The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, June 23, 1909, Image 2
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I
1 By EFFIE AD
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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
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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