friedinger's companj ion, Leon Le Buffe. swam ashore. Sticks to Whipping Post. j The whipping post is considered a necessary part of the discipline of . the Missouri penitentiary by the Senate, which defeated a measure abolj ishing such punishment.