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<SHESESH5ESE5H5R5HS2SH5E5HS' i'themshs 11 By EFFIE ADELA ^55H5E5HSBS25B5H525E5H5E5E CHAPTER XVI. 10 The Dagger. Enid's resolution to speak to Dorothy was put Into practice the next i morning. As soon as she had taken j her usual stroll round the garden i Enid went to her cousin's room. i She thought to find her alone, for . the earl was generally busy with his letters at this hour; but as she knocked and received a summons in j Dorothy's voice to enter, she was a little taken aback to see Gervais ] standing by the fire reading the pa- t per, while Dorothy dawdled with a t dainty breakfast in her luxurious and ( exquisite pink silk draped bed. t -Enid!" she exclaimed, turning her steel-gray eyes on the newcomer. j "I thought you were alone," said $ Enid hurriedly. ] "I am just off, Miss Leslie," Ger- i vais observed, throwing down the ? naDer and advancing with out Btretched hand. "Do you want anything very particular?" Dorothy rested her lovely head languidly on her hand. She was a picture of beauty in her dainty lace robe, her golden hair falling loose on her shoulders. Enid hesitated. "Ah, a secret confidence, I see; so I will depart," said the earl, with a laugh. . "No, it is no secret; and I?I may speak just as well before you," Enid answered, calling up all her courage, Then she said plainly and simply .what she wanted. Gervais smiled as she finished, and Dorothy frowned. "We don't intend to let Miss Leslie go, do we, my darling?" he said with genial warmth. Dorothy had no particular wish one ,way or the other; but she saw in this a splendid opportunity for acting, for giving Gervais a glimpse of her in her sweet, generous womanly role. "I don't intend to listen to any of my little cousin's nonsense," she said 1 lightly. "She knows what happiness c it gives me to have her here, and c therefore I feel sure Bhe will not think of leaving us." e Gervais gazed at her with a glow of tenderness in his eyes, and then looked at Enid with an air of satis- I faction; for who could withstand such j words as those and from such lips? f Enid had given her cousin one deep glance full of surprise Dorothy was an t enigma to her. She felt that it was wrong to doubt this sudden affection, I yet something told her how untrue it all was. 1: Gervais,( seeing ner nesitate, came ^ forward and took her hand. f "Remember, you are my couBln now," he said, with a laugh, "and as r Dorothy's husband, I consider my- i self part guardian, so I mean to exer- I cise a share of her prerogatives, and forbid Miss Leslie to leave Bromley t v; Manor on pain of?well, all sorts of i things." i Enid colored faintly. ? She saw that she must yield, and s so she agreed to look upon Bromley c Manor as her home for the future, to take it with its joys and its ills. ? She little knew how great and terrible i the ills would be. t One afternoon, as she sat working i hard at a painting she intended as a gift to the Dowager Lady Derriman, the gallery was honored by the un- ? expected presence of Captain Leicester, the young officer who was annoy- < ing Enid with his conceited atten- < .tions. 1 "I say, Miss Leslie," he said, as he made his way cautiously into the room where she sat:, disorder and dust 1 reigning rampantly around; "you really are too cruel to hide yourself 1 away up here, you know; won't you 1 take pity on us poor creatures?" * Enid smiled at his pathos and his ? bad grammar. 1 ' "I am afraid I can't just now, Captain Leicester," she answered. "I 1 thought you were shooting?" ! "No, I got tired; that confounded 1 Indian climate has played the deuce ' with my constitution. Excuse my '< strong language, but it's the truth." He sat down as he spoke, and did 1 indeed look rather fatigued. s Enid, with her ready sympathy, was sorry for him. ^ "I say," the young man suddenly 1 exclaimed, "I wonder if Broughton ! and you would mind if I brought my 1 .work up here, too?" ? Enid would much rather not have 1 had his company, hut she could not 1 very well refuse. Captain Leicester was not long in z coming back, followed by his servant 5 carrying a small wooden trunk. "There, Miss Leslie! " he exclaimed, ! as he opened this, having dismissed his man. '' Enid looked down and saw noth- \ ing but a heap of rusty-looking knives, curiously carved handles and ' a large sheet of sandpaper. "Some Indian weapons I picked up : from time to time, and I am going to ; clean them." In the midst of this in came Dorothy, in a new, short gown of black serge, which, with its cap and trimming o? astrachan, suited her to per- ' lection. "captain Leicester:" site exclaimed. 1 "Yes, that's me. I'm very busy, Lady Derriman, I assure you." "So it seems. Good gracious! ."What have you there?a dagger?" Captain Leicester showed his array of war-like implements, then tossed the one he was cleaning up in the air and caught it by its carved ivory : handle. "This is thft sort of thing you should keep b> you, Lady Derriman, to polish off all hated rivals, or, rather, I should say, all those who try to be rivals, because, of course, you couldn't have a rival, you know." "Give it to me," said Dorothy, with a strange expression flitting wms ier face. ' J: E52SHSH5E5H5H525HSH5E55a> helmed]! WMf? 3 IDE ROWLANDS. 1jj UJ ?H52S2SH5H5aSHSa5H5HSHt?!?V He handed the dainty toy to her. "Could you kill a man with this?" she asked in an interesting way. "Kill twenty, if you knew just where to strike. See! if you hit me i sharp blow just there"?and he :urned his back and pointed to a rital spot beneath the shoulder blade ?"it would be all over with me." Enid shuddered. "Put it down, Dorothy," she said, nvoluntarily. "Why, you little coward," laughed Dorothy, "I am not going to kill Cap:ain Leicester or any one else. I like his," she continued, examining the :arved ivory carefully; "it is some .illllg UUl Ul LUC tuuiuiuu. "Will Lady Derriman honor me by iccepting it? I had hoped to have jot it quite clean," confessed Roger Leicester; "but perhaps the butler vill be better at such a job than I im." Enid had been so busy up in the Dicture gallery she had had no time !or any riding lessons. But one day, vhen she thought all the party, iniluding Dare?who loved sport?had jone off to the meet, she was sur>rised by some one knocking at the ioor of her sitting room, which had jeen transformed into a sort of a studio, and on going to open it, by seeing the earl before her. "Are you very busy? Will you :ome down and have your first riding esson?" he aBked. Enid colored faintly, and answered, lurriedly. "Are you not hunting, this mornng, Lord Derriman?" "I did make a start; but Cherry ind I came a nasty cropper; and a3 le went awfully lame, I thought I vould bring him home, and devote nyself to you, as I ought to have lone long ago!" Enid turned away and pretended to :over up her picture more carefully. 3e little knew how his frank, pleasint manner thrilled her, and how lard she found it to still the beating )f her heart and to speak quite ;almly. "You are very kind," she said quiitly. "I will be down directly." "You have a habit?" Gervais asked. "Yes, Dorothy ordered one for me. . have never worn it yet. I?I hope 'ou did not hurt yourself when you ell just now, Lord Derriman?" "Oh, no!" he laughed. "I am very ough; it takes' a lot to hurt me." Enid brushed her eyes with her land as he disappeared. She dressed herself hurriedly in ler habit, and could'not help smiling vith some pleasure at the neat relection her mirror gave. The route they went lay past the ose garden, a deserted wilderness iow, and the top of the wood where Dorothy had sent her that day. They stopped to look at the counry, and then descened a hill and got nto the lower part of the wood, find? npAA?) fAr q hnron il?, UUffCVCl, CL 5UUU iuau ivi ? "visv md cart to pass along. Suddenly sounds as of some animal in distress :ame to their ears. "By Jove!" exclaimed Gervais, stopping short, "I shouldn't wonder f that is Bruno caught in a rabbit rap. Poor beast! has been missng since morning." "Oh,go andsee!" Enid said,quickly. 'Poor old dog! Don't mind me. I im not afraid to stay alone." "Are you quite sure?" Gervais luestioned, eagerly. "I don't think I :an let him sufTer on, and we should je so long in sending help. Just let :he reins hang on the neck. So; now Joseph will stand as quiet as a lamb. [ won't be a moment." Enid sat very still as he disappeared. She was listening with pain :o the poor dog's howis and was not n the least frightened; but quiet as Joseph was, she was by no means prepared for the start she got. No sooner had Gervais pushed his way in to where the sounds were than x man crawled from under some Dushes just at her left side, made the horse swerve and caused her to uttsr i cry of fear. She would have fallen had not the newcomer seized the reins and put up I i hand to steady her. i "Lady Derriman! Just the very ( lady I wanted to see. Will yer lady-, ship kindly make it convenient to speak with yours truly this night j ibout 7 o'clock, just where yer lady-! ;hip saw me the other night? Yer remember. I ain't got no time now; he'll be back in a minute. I've been svaitin' and watchin* to catch yer tgain, my lady, and I hope yer'll make it convenient, as unless yer do, Mr. Seorge Laxon may have somethin' to ;ay to?" He ended his rapidly spoken words as abruptly as he aad commenced hem and darted back into the bushes, leaving Enid rigid with sudden fear and white as a ghost, from the significant threat she had understood aim to make. Gervals came out from the trees and noticed her strange looks. ".Don t ne aiarmea, ne caia quicKly. "Poor old chap, he isn't much hurt, and will be all right in r. day or two. I've tied him to jl tree, and shall send down one of the men fcr him directly. Now you look tired, so I shall take you home." He wheeled the horse round and Eni:! was carried through the woods, overwhelmed with fear, pain and dread. What was Dorothy's secret, and what was she to do with this hasty confidence? She had been too alarmed and surprised to tell the man he had made a mistake, that she was not Lady Derriman, but only a girl whose honorable, pure nature was distressed beyond telling at her cousin's duplicity and deceit. CHAPTER XVH. Danger. Cervais, thinking Enid tired, did cot offer to converse with her mu?h \ as they went back to the house, an<5 she was inwardly grateful to him. But in all her young life she had never suffered a more pain.fnl experience than that slow ride home, A with the hasty, husky words she had just heard ringing in her ears. Who was this George Laxon? The question rose persistently, and she remembered with a start that piece of paper she had picked up on the floor at Weir Cottage, and the explanation Dorothy had given her. h "A new second footman," she had A said; but though the matter had I passed out of her mind, Enid now o knew she had lied. Every now and !l then she glanced down at Gervais, ? walking beside her like a knight of 0 old leading his lady's palfrey, and her |j heart ached in a dull, dead way as she looked at his frank, clear face, and li realized how far above deceit and & dishonor he was, and what a mockery a his great happiness would seem to Jj him could he but know with how much falseness his short married life had been surrounded. She must act. fe She must speak to Dorothy without fc delay, and warn her of this man, who o did not beg for an interview, but com- B manded It. ? She found Dorothy, after her re- J turn from the hunt, in her room. I ^ Enid waited one moment before i she spoke, and Dorothy, flinging her- c self |nto a chair, called in a cross s tone for her maid. 6 This roused Enid, who had been ? .trying all the afternoon to think how s best and delicately she might broach _ the subject of that mysterious man. ? "Don't have Virginie In just yet, o Dorothy," she said, hurriedly. 2 "Pray, why not?" inquired Dor- b othy, coldly and disagreeably. Enid took a short breath. E1 "Because I have something to say to you. I must speak .to you alone, j, Dorothy." v "Must!" repeated Lady Derriman, e with a frown; then a glance at the : girl's eager, troubled face told her this was no idle thing. ? Dorothy then turned to her maid, jj who had just come in. "Virginie," she said, sharply, "go ^ at once to the head gardener and tell t him to give you some white flowers li for to-night. I shall wear the dress v that arrived yesterday." 8 The maid turned away immediately .B and as she disappeared through the ^ curtains that led into another room, Dorothy sprung' to her feet and went ft quietly after, double locking the door, o and then turning the key of the one d near which Enid stood. u "Now," she said, quietly, but her ? lips moved a little restlessly, "now J for your mysterious communication. . What is it?" e Enid told her all, briefly and hur- f riedly. She could not decide at that d moment whether Dorothy was an- b noyed or even affected by .the an- J nouncement that she had just re- | ceived. Her face was turned from jEnid, and she stood so quietly that she might have been a figure of stone rather than a woman. But the fire light shone on her face & and read there such anger, fear and E loathing as would have alarmed and o astonished those who were accustomed to see the beautiful Countess a of Derriman's countenance so full of * blitheness, happiness and laughter. v She did not answer at first; she was j stunned by this new blow. In an in- 3 stant she jumped to the horrible con- f elusion that Laxon had betrayed her b secret to this man, whoever he might ? be, aijd that she had a fresh foe to 3 deal with. " Then another thought struck her. _ It might be Laxon in some disguise jj who had adopted it for safety. Yet g even as she thought this she saw that d It could not be possible. Laxon would never have mistaken S Enid for her, and was he not already ' touching the shores of Australia? A wave of cold, miserable dread q swept over her heart. She had . thought herself so safe, so sccure, and now all that security was swept away, and she stood once more on the abyss of shame, endless disgrace and dis- I: honor. Enid put one hand on a chair to * steady herself. This silence dis- t tressed her; she longed for Dorothy j to speak, yet when Dorothy did open her lips the girl shrunk back involun- c tarily from the sound of her usually | E musical voice, changed to husky, i harsh, painfully uttered notes. "You say?you have never seen {; this man before?" "Never!" Enid answered, faintly. ( Dorothy put up her hand and a jerked open the collar of her habit c so roughly that the tiny diamond stud she wore fell over and rolled away. To be Continued. | Wcir Mitchell's Bore. t Dr. Weir Mitchell, whose brilliant 1 medical career Is only exceeded by | his brilliance in literature, is noted In Philadelphia for the detestation that he has for bores. Only a bore can ruffle the gracious t and gentle suavity of Dr. Weir Mit- c chell's manner, and even with bores t his reproofs are delicate rather than < rough. ' * They say at the Franklin Inn, Philadelphia's literary club, that a bore accosted Dr. Weir Mitchell one day on Chestnut street and insisted on ^ walking with him to the Philadelphia ^ Library. During the walk the bore's flow of talk was incessant. Dr. Weir Mitchell walked on amid the deluge, frowning silently. But as they turned down Juniper f street, a man across the way j stretched out his arms and yawned ( as if to dislocate his jaw. ] Dr. Weir Mitchell took the bore's arm and nodded toward the yawning Lian. "Hush," he said. "Don't speak so < loud. People can hear you." 1 t How He Lost. < "Pa's just lost his first spring argument with ma." "What was it?" "Pa advocated leaving the stove up all summer and?" "Well?" "Ma has made arrangements for pa to begin taking it down neit Monday."?Detroit Free Press. Eight medals awarded to Major C. Stuart, including the small gold medal for the battle of Roleia and the army of India nudnl with five j clasps, realize.l Sl?5? ? < Z*?ndon. i } THE PULPIT. ,N ELOQUENT SUNDAY SERMON BY THE REV. DE WITT L. PELTON. t Tieme: The Habit and Kindness and Consideration For Others. Who went about doing good and ealing all that were oppressed.? Lets, 10:38. The tendency of business life is to lake men calculating, selfish, limited a their sympathies. This disposition, tressed each work day and emphaized by competition, becomes a habit >t the soul, which takes control of Ife. The tendency of the life of pleasure 3 the same. , Those whose eyes are ingle to their own enjoyment, who ,re intent upon every opportunity for musement, become superficial, cold nd limited in sympathy. Selfishness rith them likewise becomes a habit. Qualities that we admire, nobility, :indness, sympathy, service, are to ' ie secured like the practical qualities if life by making them habits of the oul. They will not come as the reult of spasmodic action or sentimenal day dreams. Acts performed daily lpen into habits. Do you want to :eep from being the mean and selfish ndividual the practical life of buBitess would make you? Plan to do ome deed of kindness every day, ome act which has no relation to our business, your own happiness or uccess. Do your own work faithfully and rell, but see if there 1b not an opporunlty to lend a helping hand to an>ther, to say a kind word, do an en- i ouraglng deed. In the midst of the mrlv-burlv of life, in the daily con- t act with men, take time for a look iow and again for the weaker man, or the man fighting bravely against ;reat odds, for the wouncled and >ruised in the battle of life. Cultiate the habit of kindness, of considration for others with whom you ome in contact. But not only for those with whom ou come in contact, but others you [o not Bee, a countless host in this ;reat city, who daily stare with what ourage they can muster, but with Iread as well, into the raging eyes of he wolf of Poverty. Our city abounds a distress and suffering and misery rhich men might see if they would tep out of their selfish routine. Do ome deed of kindness each day until t sets into a habit of the soul. This 3 practical Christianity. A good way to create such a habit 3 to commit one's self to some form f Christian or altruistic service. One f the objections urged by our pleasre lovine natures aeainst definite ervlce of any kind is that it .ties us [own, ThiB is really one of its adantages. When you commit yourelf to the service of others, or make ngagements with yourself, to perorm some duty, your good intentions .0 not dissipate into thin air, but are larnessed into practical work, and he disposition to be of use to your I ellow-men becomes yours at last as he result of the habit of definite !hristian activity. Moody's Testimony. Two months before his death, Mr. loody, while at Central Church, at Irooklyn, gave the following testimony: "I know if I should be asked to be . witness in a court my testimony rould be taken; and I want you to ake my testimony as to what it is to e filled with the Spirit. There are wo epochs in my "life which stand ut clear. One is when I was be ween sitteen and seventeen, I was orn of the Spirit. There can never ome a greater blessing to any man n this earth than to be born again -born from above?to have the God ature planted in him. God has been ood to me. He has showered blessag after blessing upon me, but the reatest plegsing?next to being born f the Spirit?came sixteen years aferwards, when I was filled with the pirit; and He has never left me to his day. He is for all?women as rell as men. When Pentecost was ully come, the whole church was ualifled for work in God's cause." ?R. A. Torrey. ftome Herald Aphorisms. The Christian who feels no interest a fallen men soon falls himself. Hold fast that which is good and hen get some more of the same kind. Getting out of bed backward isn't lalf as unlucky as getting off a movng car that way. The pocket which contains a bad can's pistol is utilized by a gentlenan for a notebook. The Bible is so plain that everylody understands it but a fool, and te need not err therein, but somehow le always does. Some men are bachelors because hey think marriage is a failure, and ome because their attempt to get narried was a failure. It is a mean man who after stickng his head out of the coach window pants to sue the railroad company or getting a cinder in his eye. The rich hustle to get richer?or, o get away from where they are. fhe poor hustle just as much to keep rom getting poorer?or, stay wuere hey are. Adjustment. If the strings of a piano were tune? ixactly right you could only play Ir >ne key. Only by dropping a little he perfect pitch of every coD"ictior :an you get along with folks.?Rev, 'rank Crane. The Worldly Man. The man who permits himself tc )e the victim of his sense is what th< scriptures truly denominate th< vorldly man.?Rev. E. L. Powell. Framing God. God is too big to be shut up in anj set of definitions; for definition neo jssarily means limitation. The mo nent you define you confine. No on< :an frame God.?Rev. Geo. Thomas Dowling. Honest Doubters. Thomas was an honest doubter: ;herefore the Master was anxious tc lelp him. Honest doubters ar< :reated in like manner to-day.?Rev Drville A. Petty. Unconscious Deterioration. First the mining, then the explo sion! First the moral muscles gro^ 3abby, then the helpless weakness be fore temptation. First the gray hairi here and there sprinkled upon him ind he knows It not; finally the spir itual senility and swift oblivion. Thii is the course of unconscious deterior ition.?Rev. Charles F. Aked. Impossible Ideals. Impossible ideais maxe for lawless less rather than for righteousnesi ind the betterment of life.?Rev. H I Martin. hXmbau-hdiccti INTERNATIONAL LESSON COM MENTS FOR JULY 25. Subject: Paul's Second Missionnrj Journey?Athens, Acts 17:16-3; ?Golden Text: John 4:24? Commit Verse 29?Commentary TIME.?A. D. 52. PLACE.? Athens, Mars Hill. IMPOSITION.?:T. The Unknown God Made Known, 22-20. Paul hai improved such opportunities o preaching the Gospel as were open t him?the synagogue and the marke place (v. 17)?and now he is brough before this celebrated gathering o philosophers and university profes 3ors of Athens. He has no new Gos pel for this distinguished throng, bu with divinely given tact he introduce it'in a new way (vs. 24, 25, 2S). Pau begins with what appears like word of approval, not with words of critl cism. (See Am. R. V.). He woul win the favor and attention of his an dience before calling them to repenl People will listen patiently to th sharpest Tebukes and sternest calls t repentance if you first win their conf dence and favor by words of kindnes and praise. "To an unknown God. There is something very pathetic an touching in this. There are many tc day who are reaching out blindly tc ward a God of whose existence the have a vague apprehension, but c whose name, character and perso ** <? " ?? 11+^1 A AIARII T1 /I fTft TJ?1 IIIC/ littYC lltvic ticai XJU there is no need that God be unknow (Jno. 1:18; 1 Jno. 5:20; Jno. 14:9 2 Cor. 4:6). It Is of the highest irr portance that we know God (Jno. 17 3). It is our own fault if we do nc know Him (Rom. 1:20-22, 28; 2 Coi 4:4). It was an apt stroke upo Paul's part to begin with this we! known object in their own streeti and thus to lead on tothe great truth with which his soul was filled. "Go that made the world and all thing therein," etc. Paul would carry wit him the philosophers in his audienc* and at the same time bring in ne< and higher thoughts about God, an step by step lead them face to fac with God Himself, and make thei feel their personal responsibility t Him. He would lead them to see ths God was not a mere philosophic? conception, but a person agains whom tbey had sinned, and who wa now calling, "Repent." The very lil we live, the breath we breathe, absc lutely all we have, is His gift. Everj thine thus eiven should be used fc Him. We should draw every breath fc Him. "He made of one every natlo of men." Do we believe this? Dow really believe it? Do we believe i our kinship to the negro, the Chins man, the Hindoo? "That they shoul seek God." This was God's great an gracious purpose in the making of tb nations and appointing their seasoni and the bounds of their habitatioi How little the nations have fallen i with this benevolent purpose of Go (Rom. 1:28). It is of the highest in portance to men that they should see God (Amos 5:4, 6; Ezr. 8:22; Pnr 28:5; 2 Chron. 26:5; Ps. 34:4, 10 Ps. 69:32; 1 Chron. 16:10; Lam. 3 25; Heb. 11:6; Ps. 119:2). He i not difficult to find for those who see Ulm with fhfl wlinlp hoort f.Tpr. 29 13). "He is not far from every on of us." How absolute is our depenc ence upon God. No life, no motioi no existence outside of Him. Thl being so, there can be no peace in ou souls until our wills are absolutel surrendered to Him and our affection absolutely centred in Him. Paul aj proves the sentiment of the Gree poet, Aratus. But while all men ar God's offspring, they are not all trul children (Jno. 8:44, 47; 1 Jno. 3:10 Matt. 13:38; Gal. 4:4-6; Heb. 12:8 Enh. 2:3). Those only are childre of God who receive Jesus Christ (.Tnc 1:12. R. V.). Those who are led b His Spirit are sons of God (Rom. S 14: Gal. 3:26, R. V.). II. God's Command to All Me Everywhere, Repent, 30-34. Paul i now reaching the point toward whic all this time he has been so skilfull steering. It was an unexpected cl max to these theorizers. Many c them had been delighted with th sublimity of Paul's conceptions, wit the deftness of his logic, with the apt ness of his quotation. They were a ears; their guard was down, and h struck a stunning blow just at tb right moment. God's one-call is "r< pent" (comp. ch. 2:38; 3:19; 20:21 26:20; Matt. 3:2: 4:17; Luke 13:5 15:30; 24:47). This was God's on cry also, through Old Testament pre phets, "turn ye." This same cr needs to ring out to-day. Men are a apostate race. Notice whom Go commands to repent, "all men everj where." Notice when He command It, "Now." Notice why, "Because H hath appointed a day in which He wi judge the world," etc. There is judgment coming. People mock a this truth to-day, but God has give assurance of it unto all men by th resurrection of Christ from the deac It is impossible for any candid seelce after truth to examine the evidenc for the resurrection of Christ withou being satisfied that Jesus really di arise as recorded in the Gospels. Bu the resurrection of Christ Jesus in th past points with unerring finger to judgment by Christ Jesus in the ful ure. "When they heard of the resui rection of the dead some mocked." j very common way of trying to di? pose of unpalatable truth. But i never works, and truth is never an the less true because yon sneer at it Many are trying to modernize Christtianity that has never change^ and is as unchangeable as the ever lasting hills. On Laziness. Dr. Charles A. Eaton of the Mac ison Avenue Baptist Church said i the course of a brilliant after-dinne speech in Cleveland: "Laziness is responsible for to much of the misery we see about ui It is all very well to blame alcohc for this misery, to blame oppressio "hit* +r? Tph,Q> hplcllt ctiiu JLIJU^Li^C , U u o VV ?, might we not all have climbed bu for our laziness?" Ho paused and smiled. "We are too much like the supei numerary in the drama," he went or "who had to enter from the right an say, 'My lord, the carriage waits.' "'Look here, super, said the stag manager one night, 'I want you t come on from the left instead of tb right after this, and I want you t transpose your speech. Make it nt hereafter, "The carriage waits, m lord."' "The super pressed his hand to hi brow. "'More study! More study!' Ii groaned."?New York Times. ! THE CRUSADE AGAINST DRINH I i| PROGRESS MADE BY CHAMPIONS j FIGHTING THE RUM DEMON. I " The Two Glasses. There snt two glasses filled to the brim. On a rich man's table, rim to rim. One was ruddy and red as blood, And one was clear as the crystal flood. P Said the Glass of Wine to his paler brother I "Let us tell tales of the past to eacfc other I can tell of banquet, and revel, ana mirth ># Where I was king, for I ruled m might; For the proudest and grandest souls oi - eartn Fell under my touch, as though struc] u with blight. j From the heads of kings I have torn th a crown y E Frpm the heights of fame I have hurl? 0 ' men down. t I have blasted many an honored name; t I have taken virtue and given shame; _ f I have tempted the youth with a sip, taste, That has made his future a barren waste. Far greater than any king am I, ' Or than any army beneath the sky. s I have made the arm of the driver fail, 1 And sent the train from the iron rail. s I have made good ships go down at sea, [ And the shrieks of the lost were sweet t a I me. Fame, strength, wealth, genius before m f fall; t. And my might, and power are over all! e Ho, ho, pale brother." said the Wine, o "Can you boast oi deeds as great a |. mine?" Said the Water Glass: "I cannot boast ' Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host, d But I can tell of hearts that were sad i- By my crystal drops made bright and glad i- Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows y have laved; Of hands I have cooled, and souls I hav saved. i " I have leaped through the valley, dashe 't down the mountain, n Slept in the sunshine, and dripped fror ; the fountain. i. I have burst my cloud fetters, and droppe from the sky, 1 And everywhere gladdened the prospec I and eye; ' I have eased the hot forehead of fever an n pain; II I have made the parched meadowB groi 3> fertile with grain. g I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mil! j That ground out the flour, and turned a _ my will. >? i can tell oi mannooa aeoasea Dy you h That I have uplifted and crowned anew; 5, I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid; (V I gladden the heart of man and maid; ,j I set the wine-chained captive free, e And all are better for knowing me. n These are the tales they told each othei Q The Glass of Wine and its paler brothei it As they sat together, filled to the brim, il On a rich man is table, rim to rim. jt ?Ella Wheeled Wilcox. .3 e Why He Was Lost. ) As Lawyer Bryant was sitting nea r- his open window one morning he ot ?r served a poverty-stricken young mar >i whose face was thin and drawn, bei n ging from the people in the streei e who passed him by, unheeding his sc n licitatlons for help. Happening t i- glance upward he saw the lawyer a d the window, and instantly the youn d man raised his hat, saying: "Pleas e help me; I'm hungry and In sor 3, need." Being rather charitably 1c i. clined, Mr. Brown said, "Wait a mit n ute," and, putting on his hat, he hui d ried down to the street where th n | man stood waiting, hat In hanc k J "Give me a penny, please, and I'll re r. peat a chapter in the Gospel. I'i ; starving." : Mr. Brown looked at the speake Is in astonishment as he said: "Let m k he#r vnn " Thfl twentv-seventh char : 1 ter of St. Matthew was recited wor e for word. "Come with me," said th t- | lawyer, as the young man repeate i, the last verse. Taking him into la restaurant near by he ordered a gen i i erous meal for the young man, an y i while he watched him devour it eag 3 erly he listened to the poor man' )- story, which was as follows: k ! "I am the son of a clergyman, wit! e a happy childhood and merry schoc y days. After that I went to college ; . and, being vain and proud of my sue ; cess, I fell in with wicked compau n ions. I was found at wine parties >. and frequently drank to excess, am y 1 once, when intoxicated, I committe : an act which resulted in my bein j expelled from the college. I coul n not go home after what had hap Is pened. I tried one kind of work ai h ter another, but my taste for stron y drink grew as I sank lower, and noi i- no one will employ me. My charac )f ter, my health and strength are gone e l am a wreck and content to be sc h , It is too late to help me."?Nationa t- Advocate. 11 | A Notable Conversion. f I The Memphis Commercial Appea' ; which strenuously opposed prohibi I | tion all through the recent fight i: ' j Tennessee, has had to admit in it j editorial columns that the prospect c " I complete prohibition has changed th Z. j value of all property in the vicinit ? j of saloons and that the whole re? ' *vivr\c>\T hAPflllC I BSlillC SllliclllUil xa uiui c ?wo/i wwmw. " i of the promised change. Here Is e i notable conversion, indeed. a No License and a Lower Tax Rate. ^ The average tax rate was lower i n the no-license cities of Massachusett e than in the license cities during eac I. of the five years 1903-1907, accord r Ing to statistics recently compiled b e the Massachusetts No-License Leagu< t The average tax rate of license com d munities for the five years was $16.7 it per $1000; of the no-license town e and cities, $15.70. ? The Scientifi a Temperance Federation. A King Who Abstains. ;* King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, I ? said to be a total abstainer, forswear ^ ing not only intoxicants, but coffee a y well. His mother advised this cours< The result is said to have been a grea power of self-restraint and evennes ^ of temper, traits of great importanc , In his dealings with the impassionei races of southeastern Europe. Temperance Notes. I. Eleven breweries control mor n than four thousand of the saloon of Manhattan Island. There ought to be some place th laboring man, and especially the for n ' ? Viio loicnrp rathe " j eigner, ua.u opcmi ? i than in the saloon. j "The saloon is the greatest ag 11 j gravation of the Immigrant problem 3 Foreigners naturally drift there dur ing their spare time, and little pro gress can be expected in the work o uplifting them with it present." The Legislature of Wyoming ha r' passed a law absolutely prohibiting the sale of liquor outside of incorpor d ated cities and increasing the licensi fee to $1000. It is estimated tha p 200 saloons will be affected. a According to a recent report o e Excise Commissioner Clements, o New York, there has been a net in c crease of three in the number o: D license towns in that State since 1S96 y The women in the Finnish Diei have, it is said, exerted an influence a for temperance out of all proportior to their small numbers. The Diet has e accepted a law of prohobition whict will practically banish alcohol froir the country. I I RICH IN THE LORD. M ?___ ^9 God draws a cloud over each gleamiaf^H morn? fl| j Would you ask why? H It is because all noblest things are born ? In agony. e Only upon some cross of pain and woe EM God's Son may lie; , BB j Each soul, redeemed from self and must know B| Its Calvary. BH a Yet we should crave neither for joy norHB grief: H God chooser best: BB He only knows our sick soul's best relief, And gives us rest. fll More than our feeble hearts can ever pinc^B For holiness; jH 0 That Father, in His tenderness divine, H Yearneth to bless. 9H He never sends a joy not meant in love, BH Still less a nain. H Our gratitude the sunlight fails to prove; g Our faith, the rain. In His hands we are safe. We falter on Through storm and mire: Alone, beside, around us, there is One Will never tire. T- . j What though we fall, and bruised aa? wounded lie, e Our lips in dust? , God's arm shall lift us up to victory? j In Him we trust. _ For neither life, nor death, nor thingr below, , ' ~j Nor things above, Shall ever sever us, that we should go ,t From His great love. ?Frances Power Cobb*. d The Golden Role. * The very thing I do not want Is to . have my life measured out to me by ' /the Golden Rule, for the simple Tea* son that what others want done unto them are the very things very likely I do not want done unto me. j?y own maiviuuaiuy caus iur m special measure. A yard rule may l>e used for measuring the fustian of the peasant and the fine linens of the r> prince, but what Is desirable for one r, Individual cannot be measured by what seems desirable to another. There Is no common way in which our lives run In exact parallels. Divergent paths of opportunity and duty are many, and we may not measr ure others' lives by our own. > One woman, for instance, is only i, happy in continual companionship. ; She Is lonely and really miserable tv unless some one is near, responsive i- to almost hourly demands. 0 Another lives within herself, reach* t lng out only at seasons for comapan* g ionship. / -.fH e Each of these In striving to live out e the Golden Rule may make the other i" unhappy. The distance between wid[ ens rather than narrows by use of this rule; irritation, impatience and e probable loss of friendship are the re. I. suit. Each feels aggrieved, the one ! feeling that her Golden Rule servicer are unappreciated, the one receiving a bitter sense of being misunderstood 1 and cherishine a very strong wish to e be let alone and allowed to live oat u her own life In her own way. d The Golden Rule is a good one, but e It needs a diamond point?that point d being "Put yourself in his place"? a before measuring out to some one > else even the best things that the d most loving heart has to give to an: other Self-sacrifice otherwise may 9 be the most intense and inordinateselfishness. b Only when we can say, "Not as I >1 would have others do unto me, but ! as others would have me do untothem," have we reached the heart of i* the Golden Rule. ? Alice Hamilton i, Peck, in The Interior. A ;; : Mind's Recesses Sacred, j It is said that nothing is ever realh , ly lost to memory. Once the. record' I a a oAiin/1 nr o ffiAiiffht li.' \ Ul a u. ovauu V* M vuvuqm* g made it remains with us as long as v the mind lasts. It may be crowded 1 .. aside or overshadowed by something 'h more recent in point of order, but it y is there and whenever there is an ocj casion that will sufficiently stir the senses it will come to the surface. How careful then ought we to be to store the sacred recesses of the mind with things of value and beauty I, and to deny ourselves those impres[ sions that are essentially evil. The1 n photographer allows an exposure of s nothing before his camera but that t | of which he wishes an image. Anyf I thing else would be costly and usey I less.?Western Methodist. il e a Three Great Principles. There are three great principles In life which weave its warp and woof, apparently incompatible with each other, yet they harmonize, and D in their blending create this strange ? life of ours. The first is, our fate ir to j in our own hands, and our blessedj ness and misery the exact result of 5 our own acts. The second is, "There * | is a divinity that shapes our ends, l" rough-hew them how we will." The ^ third is, "The race is not to the swift, s I nor the battk to the strong; but time - 1 - ?. -ii ?? ' and chance nappenem 10 mem an. Accident, human will, the shaping will of Deity?these things make up life.?Frederick W. Robertson, g _________ , i s Every Gift f-s Good. i Every gift of God is good, and ,t given for our happiness; and we sin g If we abuse it. To use our fancy to 1 e | our own misery is to abuse it, and to j sin. The realm of the possible was given to man to hope, and not to fear it.?-Charles Kingsley. 6 Any Task Has Potentiality. 9 Any honest task is capable of be! ing so largely conceived that he who e j enters into it may see, stretching bei fore him, the promise of things to do j and be that will stir his enthusiasm ar>H caHdfv hi? best desires.?Phillips Brooks. The Fortunate. The fortunate people?the truly : fortunate?are not so much those who j succeed in life as those who succeed s . in living.?Edward S- Martin. y i 2 j Helps Somel 1j "There's one good thing about a I college yell,'* observed the man on J his way to the football game, "and that is that while they're giving ({ I they ean't sing a college song." t The last available statistics show ij that in one year in Germany t!he sum of about $30,000,000 was paid to ' invalid workmen to the number of ,, S71.000, in the form of old age pen! sions. I ? J