The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, June 09, 1909, Image 2
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I'THE MANS
1 By EFFIE ADELi
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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:,
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"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.