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g?SH5B555H5E5HSE5HEE5S5HSaJ I'THE MANS 1 By EFFIE ADELi pj ^ <ii55HEHSHSH5HSH5HS5SHSESZS" CHAPTER VI. 5 Continued. "Oh, she told you that, did she?"' he asked, looking up at her in a curious way. "So that was the lie she blinded you with! Oh, she's clever, is Dorothy Knebwell, very clever, but she'll find her match some day." Then, with a different accent in his voice, he went on: "Put yer purse away; it don't hold so much, I guess, that you can give money to others. I sha'n't forget you, neither. A feller don't run agin many like you eiery day." Enid slipped her -purse back Into her pocket. Her ears were pained by the words he had spoken about Dorothy, and with all her usual truthfulness she broached this subject. "Has my cousin done you some wrong, that you abuse her as you do?" she said, hurriedly, and a little timidly. | He just smi?ed a faint, unpleasant j smile. "Don't ask no questions, miss, and you won't hear no nasty stories. It ain't for you; you're one of them as goes straight and honest?you don't understand lies and wickedness. We shall meet again, miss, and I'll not forget what you thought of me. I'll not forget." Enid bent her head and moved v away. September came in with a continuation of the splendid weather that had done all in its power to recompense for the changeable, unsatisfactory summer that had visited the earlier months of the year. Out on the moors the sportsman, freed from trammel and care, forgot his daily town existence, and trudged valiantly after the birds, breathing in a store of sweet, fresh air to strengthen his lungs for the late autumn mists and foes. Every seaside place was crammed, and round about London I the river resorts and small farmhouses still held a goodly company of health rather than pleasure seekers. Close to a lock in one of the prettiest parts of the upper Thames there was a tiny, old-fashioned cottage, rustic in its exterior, yet replete with every comfort and luxury within. A bachelor had furnished it, and a danty nest it was, a casket worthy, in its way, of any gem. The owner, tired of the serene beauty of the river, sought other scenes, and put up his cottage bungalow for hire. It was at once taken, and thither, after sending down servants and making everything more charming, if possible, than before, did Gervais, jLora uerriman, Dring nis jouug wne a week after their marriage. The wedding had been as quiet as the most rigid upholder of etiquette could have wished, no one being present save Lady Derriman and a second cousin of Dorothy's, the present holder of the title, Sir George Knebwell. She had gone to the altar in a simple cotton gown, and no two people .started on their new life with deeper prayers for future happiness than was breathed for them by Gervais' mother. A halcyon time followed. Dorothy declared again and again that she was in a paradise with which there was no compare. Her love for her husband was still the same blind, extraordinary passion, while his for her was deepnlng into that tenderness, that sweet protection that is more lasting than the truest affection. "Gervais, I think I shall go for a stroll," she said, shielding her eyes from the sun with a small, white hand. "I will go and inquire for that poor child we saw run over the other day." "I will come with you," was the answer, and away went the newspaper ai once. But Dorothy shook her head. "No, no!" she cried, with a laugh that somehow was scarcely easy or musical; "you must work; remember those letters you said were so important! I shall not be an hour, and we can spend all the afternoon on the river; so, ray lord, be industrious for once! I bid you au revoir!" And,' waving her hand, Dorothy went through the window, calling to her maid to bring her a shady hat, parasol and gloves, and, thus | equipped, she blew a kiss to her handsome husband, and walked away, with all her proud, graceful bearing. Her way lay through a most pic turesque and exquisite bit of country; j but Dorothy had uo eyes for scenery, i the sight of her lovely face in the mirror was enough for her, and so, j deep in her thoughts, she walked on I and on, never heeding which way she \ had taken till she found herself alone ! in a lane bordered on each side by trees tinged with autumn's decaying .touch, and came to the conclusion that she must be a good two miles > from her cottage home. She looked around her. and at first could discover no one or no thiDg. till suddenly a coil of blue smoke lifted itself above the trees, and moving toward it, she saw a tiny workman's hut, with the door wide open. The step was snow-white, and on this step a baby child was playing?a small tot, with hair of curly brown. Dorothy was (Ira-Ring her dainty skirts away from the contaminating touch of the baby when suddenly it lifted its head and gazed at her with its great blue eyes. She stood still and looked down at it, her gaze riveted on the small, tanned face with those glorious orbs and the mark of a Bear just across the left. brow. The color had fled from her own cheek?, her lips were pale, and as the sound of steps approaching from inside reached her, without turning, and simply extending her small gloved hand toward the baby on the ground, she asked, in a Strang?, far distant voice, forgetting what her reel question should have bo^n. forgetting ail in the sudden rush of terrible fcjid alarm that cam^over lier:, ETEL5 B5HSSSHSESHSHSHS&?ESErrv> .helovedII WW S UDE ROWLANDS. 11 <*$ ESH5H5E5ESHSHSE5H5ESHSHiii? "That child is pretty. Can you tell me whose it is?" There was no answer from the newcomer; and, as if drawn by some powerful magnetic influence, Dorothy turned round. As uer eyes rested on the man leaning against the doorway, a sneer on his pale lips and a look of triumph written over his curiously beautiful face, she drew back involuntarily and shivered with ague. The man stood gazing at her for several seconds; then lifting his left arm?the right was suspended around his neck in a sling?he pointed to the baby, who was once more playing with its sticks and stones, heedless and ignorant of the drama being enacted above its pretty little head. "So you trace a likeness, do you, Lady Derriman? Well, it ain't strange; she's the very spit of me, ain't she? One would think a mother needn't have asked that question; but since you have, I will answer it. That child is called Barbara Laxon, and she belongs to you and me!" CHAPTER VH. Her Shaiue. Dorothy, Lady Derriman, stood like a woman turned to stone. Her face was ghastly pale, and her eyes fixed before her, while one hand clutched at a post of the door for support. The man stood opposite, watching her with a smile on his lips, a nasty, unpleasant smile that was like that of an animal waiting ready to spring on its prey at the first opportunity. Two minutes ticked slowly by, and the old clock hung just inside the door sounded ponderously in their ears; Dorothy noticed in a strange, vacant way that the larger hand was broken and pointed in a jagged condition to the figures. She kept her eyes fixed before her, and tried to clear her throat to SDeak. but words would not come. The man seemed to take great pleasure in her mental torture. "Well," he broke the silence at last; "have you nothing to say?" She lifted one hand and loosened the lace at her throat; then Epeech came. "You?you said she was dead," she answered, her clear, bell-like tones husky and thick. "I say many queer things"?he shrugged his shoulders and leaned negligently against the door?"but I like to see people pleased. I ain't one to disappoint folk, and so as you wished her dead I took pains to let you think you'd got yer wish, that's all." Dorothy's slender fingers closed spasmodically round the rough wood of the post. She shuddered as he ceased, and a few words oroKe irom her pallid lips. "Oh, Heaven! what am I to do?" "Ah! I've got you now, haven't I? You see what it is to defy George Laxon in a hurry. Why didn't you do as I asked you that morning we met in the woods? You remember the morning of the day your father? died." He paused just an instant before he said the last word, and Dorothy shivered again. There was something sinister in his manner, but her whole brain and mind were fixed on the horrible problem of the moment, her misery intensified as the instants passed. "Not dead!" she said once to herself, in the same husky voice; "not dead! What shall I do'.'" The man only laughed in answer to Ua + Anlr ah f o rvinA i n r? fill it LUIS. lie IUUH VUL a auu uii^u *w slowly, while the child put out its dirty little hands and grasped Dorothy's lace sunshade, uttering little sounds of delight as it played with the glittering handle. As the man saw what the baby was doing he stooped and pulled the sunshade away. "Such things ain't for you, although your mother?" He stopped. Dorothy put her hand on his arm. "Hush, hush! " she said, in low, terrified tones. "Don't?" He shook her hand off roughly. "My tongue is my own; I shall speak when I like!" She understood him, and stood half paralyzed. "I am ruined!" she said, slowly, to herself. "Ruined! It is horrible! It is horrible!" He put her sunshade in a clean corner, and lighted his pipe carefully. It seemed to give him intense satisfaction to watch her agony of mind. "You dou't hold your head so high now, my lady, do you?" he said, after one or two puffs at his pipe. "Now, why wouldn't you be reasonable that day? Things would have been much better as I wanted than as they are now. I was straight and to the point. I offered to do the best thing I could. Make an honest woman?" He did not finish his sentence, for Dorothy seemed to wake from her lethargy, and at Lis culminating insult reared herself up in all her beauty. and faced him. "How dare you? Coward, cruel, vile coward that you are! After all the wrong you did me, have you no fear? Take care! Bigamy is not a nice word, and so surely as you hunt me down, I will drag you down, too. Then which will come out the worst, the man who deliberately plotted and worked against a foolish, vain child? for I was no more than a child when ?when I became, as I thought, your wife, or the victim of your sin? How would all the miserable lies you told me bear the light of day? Come, answer; am I not right when I tell you to beware how you try to ruin me?" He looked at her in sullen admiration. "You were always a handsome girl, Dolly," he said, after a pause; "but on my life, you're perfectly beautiful now. I begin to think I like you _s well as ever I did! " She drew back with a shudder; r? * ii?r face grew a shade paler. "George! George! don't torture me! Tell me what you mean to do! Let me know the worst?yes. the very worst?or you will drive me mad! Do you want money?- Well, I have plenty; I will give you what you want! Can I say more?" "Money ain't everything," George Laxon answered stolidly, but hia deep-blue eyes flashed for a moment. Dorothy drew a sharp breath; her faculties were slowly coming back to her. She saSv that he had taken the bait, but she was too clever to let him see that she understood his drift. As she sat there, facing this handsome, common, vulgar man, she loathed herself for the folly, the madness that had seized her when she was just grown to budding girlhood, the madness that made her forget all pride and modesty; and plan?with a cleverness worthy of a better cause ?and arrange so that she left her onivunt coVinnl oRtpnsihlv to inin her home, but in reality to fly to this man whose fancy had been pricked by her young beauty and who, hearing that she was a great heiress, never hesitated to pour forth long stories of ill luck, which, coupled with his extraordinary beauty had won him the girl's passionate heart before he could have begun to hope. It was a strange story. George Laxon, for reasons of his own, though he had a plausible excuse ready for Dorothy, refused to let their marriage be known to Sir Robert immediately; he took the girl into the heart of the French capital and there kept her quietly hidden while her father thought of her as safe in her convent school and the superior imagined her back In the world, mistress of Knebwell Hall. It was pot long before Dorothy found her mistake. She had loved in the same wild, unreasonable way as she now loved Gervais, but it could not last. The dingy life, the sense oi sometning sne aia not quue unaerstand, all turned her into the cold, heartless, selfish girl whose indifferertfe had given Enid so much unhappiness, and who might, had she had softening influences, have been something altogether better. Still no thought of shame came to her as she sat day after day, wearily waiting for her child to be born. Vulgar scoundrel, ne'er-do-well as he was, she- never dreamed but that George Laxon was in truth her husband, till her eyes were suddenly opened, and such a tumult of degradation, horror and hatred filled her breast as she herself was hardly conscious of. The poor creature whom Laxon had made his wife five years previously, who through his bad treatment had fallen into a rapid decline and for whose death he was waiting before he took Dorothy back boldly to Knebwell Hall, found her way to the room in which the beautiful, proud girl had lived during the past wretched months, and where just three weeks before she had become a mother. Even when she was alone and secure, Dorothy could not endure to recall what followed. She had frightened the poor soul away by her passion, and when George Laxon came in later Bhe turned on him more like a mad woman than a young, highly bred girl whose delicate beauty was alike the admiration and the curiosity of the quarter in which they lived. She declared that she should return at once to her father, and knowills' thf? hnlri hp hart nnnn hpr T,aYnn was only too relieved to let her go; Jt served his purpose to get rid of her for a time, and he was keenly alive to the fact that if he resorted to violence and detained her by force Dorothy would rouse such a commotion as would bring him into trouble and spoil his chance of becoming her real husband and living in luxury. With cold, trembling hands the girl had prepared for her instant departure. Her passion was still at fever heat, and when in an unhappy moment Laxon called her attention to the child, holding it forward ,for her to caress before she parted from it, Dorothy with mad, blind rage pushed him aside, and as he staggered bacl^the baby slipped, from his hold, fell heavily on the ironword of the bed, uttered one feeble cry and then lay insensible. With all his innate badness, George Laxon was not a cruel man; and as he j beheld Dorothy go hurriedly from .the room witnout a second thougnt to her child?whom for aught she knew she might have killed?he realized that there was something stronger in her nature to grapple with beyond the excitement, anger and despair of a girl. So it was that Dorothy went back to her father's house and took her place, as we first met her, the generally admired and much-envied heiress ' of Knebwell Hall. To be ContinuedTwo Ways of Looking at It. There is a young artist in Washington who classes himself as of the impressionistic school, and who, being somewhat out in drawing, generally makes up for his lack of technique by spreading color recklessly and counting on distance for his effect. At an amateur exhibition he once hung one of his most extraordinary performances. "Well," said a friend, whom the artist had taken to see the work, "I don't want to flatter you, old chap, but that is far and away the best stuff you have ever done. I congratulate you." Much pleased, the artist was receiving the compliment with becoming modesty, when he chanced again to glance at the picture?and turned very red. The committee had hung it upside down! Hurrying to the head of the committee he was about to launch into a loud complaint when he was informed Ui tut; Swuu ucno iaav uu uuut w&wi v the picture had been sold for $C1. The original price mark had been 519.?Lippincott's. Male Friendships. Remarks have been made lateiy as regards the apparent decline of close personal friendships between men. Perhaps something in our busy mod* ern life accounts for our lower note in masculine friendships. Perhaps, ! too, much that belonged to interj changes between man and man is now j possible betweer tvctuzk ?.nj aa?.D, | equals.? Ligiit. m 7 Sun&Qi|-^cftCLOt? INTERNATIONAL LESSON COM MENTS FOR JUNE 20. ! Review of the Weekly Topics For tb< I , Second Quarter of the Year? | \ Golden Text, Acts 4:33?Qnes tions For Individual Review. Golden Text?"With great powe ! gave the apostles witness of the res i urrection of the Lord Jesus." Act: I 4.33. The lessons of the quarter are ver: j rich in truth. We classify some o the teachings: j I. The Holy Spirit. In Acts 10:19 we havethe guidanc I of the Holy Spirit. In Acts 9:17 w< | have the. filling with the Holy Spiri j as a preparation for service. In Act 11:24 we have the fulness of th Holy Spirit. In Acts 13:2, 4, w have the Holy Spirit guiding th church and calling men and sendini them forth to definite work. In 13 9-11 we have the Holy Spirit impart in? spiritual discernment and bold ness. In 15:28 we have the presiden cy of the Holy Spirit in the council o the church, bringing it into unity am sound conclusions concerning ques tions under debate. II; Jesus Christ. The lessons of the quarter also con i tain much precious truth concernin; Jesus Christ. Indeed, He is the cen tre of all the teaching. In Acts 9:3-6 we have Jesus Chris in the glory, Bhining with a glor above that of the noontime sun. I; verses 15 and 16 we have the Lor Jesus as the head of the church to b witnessed to before Gentiles, king and children of Israel. Acts 11:2 we have the Lord Jesus as the centr of true preaching, and verse 21 w | see the power of His hand. In Act ! 13:38, 39, we see Jesus as the On i through whom forgiveness of sin i j preached and in whom all who be | lieve are justified from all things. I Acts 14:1-3 we see Him as the Might Deliverer from sickness. In Acts 15 1-29 we see Him as the One who ful fills and brings to an end the law c Moses. III. Prayer. The lessons of the quarter are ric : in teaching about thepower <^f prayei In Acts 10:1-4 the prayer of Coi j nelius for light and leading is ar i swered, and in verse 9 the prayer c ! Peter is also answered. In Acts 12 j 1-11 prayer opens the doors of a Rc man prison, strikes the chains froi the hands of a helpless captive an overthrows the skilfully laid plans c ! a powerful king. In Acts 9:11 praye is seen as theproof of the genuinenee of Saul's conversion. In Acts 13: 2prayer brings the guidance of th Holy Spirit and preparation for mis sionary service. j For Individual Review of the Quartei } The questions given below are fc j personal .testing of what you hav | learned during the past quarter. Lesson I.?What was the vision c i Cornelius? ! What was Peter's vision? ! What was the result of these' vii ; ions? Lesson II.?What was the occasio 1 of the death of James? Why was Peter imprisoned? What were the circumstances c i his deliverance? j Lesson III.?To what extent di i Saul persecute the disciples? What occurred on his way to Dan ascus? What service did Ananias render' Lesson IV.?How did the church a Antioch originate? What services did Barnabas rende at Antioch? Why do Barnabas find Saul visi Jerusalem? Lesson V.?What two public meel ings were held at Antioch? How did the apostles begin the! missionary work? What occurred at Paphos? Lesson VI.?Where did the Gals I tian ministry begin? ? | What appeal did Paul make to th : JewB? I What were tha results of his aj ! peal to the Gentiles? Lesson VII.?By what route did th apostles journey to Lystra? What unique experience did the have there? What was the; purport of.Paul's sei : mnn thpro' Lesson VIII.?What occasioned th council at Jerusalem? What occurred at the council? What kind of letter was sent to Ae tioch? Lesson IX.?Why is mere theoret leal belief without value? What kind of faith does God re quire? i What was the merit of Abraham' faith? Lesson X.?For what reasons shoul the tongue be controlled? How does self-control differ froi silence? What metaphors are used to illus trate the perils of the tongue? Lesson XI.?What is the nature o faith? What examples can you give of per sonal trust in God? What example of moral heroisr due to faith? Lesson XIII. ? What duties doe love prompt Christians to perform? What is the relation of love to th law? What special motive does Paul ap peal to? God hides some ideal in every hu man soul. At some time in our lif we feel a trembling, fearful longin to do some good thing. Life finds it | noblest spring of excellence in thi hidden impulse to do our best.?Rot firt Callver. Los Angeles Bars Consumptives. At a meeting in Los Angeles, Cal. of persons representing all the per manent charitable associations am institutions of Los Angeles, a resolu tion was adopted asking all charita j ble associations of the United State ! to refrain from sending any mor j consumptives to Los Angeles. I more be sent, the resolution says necessity will compel the local as sociations to return them immediatel; I to the place from which thev started | Rooster Pilots Train. When a Wheeling train arrived a Massillon, Ohio, a few days ago i :rowing rooster was found on th< pilot of the engine. It had beei there from the last stop, fifty milei away. How the chicken got on th< pilot was not known. The only the uiy lb mat it suaycu aciusa luh utict | when the .train was leaving Pine Val I ley and to escape death jumped 01 the Aim in a. Product of Platinum. The production of platinum in th< j United States in 1908 was 5-l( ! ounces. According to the Geologisa Survey the production of 1907 waf 357. \Religious Truths\ From the Writings of Great Preachers. I i. ?J | MHE GIVETH HIS BELOVHD SLEEP." Of all the thoughts of God that are - j Borne inward- into souls afar, . , Along the Psalmist's music deep, i Now tell me if that any is, | For gift or grace surpassing this: _ j "He giveth His beloved sleep." I " ; What would we give to our beloved? 3 j The hero's heart to be unmoved, I The poet's star-tuned han>, to sweep, y I The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse^ f . The monarch's crown, to light the brows? j "He giveth His beloved sleep." i "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say, e We have'no tune to charm away e I Sad dreams that through , the eyelids t "I creep; s But never doleful dream again e Shall break the happy slumber when B ! "He giveth His beloved sleep." 6 H": dews drop mutely on the hill, 5 His cloud above it saileth still, : I Though on its slope men sow and reap; I- i More softly than tne dew is shed, _ | Or cloud is floated overhead. j "He giveth His beloved sleep." I ?Elizabeth B. Browning. i I i- ' God Demands Reverence. BY C. H. WETHERBE. | . The spirit of irreverence towards g sacred institutions and holy ordii j nances, which so largely abounds in j our land, should be opposed by a it : vigorous presentation of the truth y I that God still demands due reverence a 1 for such things. All true Christian d i leaders of the people should regard a ' it as being their duty to teach their s j followers the great importance of 0 ) feeling and manifesting the^ utmost e ! reverence for the Bible and" for all e 1 sacred institutions. Observe! the fact 3 j that one of the foremost requiree i ments which God made of the ancient s j Israelites was that they should duly !- reverence all holy things, n ' As one reads the history of that y people he may see that God prescribed : very severe penalties for those who I- ! irreverently treated holy appoint>f I ments and places. Many professed j Christians in these days say that such I exactions of the Israelites were too h [ rigorous and too slavish. They say r. | that those people were made to enter - | tain a superstitious dread of sacred i- j ordinances and-hallowed places. How if j severely tasked they were to keep : j the Sabbath day holy! And what i- ! sacredness was attached to human n life! God demanded that the people d : should have reverence even towards if j the life of each other. r I Shall we say that God was too ex* is acting in demanding proper rever 4 j ence for all things? uy no meaua. e ! He knew that the strong tendency In i- J 6inful people is to indulge in irreverj ence. This is inherent in fallen hu[ man nature. Hence it is that God r. j has ever insisted that all people ir I should cultivate and express due reve erence for sacred truths land institu, tions. if I It is a lack of this spirit which la markedly manifest in those professional scholars who treat the Bible as they do any other book. It appears in their irreverent denial of the xi truth of those sayings in the Bible I which cont/adict their theories. It i is seen in the attitude of many nominal Christians towards Christ and ; the records of His miracles. All of d j such ones are mastered by an irrev| rent temper, even though some of i- : them 9peak of their "reverent treatI ment" of the Bible. But true rever>\| ence for the holy Bible will restrain it j its possessor from rejecting those Darts of it which are contrary to tr human reason. A truly reverent perj Bon will never cast aspersions upon it God's Word nor upon sacred things. Such a person has a healthy awe for t- God's truth. He has no disposition to trifle with Divine ordinances, r ' What is greatly needed to-day is a I profound cultivation of a reverent I spirit towards all sacred things. A l- 1 far greater reverence for God- and the i Bible should be taught to the youth e of our land.?World's CrisiB. ; Death is Life. Then familiarize your mind with e the inevitable event of death. Think of it as life! Gloomy though the ' portal seems, death is the gate of life , ' to a good and pious man. Think of A V? fi 4" od It. tnereiore, not its ucaiu, ?? glory?going to heaven and to your 6 Father. Regard it in the same light j as the good man who said when I exI pressed my sorrow to E2e him sinking l" . into the grave, "I am going home." 1 If you think of it as death, then let ' It be as the death of sin; the death of ! pain; the death of fear; the death of y j care; the death of death. Regard its 1 pangs and struggles as the battle that 8 goes before victory; its troubles as . i the swell of the sea on heaven's hapa | py Bhore, and yon gloomy passage as j the cypress-shaded avenue that shall n j conduct your steps to heaven. It is j life through Christ and life in Christ; I life most blissful, and life evermore, i How much happier and holier we I should be if we could look on death i in that light. I have heard people I say that we should think each morni ing that we may be dead before night, D j and each night that we may be dead ! before morning! True, yet how much s | better to think every morning. I may i be in heaven before night, and every night tbat the head is laid on the pillow. and the eyes are closed for sleen H to think, next time I open them it may be to look on Jesus, and th? land where there is no night, nor morning; I nor sunset, nor cloud: nor grave, nor e , grief; nor sin, nor death, nor sorrow; g j nor toil, nor trouble; where "they 3 j rest from their labors, and their 3 ! works do follow them."?Dr. Guth* u j tie. ? Be Content, Bnt Aspire. ? Set before you high models. Try ! to live with the most generous, an? ? j to observe their deeds. Be content, 1 yet aspire; that should he the faith >" j of all. and the two are quite com8 | patible.?Frederick W. Robertson. e I f i i> ! Habit of Prayer. | The promises in the Bible to pray? j er are not made to one act, but to the 1 continued habit of prayer.?Edward ! Payson. German Lonps Oversubscribed. Applications for the two new Ger" man loans, respectively $80,000,000 and $120,000,000, by the Imperial and Prussian Government, amount to kbout $375,000,000. The loans are " being handled by a syndicate of bank? Headed by the Reichsba.nl?. i Paid His Funeral Mourners. The will of John H. Haase, of St. 3 Louis, who was buried at Shiloh, 111., ) provided that every person who at1 tended his funeral was to be paid. 3 He left $100,000. What is left of it goes to. his sister. ... .... ? f "the warfare against orin TEMPERANCE BATTLE GATHER STRENGTH EVERY DAY. Our Temperance Band. We're a band of girls and boys Who fight the rum that soon destroys. We march beneath the folds of white. The Temperance l?lag, no pure and brigh Our Temperance band is marching stron And shouting victory all alone. We fight the kir.5 who soon destroys The happiness of girls and boys. And gladly we will go and fight To win for temperance and the right. And ah. some day what news we'll brini For we'll dethrone the Liquor King. Now won't you join our Temperance ban And stand for freedom in this land? And ah, how happy we will be When from King Alcohol we're free. ?J. Douglas Swagerty. Not the Same. We cannot believe that the presej temperance movement Is of the san old spasmodic kind. No longer ai the prohibition sheep separated fro the drinking goats?both are wor ing together for a curtailment of tl evil power of the saloon. A man im have been a moderate drinker all b days, but that does not mean that J can tolerate Rn institution which, : its insolent arrogance, has assum< an attitude of defiance to the law ai stops at nothing to make money. I their own acts the brewers themselvi started the tempcrance wave wbic sooner or later, will engulf .most i them. So eager have they been f< business that they have backed \ anyone who would start a saloon < Raines Law Hotel, no matter wh; his character or the kind of place 1 conducted. Too late they have se< i the folly of this and their busine: has suffered tremendously and j bound to suffer more. Whether or i : the bill prepared by the Commits of Fourteen, and now before the Le islature, will pass, is a question, bi if it fails this session it. or a simili one, wil become law before Ion This bill is as good a one as can 1 drawn at present. It provides for I gradual elimination of drinking r j sorts until there are but one to evei one thousand of. population. T1 i number of rooms necessary for I -u^.i.^.1 4-~ i.~ ~ 'x- J A. liULCl IU littVC 1? iUUICaSCU 1 rUJJLi u to twenty-five. These are the mo: important changes in the present la^ Its provision to allow saloons to 1 open for certain hours on Sunday meeting with strong opposition, hi some such change is sure to come : the near future, for it will not on lessen the opportunities for poll grafting, but will give to the peon the freedom of action which they d mand.?Brooklyn Life, ' The Uses of Adversity. "Grogan," said the head of the d partment store, eyeing him sharpl "you've quit drinking, haven't you' "Yes, sor," answered the red-head* Hibernian who worked in the packir department. "I haven't taken dhrink av annything sthronger th iced tay f'r three months." "I am glad to hear it, Grogan. I make it an object to you to stay qui But how did you break yourself < the habit?" "Be hittin' me thumb nail wid hammer whin I was packin' a box goods." "I don't see how that could cui you." "Well. Misther Barker, it was th way. If I'd been sober, d'ye moin I'd niver have done it, but I wasn' Whin I whacked me thumb instead i the nail I was thryin' to\dhrive made a black spot at the root av n thumb nail. I says to meself: 'Gr gan, I'll Dunish ye f'r that. Ye shan have a dhrink ay ayther beer 'r whu ky until that black spot has gone.' "Well, sor, it was two months b fure it had growed out to the end me thumb an' I cud cut it off, an' 1 that time I'd lo6t all me appetite t bepr an' whusky. "Thin I says to meself: 'Groga: I'll reward ye f'r that. Ye're a sob< man now, and ye'll stay sobei That's the whole story, sor."Youth' Companion. How Saloons Breed Anarchy. The liquor traffic breeds crimina wherever you find it. The liqui traffic in srnHtv nf th? multinlicatic of a great army of men and wom< who are going up and down th country violating our laws. Do yc remember when the Haymarket ma | sacre occurred in Chicago, and tl I investigation that followed? Wh that court of inquiry was always tall Ing about the saloon. Where we; the bombs made? In the back roo i of a saloon. Where was the conspi acy hatched? Up stairs over a s loon. Where did the anarchists me to plan their dastardly work? In room under a saloon. It was in saloon, around the saloon, over a s loon and below a saloon continual! The whole abominable business anarchy would die its death if tl saloon were gone. Drink Increased With Wages. Whether poverty is the cause drink or drink is the cause of pover is a question over which social wor ers have sometimes split hairs. U doubtedly both views are right, poverty and drink constitute a vi ious social circle. . Dr. Fuchs, ho1 ever, studying workingmen's expe diture in seventeen villages ne Carlsruhe found, according to D Abstinent (June, 1905), that tl greater the income the greater tl proportion of money spent for drin indicating that in this case, at ai rate, poverty was not the chief cau of drink.?Translation by The Scie Ufic Temperance Federation. Prohibits Drunkard Marriages. The Illinois Legislature has a b which prohibits any drunkard fro marrying in that State. It amen the general marriage law by decla ing an habitual drunkard incapab of contracting marriage. An "habl ual drunkard" is defined to be a pe son who becomes intoxicated twice year or oftener. It is also providi that applicants for marriage licens shall make affidavit that they ha not been intoxicated twice in the pr oorHriO' VPitr As tfo Skates. A huge ale store at Burton-o Trent is being converted into a skj ing-rink. The change, after all, mi not be so very striking. Custome should still have every facility f losing their equilibrium.?Lond< Punch. Reports from Missouri are to tl effect that the Governor Is serious thinking of appointing a commissi to investigate the liquor traffic ai its effects. One of the expert wl nesses the commission should a ought to be Governor Hadley hii self. '" i i ' hi h 1 The TIuJML ^ .a sermon *3gg?b st tae p&/~ w^pgaE *[rft.v/ hende^n^p^ Theme: To-day. * / Text, Psalm 95:7. "To-day." In that entertaining and stimulating volume "Orthodoxy," Mr. Gilbert Chesterton delivers himself of this 5, pungent remark: "All Christianity, concentrates on the man at the cross roads." For, says he, "The true phidi losophy is concerned with the instant. The instant is really awful." Nothing is truer, nothing more vital. What a multitude of sermons are preached to thetheme,"Wherewillyou spend eternity?" What a host there ot is looking toward the hereafter, How 16- ;,many there are who are hoping for re to-morrow and planning for the years m to come. Far be it from me to minik mize the value or the need for le thought and talk about the life of \y that undiscovered country from, is whose bourne the traveler no more, le entering, returns. ' We can not too in i much direct the attention of mea' , ;d and the times to eternity. v Would id that we might be as strenuously ab$y stract and spiritual and forethoughtes ful in our thinking and preaching as h, we are coldly practical. The klngof j dom of heaven truly is here or noar 1 where, but for us it is more there ip | than here. This life is but a segor ! ment of that wonderful and illimifcat able eternity to which God ever calls ie ! us on. As Keats so beautifully sings:! 53 j "The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, earth's 10 shadows fly; ?e Life, like a dome of many colored glass, g- Stains the white radiance of eternity, j at Until death tramples it to fragments. q r? Longer shall we live there than * i here. Here we sojourn, there in the ! providence of God we shall abide. To-day is important none the less. " I The measure of our living here con? * ! dltions our living there. Our talent* I using in this life indicates our'value ' in the next How we see God here i determines our vision of Him in the 1? i heavenly abodes. To-day Is impor,tant. The instant is impressive. .? "Now" is indeed noteworthy. "Today," says the Psalmist, "if ye will, hear His voice." , ' ( I? i "Be wise to-day: 'tis madnesB to defer; I 1 Next day the fatal precedent will plead: le ! Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life, e- ! Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, AUU WJ iiuc uiCi ucs ui a uivmvuv iutr w> The vast concerns of an eternAl scene." \ V May we, as Edward Young, pere" i ceive the wonder and the awfulness, j of the divine responsibility that rests * ' | on us momentarily to be careful to;d I ward the concerns of the ages. lg | - The future depends on to-day. ,a i "Defer not till to-morrow to be wise." 0 I Eternity rests upon our present I choice. There can be no to-morrow; , till there has been to-day. The character of to-morrow lies helpless In ?* the graBp of to-day. The sins and progress of the men who are alive * j will mar or make the future otthe 0 ] generations yet unborh. | The day that Esau sold his birth* re i right to assuage the gnawing of his I hunger that day he marked his charia J acter forever, and Jacob left an everi lasting explanation to be made, t. I When Moses set his face steadfastly iv i away from .the leeks and garlics and the honors of an alien court in that ie moment the face of history waa o- changed. When Abraham Lincoln i't came up out of the valley of decision s- the slave was free. Every choice is decisive. Each e- moment Is momentous. o' Je "Happv tne man. and happy he alone, "r He who can call to-day nis own; j He who, secure within, can sav. I To-morrow, do thy worst, for I nave lived ap ' i-v-uaj. . i _ ! God and the thoughtful know the value of to-day. Its use is a fine art. Its value is immeasurable. It? possibilities are Infinite. Its appeal is heart-searching. Its misuse is a Is crime and a grievous sin. ar We ought to utilize to-day with ;n care. It means much how we face >n Satan and stand firm for Ood. Weak is and unimportant as we may judge iu | ourselves to be alone, yet our aggres , gated decisions are impelling and our ie I compounded use of time has an ever* v, lasting bearing. Perchance the ac[c J tions of one of us may determine the re course of the onward march of men. m Most important is to-day in the r- life of the soul. To-day alone is a- ours. The future, as the past, is with et God. Let us say with Wesley: a "Lo! on a narrow neck of land, a Twixt two unbounded seas I stand." Let us decide for eternity. Let us use to-day for the good of the days. 01 thnt ar? to he. for the haDDiness of ie our hearts forever. When to Be Most Glad. Has Christ become to us such a ?* Jiving, bright reality that no post of ty duty shall be irksome, that as Hiswitnesses we may return to the quiet n~ hdmeside, or to the distant service as among the heathen, with hearts more c~ than glad, more than satisfied, and most glad, most satisfied, when most * sad. and most stripped, it may be, of ar earthly friends and treasures? er Let us put all our treasures into His hand; then He will never need to 110 take them from us on account of heart idolatry; and if in wisdom and ay love He remove them for a time, He se will leave no vacuum, but Himself fllf the void. Himself wipe away the tear. | ?J. Hudson Taylor. War on Man's Inhumanity. 111 j We must fight the inhumanity of m | man to man, fight it in the faith, that ds | some day it will cease to be, and to .r- j invoke in our battle the dear and le sul lime humanity of Jesus Christ,. It- I and through Him the loving humanity :r- I of God.?Rev. George A. Gordon. a ' S(* j The Best Way. 1 The sacred Scriptureu teach us the ! best way of living, the uoblest way of suffering, and the most comfortable way of dying.?John Flavel. nixWhnln TTpnrf n- We do not understand .the supreme, it- the unutterable Interest embraced in ay religion, when we think to give less to ra it than our whole heart. We do not or understand our nature when we thinlfc 3D to shuffle oft its stupendous charge.?> Orville Dewey. < ^ A Means to the End. The church is not the last word itt )D Christianity. The church is a means 1(J to the end. It is to do its work so [t. well that after awhile it will be un-? j necessary. In the holy city John saw, n. there was no temple.?Rev. Jamea I. Vance.