University of South Carolina Libraries
^HHSESasasisSSESBSHS^ I 1 By EFFIE AD (U ^ Jfc5555E555H5E5S5H555SSH? CHAPTER IX. 7 Continued. "She kissed me once as this g kisses him," he said to himself; "a yet?" His eyes went to Dorothy's fa< florvaic wnc ifillrfTicr onH tbo nnin tion had died from her eyes arid li her miserable thoughts had fore themselves once more in her mil and the change, slight as it w startled and pained Sir Roger, scarcely knew why or how, but t feeling of admiration and pleasi that had kindled in his breast at fi laeeting Dorothv slowly faded aw; and all that remained was a vag premonition of evil and a pang of p for the happy, handsome young f low who sat at her feet and look up to her as a queen. CHAPTER X. The Price She Paid. Enid Leslie was carried down Weir Cottage as in a dream. She n scarcely conscious of anything savt curious feeling of peace and comfi as her hand was clasped by Doroth; husband. "Weir Cottage must give you soi roses," he said, warmly, as he sho her hand. "You are not looking t strong, is she, my darling?" "She is looking very charminj Dorothy replied, with a faint smile. A small nansr of envy shot throu Enid's heart as she saw the man's t( der care and great love written his frank, handsome countenan How blessed must Dorothy be to ha such a treasure, a store of love as -n now hers! And yet Enid could i dismiss the thought, as she gazed her cousin from a distance, that the was something altogether opposed happiness written on Dorothy's bes tiful face. Gervais drew his wife's small ha through his arm. "How grand you are to-night, i darling!" he said, lightly. "Is tl gorgeous apparel in honor of M Leslie?" Dorothy forced a smile to her 11] "I am tired, Gervais," she said, qi etly, "so I put on a teagown for co: fort. I am glad you like it!" "Like it; of course! How could help doing that? But will it be wai pnniifli nn the> river' Rpmomh how chilly it gets now." "I don't think I can attempt t river to-night, my darling!" she a swered, hurriedly; "the heat, something, has knocked me up. want you to take Enid without n I will sit and rest till you come bac and then"?there was just a litl catch in her breath?"then I thinh shall be better, and we can have soi music." Gervais looked at her anxiously. "You do look pale, dearest. Ah was foolish to let you go up to tow you would have been far better do\ here. The river can do without for once; we will sit and talk to y while you rest." "But I want Enid to go," Dorot said, trying to prevent her eagerm and impatience from creeping in her voice; "she will enjoy it." To the end of her life Enid alwa rpmemherpd that first pynfiripnfp hers on the river. The moon w risen when they started, though rays -were not fully developed. G< vais led the girl down to the be house, where his launch and oth aquatic property were kept, and in few moments Enid was comfortat installed on the dainty cushions, wi a rug about her and the steeri cords given her, with full instructio how to use them. "We shall go along quietly," s,i the earl, as he sat down and took t oars. "I want you to enjoy the :>ct ery thoroughly." % Enid made no answer. She felt If she were in some strange dream fairy story as they began to gli through the silent waters on whi< as the twilight deepened, the sil\ rays of the moon were reflected. uoroiny waited until tne clang the gate told her they were gone, th she jumped up hurriedly from t chair where Gervais had lain her tenderly and made her so comfor1 ble, pushed away the cushions, kick the collie aside that was crouched her, and going quickly upstairs s went to her room. Her first thoug was to look for Virginie; she h made her plans well," and. had giv the maid permission to go with o of thfj other servants to a town ne; where there was some sort of wal procession in honor of the anni regatta. She listened eagerly a found the coast clear?Virginie w gone; then drawing her skirts cl< about her, she threw on a long clo and hood, and grasping a small pat et tight in her hand, stole down sta and out into the garden. The place she had named was i far, and was out of the beaten trac and there, pale to the lips and as c< as death, Dorothy pushed her way. She was early, but Laxon was th< before her, seated on the stile smc ing his well-blackened pipe. uooa-evemu , ne saia, not mi ing either himself or his pipe as s approached him hurriedly. "What have you got to propose she asked in hard, curt tones. He glanced at her set face. "Well, you see, I've been a-think of everything over. We're both ii nasty mess, there's no denyin' th so we oughter share and share alik 'What do you mean?" the ? asked, still in the same cold way. "Well, I mean this"?he knocP out the ashes of his pipe against i wooden post of the stile?"you're l mother of my child. I know it do sound pretty"?as she shuddered si deuly?"but it's true. Now, nev theless. I'm a poor man and you'n rich woman, and?" "Ju other words, you wish me I \ Gervais came running down almost immediately. "I hope you will forgive me, Miss Leslie," he said, as he held out his hand. "I am going to say good night, j for I think you ought to go to bed, j too; you are looking very tired, and I | am going to walk to the village to get this prescription made up for Dorothy; she had a cold like this when | she was at Barrow-cuir-moor, and my j mother recommended her this rem 15ESE5HSES5SE5HSHSH5HSBSESS^ SHE LOVED] ELAIDE ROWLANDS. ' g A\ IHSHSS5HSH5HHBSS5HSH5HSESHn^ share my wealth with you. What d' you want?" .jrj "George Laxon put his sound ham n(j into his pocket and leaned leisurel against the post. The moon jus ,e. lighted up his insolent, handsom face and gleamed on his wonderfu blue eyes. ,e^ "The Knebwell property brings yoi 1(j in atween fifteen and sixteen thou ' sand a year, I believe?" he said slowly. "Fifteen thousand, four hundrei (re and thirty-nine pounds, to be pre rst cise," Dorothy answered, calmly am ay coldly, though her heart was beatini Ug fiercely beneath the calm exterior. it "Oh! let's be precise!" he observed ej_ with a sneer. "Well, out of fifteei ed thousand, four hundred and thirty nine pounds per year you can spar j me, say, an income of three thou | sand?" j The last words were uttered boldly and though she stood very still, thi to demand almost paralyzed Dorothy How could she account for this mone: r to her husband or her trustees? He ' ^ ^ nha Vi n ^ nAVTfi . I iiauus ucuiuicu. ouvy uau Jic?v> . thought he would have asked this y s nor half as much. "You don't answer me," he said breaking the silence. ok "I agree." 00 He whistled sharply. This wa .. more than he expected. Dorothy held out a packet. "In here you will find bank note ? for one thousand pounds. Give m Jn~ some address and you will receiv 011 (the other two immediately." ce. ive as CHAPTER XI. lot at A Bit of Paper. sre George Laxon looked after her wit] to . an ugly expre^ion in his handsom< iu-1 face. i "You shall kneel to me yet, m; ndliady!" he muttered. "You thin) [ you've got scot free of me now, don' ny you? Blame you! But we shall se' iis what we shall see, and I sha'n't breal iss no promises, neither. What J'v< swore I'll keep, as long as you keep ps. your oath." ui- When Enid and the earl reachei m- the gate at Weir Cottage they foun< : V?wilh tho Mnalr rnnnH hp I JUWiVlUJ ViW?**k * 1 I' and the hood on her head. m J "la that what you call resting? >er asked Gervais, with tender reproach j "I got tired of reading, and so cam< he to watch for you. Well, Enid, ant m-! how did you enjoy the river? Di( or: she steer as well as I do, Gervais' I: Did you try to row at all? Weri le. there many people?" :k, Gervais laughed at the gay, rattlinj tie way in which Dorothy put these ques ; I tions, but Enid did not even smile ne | she detected the recklessness beneatl J the gayety, and wondered how i (could escape him, and what could hi , I, the matter that had caused so strang< n; j an alteration in her usually cold, im vn I passive cousin. She felt pained anc us ] wretched, as Dorothy laughed on ou I hanging to her husband's arm,r.anc j seeming in the best and brightest o hy , spirits. jss As they went indoors, however, th< ito ( spirits died down again, and as sh< 1 threw herself wearily on to a chaii ys ' and asked Enid to sing something of; the flush faded from her cheeks an< as she looked pale and wan again. its I Dorothy flung herself back petu sr- j lantly on the cushions, and as shi >at' did so she jerked off one of her dain ler ' ty, black satin shoes. . a | Gervais stooped for it at once, am >ly | was going to put it on, when he ut th;tered an exclamation: ng | "Why, my darling, this shoe is sim ns ply wet through; how can you be s< | imprudent? It is enough to give yot lid a severe cold! " he j Dorothy felt inclined to snatch th< :n- shoe from his hand, hut she re strained herself; and then, seeing hii as grave face, she determined to surren or : der to the circumstances as well a: de ; she could. :h, i She stretched out'her hands with : rer graceful, pleading gesture. ! "Don't scold me, please, Lord Der of riman," she said, lightly; "I plea< en | guilty. I have been very foolish, he ; forgot all about the damp grass, an< so ' in consequence have paid the penalty ta- j Now don't look so serious. Enid wil ed jtell you I am very, very strong; an< by i if you insist, I will go to bed at once, he "I should advise it, most certainly. ;ht Gervais spoke quietly, and lookini ad at him, Enid saw that his brow wa en | clouded and his mouth set. He rani ne i the bell as he rose. ar, I "Send Lady Derriman's maid hen Ler i with some other shoes," he command mi ed, as the servant appeared, nd I "Virginie has gone to the regatta as ' and no one else knows -where I kee] >se ; my things. I can walk up in these, ak i Gervais waved the man away, thei ik- [went up to his wife, drew off the sec irs' ond offending slipper, and wen from the room. lot Enid watched her cousin as the; :k; were alone, and she could not hel] )ld feeling sorry for her?she looked si worn and white. She went up to he ;re j gently. )k- j "Can I do anything for you, Dor I othy, dear?'" she asked. dv- | Dorothy opened her eyes. she j "Nothing," she replied; then, wit] |a second thought, "yes; try to indue s?" | Gervais not to worry about me, he i making me so nervous." He entered at that moment, and In' i having put on her a pair of pink sati: 1 a quilted slippers, unceremoniously pre at, j ceeded to lift Dorothy easily in hi e." i arms. rivl i "Tliic ic tinw t tro^f liniifhtv rhil I dreu," he said, with a smile, and yet ;ed look of tender reproach: "naught the children who are so precious to othe the people, and refuse to take care o n'I themselves." ijcl- Dorothy laughed. er- "Good night, Enid." she said, a a a she was carried from the room. : Enid sat down by the table an to [opened a newspaper at random. I edy, which did her great good." Enid stood at the window and watched him stride down the garden path, then she turned with half a 0 sigh and prepared to go to her dainty bedroom. She took up one of the ^ novels lying about, and as she passed y the side of the long chair on which 1 Dorothy had thrown herself, she saw e a folded piece of paper on the floor. I Without thinking, she stooped for and unfolded this, and read the hurII ried scrawl, recognizing her cousin's * characters at once, badly written as ' it was. As she held this the door was suddenly opened and Dorothy ap3 peared. Her brows contracted as she saw ^ Enid reading the paper, but she man5 aged to hide her vexation. "I?I have left my book down here, '? and Virginie has not come in, and ^ so?" "So you have risked Lord Derrie man's anger?" smiled Enid. "Is this your book?" Dorothy shook her head and smiled r> back. 8 She picked up another novel and ' then Enid handed her the scrap of y paper. r "I think you dropped this, Dorr othy." !? Dorothy gave a well-acted look of surprise. l? "So I did; how stupid of me! It is the address of a new second footman for?for Bromley. Thanks, dear, I s should have been vexed had I lost it. Good night, dear Enid. Ah! you are going to bed, too; quite right, for we s want to see you lose your pale looks." e Enid went up stairs with her e cousin, who parted with her affectionately at her door; but somehow, when she was alone, the thought that Dorothy had prevaricated about that paper came into her mind. She felt that George Laxon was, no candidate for the vacant post of second foota man; besides, such matters were ale ways settled by the housekeeper, and were not likely to trouble the young ? countess. i t CHAPTER XU. e j Dorothy is Saved. e Dorothy's cold was not much, but s yet Gervais could not help noticing that something ailed her for the week j ionowing xneir reiurn irom ijonaon j with Enid. She seemed to have lost r the wonderful happiness that surrounded her when they two were .. alone; still he did not wisn Enid to go, for he saw that Dorothy was eager e for her cousin's presence, and therej fore he rejoiced in anything that gave j her pleasure. , One morning, having safely disj posed of Enid and Lord Derriman, she walked to the village postoffice? y not the one nearest to the cottage? " and received a dirty looking letter, . addressed to "D. R." Inside were a ^ few lines: t "Swag came. Sail to-morrow for I Australia, per S. S. Penelope. Child j too. Send money when due to the ^ same address. Good-by, Dolly." j She waited until she was safely out of the shop and alone in the country i lane, then her joy, her relief, the re| action almost made her reel. She was saved! What a terrible, R an awful risk she had run! She dared I not even let herself think of the es" cape she had had. Enid could not understand the j change that came over her, there was something through all this she could not fathom; but Gervais did not seek a for the reason, his darling was her ^ bright, merry self again, that was all he asked to see. j He sat gazing at her as luncheon progressed, and Enid saw the tears of thankfulness that rose in his eyes, and unconsciously the dull, dead Dain j that came so often struck her heart j once more. Dorothy waited until the servants 9 had gone, then she startled both her cousin and husband by suddenly says in6: "Gervais, I want you to promise s me something?" (To be continued.) Sharp Dealing. For once the American had discov1 ered something British that was betI ter than could be produced "across the j pond." His discovery was a fine collie dog, and he at once tried to induce 1 its owner, an old. shepherd, to sell it. j "Wad ye be takin* him to Amer? ica?" inquired the old Scot. ? "Yes, I guess so," said the Yankee. ? "I thought as muckle," said the s shepherd. "I couldna pairt wi'Jock." ? But while they sat and chatted an English tourist came up, and to him e the shepherd sold the collie for much . less than the Ameri:an had offered. "xou toia me you wouian t sell him," said the Yankee, when the purp chaser had departed. ? "No," replied the Scot; "I said I u couldna pairt wi' him. Jock'll be . back in a day or so, but he couldn't I swim the Atlantic."?Detroit Free Press. y p Portugal's Valuable Crown. 0 When King Manuel of Portugal will r be crowned the ceremony will include his assumption of the most valuable - crown in Europe. Taken at a jeweler's estimate, the Portuguese crown is recorded as being worth ?1,600,h 000. In shape and size It is almost a e fac-simile of the Spanish and the old s Polish crowns, though in the value of its jewels its nearest rival is the I- Czar's diadem, which is supposed to n i, ? r.,.c-r ci on a nnn tv,,. i ? iia>^ cuoi, Ai,ouv,uvu. i ?ic liuwu >- placed upon the English King's head s is valued at a mere ?360,000.I Thirty Chinese young ladies have a recently graduated from a Japanese y girls' school, which was specially 01r ganized for the education of Chinese if women in Japan. ? Shanghai Mercury. s There is a lot of poverty on Manhattan Island, but the assessment a rolls give $2000 in taxable property to tach inhabitant. CULTURE. ? 1 . 6ui THE SMALL CHICKS. To Raise a Profitable Percentage Requires Faithful Care. ^ The poultry man must bear in Trc mind that small chicks have many en- 1 emies, and to raise a large percentage *? of those that hatch requires the most ^0 3V6 faithful care. For the first two weeke I have a supply of mixed chick food and fresh clean water constantly be- in fore them and cover the floor of the Ho coop with dry hay chaff with a supply not of sharp clean sand for grit. When Prc the chicks are two weeks old they J1? may have a feed of cracked corn and wheat at night and the chick feed tini gradually reduced until the chicks are for a month old when they will not need Thi it. "th At this time give them a mash for ant their first morning feed consisting of 19; one-half corn meal, one-quarter ?^{ wheat middlings and one-quarter ground oats mixed with skimmed milk. After the chicks are a month old they may have a hopper filled did with cracked corn and wheat always Spi before them, with which the morning in 1 mash will bring them to maturity in good time. j?e When not needed for breeding pur- ^ poses the cockerels from the first tj0. hatch are ready for broilers by June eic 10, when they will dress five pounds tio: to the pair. The cost of feeding them Ga! to this age has not exceeded fifty ble cents each. the The April pullets will commence ,us laying by October, and should be re- ^ moved to the warmer quarters before jS ^ nJorli + c r?P VAvomhor aa tu. will lay earlier and better for it. The to ] old hens should have been killed off (cc In August, when they are In good de- the mand at the summer hotels, to be Berved up as spring chicken.?A. C. 'j Hawkins, Worcester County, Mass., in ne American Cultivator. (M ??? Bit Two Trap Nest Plans. bai Many are the -ways published to ?nt make trap nests. All are after sim- ?er Wei plicity, so I give you mine, and as I . have tested it thoroughly and have lar fwo in constant use, I know it is ] 0. K. cloi Make the box to suit the hens to be Goi trapped. Hang the entrance door so Go< when it shuts down the hen is trapped ?l?. it about a half inch from the point where the door reaches when raised 27jp. Inside and at the left hand of the 3oor, screw in a screw hook about ^ two and a half inches long. Raise jie] the door and bring the hook under esp the edge of the door. As the hen coL enters she touches the door a trifle, the which releases the hook, and down heI :omes the door. f!ai t DG I have made a small sketch to make cal it plainer. The hook is screwed into j 1 cross piece far enough from tho I1<( side to catch the door. I prefer slat for ioors and I have a door over the cal! nest for convenience, but ft is not per >ssential.?C. M. Hayes. t)f Pai - str: Nest Boxes. trie The nest is a very important Mat- 'on ter. If the hen is permitted to have *vW11 her way she will seek a secluded lo- ^ ^ :ation, and in summer she prefers flrs i cool place. During the winter per- jg. lod her desire is for a warm nest, qui where the warmth imparted the eggs adi will not be dissipated too rapidly, cro WTiat we desire to allude to particu- *nS larly Is the nest box after warm ^ut GD weather begins. The nest box Is the ?' source from which lice often come, an; because the heat from the hen's body jajj makes the conditions very favorable Eu for the propagation of lice. The nests a 1 are not cleaned as often as they "wa should be. At least once a week the inS nest box should be taken outside, the Tes material removed and burned, and new material placed in the boxes. If wa any signs of lice appear, sponge the t,0] boxes lightly with kerosene and apply unl % lighted match thereto. A flame (Ji will run over the box, but will not 24: burn it to any extent. After placing the new material in the box, dust the C01 whole with fresh insect powder and place the nest in a cool and seSluded Wc location in the poultry house. -(3' \ Sh< Dry Mash at Noon. we T f Vi n i? a nnnflOfl + n fill TVcV 11 luwib jiavc aLtcoo iv an buv? fresh green food they care to coil- M.a sume, it is well to feed the noon ^ meal of dry mash. Give only "what they will eat up clean during the Co afternoon unless hopper feeding is cor used. to "b/Fraction! Poultry Points. Feeding skim-milk has a tendency to whiten the flesh. ' ett It is more important to know the saj work of the individual hen than the paj average of the flock. ors Overfeeding of green cut bone is apt to caurc log trouble, diarrhoea, bowel complaints and worms. ett Keep breeders from head lice by pri the occasional application o' a good for lice powder, before and during hatch- , off' Ing .season. cla: I pre Only Road to Success. Remember that you cannot be car- < rkd co success in a carriage with the du, binges oiled, the 'hacks padded, and ter the seats cushioned: you must trudge by oil foot along the dusty t'ghway. at Prospects Brilliant. "I see you got married yesterday, Chloe. Are your prospects brilliant?" } "Ya-as, Mah husband's frienis ; brought ine fo' mo* washin's."?Circle wo Magazine. Ha / ? Sunbatj-&cfioc1' TKIfNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS FOR JULY 4. )ject: Paul's Second Missionary Jonrney?Antioch to Philippi, Acts 15:36-16:15?Golden Text, Acts 16:9?Commit Verses 9,10. TIME.?A. D. 52. PLACE.? >as, Philippi. 3XPOSITION I.?Paul Forbidden Preach in Asia, 6-8. "Asia" here is not mean our modern Asia, nor n Asia Minor, but a part of Asia aor, the Roman Province of Asia. i time for Paul to speak the Word Asia had not yet come. So the ly Spirit said to Paul, you must ; speak the word in Asia. This >bably seemed strange to Paul, but wisely obeyed and asked no quests. If we would speak the right rd, in the right place, at the right ie, we must look to the Holy Spirit His guidance, and He will give it. j e time came later for Paul to speak j e word of the Lord Jesus" in Asia, 1 wonderful results followed (c>. 1. 8, 10, 26, 27). If he had disced the Spirit and followed his n inclination and judgment there uld have been no such results. But : ugh Paul obeyed the Spirit ai.4 not speak the Word in Asia, he i not give up preaching. As the j rit would not suffer him to speak j one place, he went to another. The ; ird was a fire in Paul's bones, and j must speak somewhere. If Paul i 1 been like many of us, he would I re taken the Holy Spirit's prohibi- | q of his preaching in Asia as an 1 ellent warrant for taking a vaca- I i?_ l-l J? Til. n. Jraui s lauui b m rui jigia auu latia at this time were greatly ssed. There is no description of m here, but we learn from later alions to them that there were many iversions and a number of churches ;anized (ch. 18:23; Gal. 1:2). It veil to note that Paul did not need guidance of the Spirit to set him preaching, but to keep him from It imp. v. 7). If it had not been for ' i express prohibition of the Spirit j would have gone to preaching in j 1 place nearest at hand. The Word i God tells us to preach, and so we id no special revelation for that I att. 28:19, 20; Mk. 16:15). As j hynia was the nearest country at j id, they immediately attempted an ; ranee to conquer it for Christ. But j e again the Holy Spirit blocks the j y. How strange it all must have ; )eared at the time. But God had ! nlono for Mia faithful cprvant T. Paul Called to Preach in Mace. j lin, 9, 10; vs. 8-12. Step by step j i leads His servant on. . The means J i used for his guidance are va- j us; the direct guidance of the Holy rit, a vision (comp. ch. 9:10-12; :10-17, 30; 18:9, 10; 22:17-21; ! 23, 24; 2 Cor. 12:1-4, 7; Acts 2: I, his own judgment (v. 10. R. V.). ! ^ promptness with which Paul re- J nded to the guidance of God, no j tter how it came, is worthy not y of special note, but of careful tation. This is one of the greatest j rets not only of a happy, but an j cient life. If we respond at once God's leading, it becomes clearer 1 clearer. If we falter, the guiding it grows dimmer until it goes out thick darkness, and we are left to | ipe our way as best we can. "Come j ir into Macedonia and help us." j tat! an outcast, wandering Jew : p proud and potent Macedonians, j ecially people of the distinguished ony at Philippi? Yes. for he was : bearer of that in which alone is i p for man?the Gospel. When j il heard that cry he knew It was preaching of the Gospel that was j led for (v. 10). II. The First Convert in Europe, I 15. Paul lost no time in starting j the field to which the Lord had . led him. There had been no su- i natural direction as to what part Macedonia he was to begin at. So J j1 usad his common sense and went ; aiglit for the first city of the dis- j :t (R. V.). Paul and his compans did not begin preaching at once ; 12, R. V.). They waited and : tched, and doubtless prayed for a orable time and place to strike the t blow (comp. ch. 13:14; 17:2; ! 4). They began at last, in a very et and humble way. They did not ' rertise largely and get a great j wd into the largest public build- , :. They just spoke to an obscure j ; earnest company of praying womSome one has said the "man of cedonia" turned out to be a worn- j it may have been the Philippian j ler. Be that as it may, the work of ropean evangelization began with landful of praying women. That \ s one of the most notable gather- j s of all history. The word spoken j ulted in the conversion of a prom- j nt and pious woman, Lydia, ! rhose heart the Lord opened." That ; s the turning point. There is no ; le for any woman, or man either, ! less the Lord opens their heart i 10. 6:44, 45; Eph. 1:17, 18; Luke : 45). But this He is more than j ling to do. The steps in Lydia's iversion are very plainly marked : i typical. (1) She went out to j iy (v. 13). (2) She heard the >rd (vs. 13, 14; comp. Jno. 5:24). > The Lord opened her heart. (4) j gave heed unto the things which re spoken (v. 14 R. V.). (5) She s baptized (v. 15; comp. ch. 2:41; rk 16:16). Lydia carried her ole household with her (vs. 31, ; 1 Cor. 1:16). Lydia's heart went ; in gratitude toward those whom j d had used as instruments in her i iversion and she constrained them come into her house Rud abidf ire. Penalties For Cigarettes. A.t Springfield, 111., the anti-cigar- I a hill nmvirilncr nenalties for the e or manufacture of cigarettes 01 j ler wrappers, and prohibiting min. j i under eighteen years old from oking cigarettes, was passed bj J i House by a vote of 89 to 2. Th? j I penalizes the handling of cigar- ! es by a fine of $50 to $100 and im- j sonment from one to thirty days ! the first offense; for subsequenl ; enses a fine of $10 to $500 and ten ys to six monthn' imprisonment -is >vided. Says God Ordered Him. TMiy. *>-1 licforr nf tll'Olltv.miO n^ivlv ' 1 IJC 1UJ OICI J \Jt. 1'IVU \.J V4*V MV .. . g graves adjoining the negro ceme- J y at Laurel, Miss., has been solved , the arrest of a demented aged ne). He declared that God ordered j n to dig 121 graves and to work ( night only. j Repairer Robbed Home. Henry Weidenbach, known nation- j y as a repairer of old paintings, aded guilty to the larceny of $550 ; rth of goods from the home oI rry Levy, at Cincinnati, Ohio. : THE GREAT DESTROYER SOME STARTLING PACTS ABOUT THE VICE OP INTEMPEIiANCE. No Friend to Me. (Not long ago a reformed drunkard told me the facte narrated here.) No use to ask me, boys, to drink, For that I'll never do; Just call me all the names you please And say I'm foolish, too. But if you'd seen as much as I You'd say the foolish one Was he who took the poisoned cup; The wise one, he takes none. And since you know that drink brought me So close to ruin's door, Why do you ask me to go in And have a drink once more? I'll tell you this: you're not my friend To ask me to go in And break my pledge and plunge my soul In misery ana sin. No. boys, I have no time for you. I m striving day by day, Instead of leading souls to death, I lift them by the way. And since you pass through life but once I beg of you to stop And leave the older haunts of sin, And never drink a drop. Then when that moment comes to you When all of life is o'er. How glad you'll be you faced about And drank the cup no more. ?Edna G. Young. We No Longer Laugh at Drunkards. A drunken man staggered into a trolley car and sprawled on the seat. When the Conductor came for his fare he fumbled in his pockets, but found no money. Ie was apparent that he had no clear idea of where he waa going, or why he had taken the street car. He was dazed, bewildered?for the time being a lunatic. The conductor, rather than have a fight and terrify the other passengers, many of whom were women, rang up the drunken man's fare. That meant paying it out of his own pocket. The conductor did not laugh at his helpless passenger. It was a hopeful sign that none of the passengers laughed. Forunately, drunkenness is now seldom treated as a joke. The tragedy of it is understood. Men and women who see a man, maudlin and staggering on his way home to terrify his children and dis tress his wife, can see nothing funny in his antics. They think of what his home coming will mean; they understand the pathetic failure that he has made of life. And they would as soon laugh at a maniac, escaped from an asylum, and gibbering his meaningless rubbish that bespeaks the ruined mind. As men become more intelligent and more civilized drunkenness will die out altogether. It was once considered quite proper for United States Senators, eminent lawyers, even judges on the bench, to bring on themselves the temporary insanity that comes with intoxication. Stories of their behavior when under the influence of liquor were told and laughed at. To-day a drunken man in public life is rare. Instead of being laughed at he is held in horror. Few people laugh when they hear anecdotes of his drunken conduct. in business employers nave aiscov. ered that a drunken man, however brilliant, is not to be compared with a sober man. The toper is given short shrift. A second offense usually results in his looking for another job. \?r The belief that certain things, notably public speaking, could be done by some men better when a little drunk than when sober has been utterly exploded. It has been found that if a man can make a tolerable speech after three or four drinks he can make a far better speech after'no drinks at all. In cases where liquor does loosen the tongue it loosens it too much, and the drunkard babbles things of his own or his employer's business that makes him bitterly repent when he is sober. As for the poor dipsomaniac, who drinks to forget, it would be as wrong to laugh at him as it would to laugh at the consumptive, tottering feebly toward the grave. He has made- a wreck of ills life: worse still, he has probably wrecked the innocent lives of dependents, broken the heart of a mother or wife, left children to struggle with the world unequipped to make a living for themselves. 1 Such a man is not a joke?he is a terrible human tragedy. He needs help and sympathy, rather than good natured contempt. On the stage drunkenness is no longer considered ludicrous. Illustrated jokes about drunkards, once numerous in magazines, are now disappearing. And toleration for the drunkards themselves in actual life Is becoming less and less common. We are really making progress. A hundred years ago idiots and lunatics, the most horrible of human spectacles, were laughed at. Now they are cared for kindly, and given all the help that can be given while they live out their blank, dreadful lives. To-day we are beginning to thicid of drunkards in the same way. Sy^B not even unthinking children^^H laugh at them as they reel street.?Editorial by Arthi^H^H bane, in the New York Eve^^^^^H Swedish Temperance Thn Swprlish R priated $2800 perance Education in promoting antl-^^^^HHSB^|H in the schools of priation for ducting courses centres o^H^^HM|9^H| pecially a coue^BK^M&||^J|^^H in Stockholm Engineering. The stat^BBSHBH^RJ teru has been^HHHM^HH^^^H of the Indian deepest^HSB^^^MjHMSflB and w fndia themst^^^^^H|HH^^^B ily extinguisflBH^HHH^^^HB the (fl|flHHH0MHKB| the Association .flBnflHH|^H| r-fl victory are SHRBBHK AntHHI^H organized X:BRsHH^H resents th<^KHS3BH^^M99|9H enacted fc^BBH^^^H^HB^HS GOD IS OUR REFUGE A-N? H STRENGTH. H When the darkness hangeth o'er UfL . And the night {. H 'Hides the light, H| God will go before us. Hj When the danger near us pressetb, Hope has failed, B| Fear prevailed, 91 God the weak heart blcsseth. r When the trouble is the strongest, > * ?B And the nearest To our dearest, God's great love is longest. * / jH When the eyes grow tired witn weepings Nor relief Cures our grief, God our joy is keeping. Always, always where we linger, , Goa is there. Hears our nrayer, Guides us with His nnger. For His goodness 'mid our blindness, Let us praise, All our days, God's great loving-kindness. ^Marianne Farnmgham, in London S. S? Times. The Ontlook of the Upright. Apart from God and righteousness there is no bright future. This; Is God's world. He made it, and all its laws are' framed to fit In with the eternal principles of His Kingdom. The universe is built after the- , pattern of truth and righteousness*, and cannot possibly favor wickedness. Injustice and oppression may triumph for a time, but "truth crushed to? , earth will rise again." "Unto the upright there arifieth light in dark* ness." "Light is sown for the righteous and gladness for the upright Inheart." The''God who made the universemade also the human soul, and in th? i soul there is an instinctive feeling tnat wicKeaness leaas aownwara w darkness. This is the reason why the disobedient are. despondent. Their own hearts will not. let them hope. They may work up an artificial cheerfulness, but in the depth? of their souls they are hopeless. To hope would be to mock nature and God. In the case of the disobedient, the end is not better than the beginning. The foolish virgins started out with as bright a hope as the wise, but the end was confusion and shame.' The indolent and unfaithful servant: in the parable of the talents had a* good start as his neighbor, but the*' jne talent which he had received was j taken away from him and he war j cast into outer darkness, wane tne! diligent and faithful eervant saw his* , one talent multiplied ten times anff ; entered into the joy of his Lord. I In this teaching the Bible is In ; fullest accord with nature. A recent* ! writer tells of two poor men who sold books in a small way in a great city; , fifty years ago. Thirty years elapsed*! aad one of them owned a fine publishing house which was known and patronized throughout the wholecountry, while the other still trundled his little barrow in the streets and sold books in as small a way as at first. One piercing November night he stopned with his little barrow under the walls of the great storeof his former rival, and said:. "Ah. thirty years ago he and I had a bookstall near each other in the samestreet, and I sold as many books a* he. and perhaps more: but every ; pennv I got I squandered, while be studied, toiled, planned and saved: ( now ther-^ he is and here'I am."" The parable of the talents over again. That parable has b?en enacted in real life thousands of times. How .? . ran the indolent, profligate and the disobedient expect prosperity*?. The laws of the univers? say, No. The cud of the drunkard does not grow sweeter as he drinks deeper and loneer. He has the best of the wine at the heeinnine of the feast, and afterward that which' i? worse. But,the outlook of the upright laborious. '"Hie path of the Just Is asth? sliinine light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day." The risrhteous soul, the righteous family, the righteous nation, shall grow sfronser and hanpler. "Weening ma? endure for a night, but ?oy comethr i" the morning."?Christian AdvoI ca*e. ? , Out of Our Sphere. Some men are never willing to do I the work for which they are fitted, but what they cannot do seems to ! have irresistible attractions for them. H The man who cannot sing is continu^^H . ally fretting unless he is allowed^^^H 1 sing; the woman who cann^^ffl^^H decent spoils reamjfl^^^^^^H proving to the publicj|MB^M^M^^|H So in church^m^BH|^^^^^Hl individualjd^^^^^^^^^^^^^H By