The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, July 14, 1909, Image 6
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11 By EFFIE ADELA
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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:
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IDE ROWLANDS. 1jj
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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