The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, September 15, 1909, Image 6
g^SH5ESESHSHSHSH5HSH5ES7=SE
!'THEMANf
| By EFFIE ADEL
g lis
^?5ESS5ES2SHSESESHSESE5HS
CHAPTER XXIX. 19
Continued.
"Lady Derriman!"' repeated the
girl, faintly; words were almost impossible
to her just then.
"Will you do this? It will give
me great happiness if I know you are
together."
A wave of inexpressible gladness
and joy mingled with Enid's mental
agony; the tenderness of his tones
touched her poor, aching heart to the
core.
"Then I will go most willingly,"
she said; and Dare saw thai the tears
well into her eyes.
It was he who then took up the
subject, and very briefly told Enid all
that Gervais wished, and before 11
lad struck, while the bells were chiming
out on the cold, wintry air, Enid
lad stepped into tne carnage wim
Dare and her faithful Maria, who
went at the earl's command, and
rolled away from Bromley Manor,
leaving the man she loved above all
n the world sitting, with bowed head,
ilone before the shattered remains of
lis great love, faith and happiness.
And while the world gossiped, and
.hen forgot them for a time, two
women lived a peaceful life together
In the London house of the Derriman
family. Enid and Gervais' mother
would have been happy?more than
nappy?in the mutual pleasure their
ilose companionship gave, had not
both their hearts been heavy and sore
with thought of him; they neither of
ihem knew half of the misery that he
was enduring, but they had learned
innuo-Vi in nitv onrl tn mrnirn.
"My child!" Lady Derriraan would
call the girl, "my dear child!"
And Enid's big blue eyes would fill
with tears as she was drawn down
and tenderly kissed.
"My mother in Heaven sees this,
and is happy," was her grateful
bought.
In her letters to her son Lady Derriman
told him again and again how
much she loved Enid, and what a
comfort she was; and Gervais always
felt a thrill of satisfaction and pleasure
come to him as he read this; a
momentary gleam of something rare
and sweet that flashed across his
dark life like a golden meteor, only
to vanish and leave a blackness of
nit/) ti'nrcn tVion V*n_
ucopaii auu cuuti ?? ktl V-HUU U^,tore.
What had passed between himself
and his wife that awful Christmas
Day none would ever know; perhaps
Enid alone out of all guessed what a
terrible meeting'it must have been,
Dut she did not see him again, and she
never spoke of the subject to his
mother.
Gervais and his wife traveled about
from place to place, staying in none
long.
"What was the matter with the
:ountess?" the fashionable world
would ask itself; "it certainly was
mysterious; no one seemed to know
what ailed her, and yet she undoubt dly
was an invalid, and the earl was
dreadfully troubled about her, anyoody
could see that. Why, he looked
a different man of late, he seemed
to have grown almost worn and old?
handsome Gervais, the idol of soci
ety:?ana nis nair was aimosi gray.
Oh! he was absurdly fond of her
then, she was very beautiful, perhaps
not so beautiful as she used to
be, and her manner was so strange."
Enid and Lady Derriman heard
little of this chatter; they lived in a
quiet world of their own, peopled
with artistic fancies and poetical
thoughts. The few guests who came
to visit marvelled at the sweet beauty
Df the girl, and her contentment with
so monotonous an existence, and they
would ask her out, now and then,
from a mistaken idea of charity.
"Why not go, my dearest?" Lady
Derriman would ask sometimes.
You are too young to be cooped up
with an old woman."
Eut Enid had always one answer: I
"I do not want them, and I want
rou."
So time went on, and as spring was
last melting into summer, Bromley
Manor was opened to receive it? lord
and lady again.
CHAPTER^XXX.
The Drunkard.
One lovel:r June evening Enid was ,
alarmed an<' distressed by a sudden
fainting fit seizing Lady Derriman.
The sweet, gentle natured woman had
been ailing more or less for the last
few weeks, but she steadily refused to
let Gervais know; she did not wish to
alarm him.
The old doctor who came confirmed
Enid's own opinion that the malady
was not so much menial as bodily,
and the girl determined thai Lord
Derriman should be made aware of
bis mother's weakly condition without
delay.
"Briggs," she said to the faithful
maid who had been in her ladyship's
service for years and years, "I am
going to tell Lord Derriman aboui
this illness without delay."
"Yes, miss," Briggs answered, wiih j
a sigh. "Shall you write or telegraph I
to his lordship, Miss Enid?"
Enid paused. A faint eoloi rose to
her pale cheeks. "Neither," she answered,
firmly. "I will go myself tomorrow
morning early. Say nothing
to Lady Derriman about this, or else
she will perhaps prevent me, and 1
know that the sight of the earl will
do her more good than all the doctors.
Maria shall go with me."
Briggs listened in silence, and as
the girl went away she shook her
head.
"Ah! if he'd ouiy chosen her! " she
said to herself.
'f^e sun shone radiantly as Enid,
with Maria in graceful attendance,
alighted at Groombridge Station, am* \
drove away in a fly to Bromley
Manor.
Her heart ras beating wildly, a
crowd of painful memories througed
/
SHSHSHSHSHT^SuHSHSaSHSS^
$1 to
Gj co)
iHE LOVED] 11
K fej
n]
AIDE ROWLANDS. I X
) In bis
-**1 in wc
. H5H5HSE52SH5HSH5ESBS2SHt2!?V ml
I into her breast as she alighted and
passed in through the open door. Pj"!
j Meg, the collie, rose to greet her with
a low whine of delight, and Parsons C01
hurried into the dining room full of 1
surprise and pleasure at sight of Miss 31
Leslie. *'?
"Where is Lord Derriraan?" she
asked, quickly. And then, before he ?e
could answer, some one came rush- e'
j ani
ing down the stairs toward her.
Could her senses have left her, or
was this Dorothy?the beautiful,
golden-haired girl whom everybody
worshiped so blindly? This was an e
untidy, shapeless creature with dis- *
heveled locks, white, bloated cheeks, ?;
on
rorl Klourv ovoc nnH pnarepiipri linS!
her whole person breathing the existence
of some hideous meaning. e<
Enid staggered back as this advanced
toward her and Maria uttered
a cry of alarm. a c
Parsons flung himself between
Enid and her cousin. ap'
"You must go back, my lady!" he
said, firmly; then, lifting his voice, he se
called, loudly, "Virginle! Mrs. Rob- w
erts! Come down!" aw
The wretched creature tried to
force past his arm, growling savagely
the while at the pale, frightened girl,
who crouched back in sick dread and
pain, and then the hall seemed full of an<
rie
people running, and sounds of ex- .
postulations mingled with a woman's
hoarse cries and screams, in the midst an<
roc
of which Enid felt rather than saw (
liervais' pure, paie race pieaamg a.i- ^
most tenderly to his wife to go quietly
back to her room.
W6
She closed her eyes and leaned ,
against a chair. Parsons stood by,
brushing his brow with his hand. _
"She's awful bad to-day; the 0
tremens is worse nor usually!" he a'
muttered. f
f on
Enid gasped; the ghastly proces- fl
sion had passed up the broad stair- . .
case down which Dorothy had glided .
so often, decked out in her silks and
we
diamonds, lovely as the stars. .
"What?what is it?" she breathed .or
to the man.
- . - __^ -x ^ tre
.tie xurnea ana iooKea ai iier auu i
shook his head with a sigh. I ?
"It's drink, miss; she's been like
this for weeks past. She must a' seen i
you a-comin' and got loose. Here |
comes his lordship, poor fellow! Ah, j
it most breaks my heart, that it does. ' <
to see him." J ]
Gervais came quickly up to Enid, boc
Involuntarily she held out her two
hands, and he grasped them: the Mis
sight of her pure, fair face, her sweet, wa
trustful eyes, was like heaven to him we]
after that hideous scene. Without
speaking, he drew out into the sun- fan
shine. Maria stood aloof, tears rain- x
ing down her cheeks. in.
Gervais drew a deep breath as they bea
were outside, then buried his face in wit
his hands, and she stood trembling est;
beside him, knowing him to be the tin
very acme of her existence, yet forbidden
to minister to his sufferings. lau
"My mother?what of her? For j old
Heaven's sake, never tell her!" eye
"Can you not trust me?" she an- mo
swered; and then she told him the he
reason of her coming. Cui
"I will return with you," he said, *
?.'s a sigh broke from his lips; "but Bri
I can not stay?I am wanted here." wai
He took two or three turns on the the
colonnade, then stopped before her.
"Oh, Enid! child, if you could only ant
know all I have endured?the shame! ]
This?this has been going on ever anc
since Christmas, and now, you see," wii
he shuddered, "I can do nothing for ove
her?give her no pleasure in life? ing
but this horrible, cursed drink! She
does not even realize my efforts; Bhe wel
has grown to hate me! My wife, the mij
woihan I loved so well?Heaven help Dei
me; too well!?is degraded to the ranimal
you saw just now!" Then an<
suddenly looking at her, "Did she wa
touch you?" he asked nervously; "did sur
she hurt you? She is strong and sor
nnvrerfiil at thpec Hmps hpr Vepnpra
i *** v-v. v* ^ iir;
can scarcely held her:" wh
Enid shook her head; she could qu<
not speak; words were choked in her hin
throat. wo
"Poor child," he said, tenderly; ing
"poor child! I would have spared hat
you this." hei
Enid turned away. ren
"Will you come now?" she faltered, enc
tremulously, and he understood her; \ ant
she could not bear to remain longer '
at Bromley.
"Walk down the avenue with your
maid; I will overtake you. I have j
some orders to give. We shall just siz<
catch a good train back to town, wii
Walk slowly." wai
Gervais spoke in a commonplace gus
way on purpose; he saw that the girl sig:
was too overwrought and wretched siti
to listen to his miserable story. a 1
Maria walked beside her young ug(
mistress in alarmed silence. Enid See
only opened her lips once. thi:
"Not a word of this at home," she to
said, and Maria saw her face was as mo
white as death.
Then they pushed on, and in a
little while Gervais joined them and they
walked till they overtook the No
village fly that had brought Enid, a s
and drove in it the rest of the way. to
Lady Derriman welcomed her son daj
with a cry of joy, and he buried his ce^
face on her shoulder as she clasped No
him in her arms. an(
"This was Enid's doings, I know," he:
she said, tremulous with happiness.
"Oh, my dear, dear one!" ret
She stroked the bent head with the Hi]
brown locks so cruelly and prematurely
whitened, but she asked him
no questions. Mother and son sat ,
holding each other's hands, content jev
for the moment in the inexpressible br?
rladiicss a:id comTori. ol each other's wit
presence. drt
If she traced new agony on his be- ma
loved face, Lady Derriman made no
mention of it, only caresscd her boy
with double tenderness, and gallantly wii
hid from him her aching heart and inc
mother's sorrow. be
He stayed till evening and then scs
[ went. to
"I will come again soon," he said
Enid as they stood alone, "but I am
ntent when I know she is with yon.
taven bless you, dear, and grant
ur life may be a happier one than
ne. Enid, I sometimes think I tm
ing punished now for my idolatry,
oved her more than my life?ay, I
ir more than my God, and now?"
They clasped hands silently; Enid's
rely eyes were wet with tears, and
sn he went, and she stood watching
s young figure, stamped with such
ie and agony as rarely come to
in, pass from her sight.
That night she knelt down and
lyed for him, and for Dorothy, too.
e dared not let herself think of her
jsin. The haughty, beautiful face,
th its cold, steel-gray eyes, its
ighing mouth and ivory teeth,
uld 'rise out of the past to mock
r; and then once again she would
; that hideous, bloated countenance,
ar the coarse screams and words
d realize with a shiver that this
s proud Dorothy's end.
*******
July was drawing to a close. Lady
rriman, now convalescent, was
nking of migrating to her Scottish
me for change of air, and Enid was
ly too glad to go.
Every now and then Gervais had
jn up to see his mother, but nc
rd of Dorothy passed his lips tc
;m or between themselves when
me.
r.artv nprriman kent the bitter dis
pointment and pain that had folded
on her son's marriage to herf,
and Enid was thankful, for
at could she say now with tbii
ful knowledge ever before hei
?s?
One late night, so hot that tht
islin curtains did not move in tht
>eze, a cab rattled up to the dooi
3 a man entered the house hurdly.
Lady Derriman had gone to bed,
I Enid was alone in the drawing
>m, dreaming by the open window
She started up as Gervais came in;
was dusty and worn, his face wai
sd and furrowed, his eyes sunk and
ary.
'Enid," he said, with a broken sob
?it is ended; she is dead! Oh
rothy, my lost wife! My losl
ling!"
He staggered to a chair, buried his
e in his hands and burst into a
)d of passionate tears. It was ot
fair young bride he thought then!
e agony, the horror, the misery
re gone, and yet he mourned her
he had loved her with a love pass;
words. Enid rose and put one
mbling hand on his bent head,
n went slowly away and left him
,h his sorrow alone.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Six Years After.
'What is it, Parsons?"
L?ady Derriman looked up irom ner
)k.
'Please, my lady, I'm lookin' for
3S Enid. Mr. Simmonds have
Iked over from Sir George Knebll's
and wishes to see her."
'You will find her in the studio, I
,cy."
\nd in a few moments Enid came
Six years had made of her a very
lutiful woman; she carried herself
h rare, proud grace; the old mod
y was tnere, Dut tne sny, snrinKing
lidity was gone.
'Mother, what do you think?" she
ghed, kneeling down beside the
er woman, her great sapphire
is glistening and sparkling. "Simnds
has just been here to tell me
is going to be married?to Mrs.
llam, too!"
'I heard it an hour ago from
ggs, who, I am bound to confess,
s not very complimentary to
m."
"They are two dear old creatures,
I I like them both!"
Snid planted her chin in her hand
i gazed into the fire, for it was
iter time once more. "I must run
ir and see Cullam some time durthe
day."
'I expect we shall have Lady KnebII
here to tea with Mildred; you
;ht drive back with them," Lady
rriman said, fondly.
rhe inhabitants of Knebwell Hall
1 Bromley Hall were on terms of
rm friendship. It had come as a
prise not unmingled with pain and
row to Sir George Knebwell when
found tnat his poor young cousin,
0 died so prematurely, had bejathed
her fortune and estates to
a. He never knew and never
uld know that it was Gervais' do;s,
and that Dorothy had always
;ed him; but the earl had guarded
memory so carefully that only a
lote few were aware of her terrible
1, and those were stanch to him
1 kept his secret well.
(To be continued.)
Rock of Ages.
V beautiful picture 7x8 feet in
s is on exhibition in one of the
idows of Eisenstein's store. It
s painted by Denny Scott for Au;t
Buscb, of St. Louis, and dened
from the sentimental compoon
"Rock of Ages." It is that of
ady clinging to the cross for ref;
as her only means of safoty. Mr.
itt is becoming quite an artist, and
s piece of work adds new laurels
his credit.?St. Charles (Mo.) Coss.
A Doctor's Mistake.
A. physician in a small town in
rthern Michigan got himself into
erious predicament by his inability
remember names and people. One
f while making out a patient's rept
his visitor's name escaped him.
t wishing to appear so forgetful
i thinking to get a clue he asked
whether she spelled her name
:h an e or i. The lady smilingly
ilied: "Why, doctor, my name is
,1."?Success.
The Superior Man.
K new electric nxture consists of a
yeled, hand-wrought, polished,
iss band carrying a centre light
;h mother of pearl shades and three
>p lights, with shades of the same
terial.
The timber output of Maine last
ater was 900,000,000 feet, and the
lications are that these figures will.
about equalled this year. The
ircity of labor prevented operations
a large dtfgree.
THE PUIaPIT. r
"w !
; ELOQUENT BACCALAUREATE
SERMON BY PRESIDENT
HADLEY, OF YALE.
Theme: Faith in Man.
!
New Haven, Conn.?President !
Hadley of Yale University preachsd J
; his baccalaureate sermon before the !
I faculty and students In the chapel In
( New Haven. His subject was "Faith
, In Man." He took his text from
iPsalms 15:1-3: "Lord, who shall
abide In Thy tabernacle? Who shall
' dwell in Thy holy hill? He tha$
1 walketh uprightly, and worketh
i righteousness, and speaketh the truth
| In his heart. He that backbieth not
: with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his !
i neighbor, nor taketh up a reproach |
: against his neighbor." In the course .
: of his sermon President Hadley said: |
In order to accomplish anything
; great; a man must have two sides to i
I his goodness: a personal side and a
; social side. He must be upright him- j
! self and he must believe in the good !
' intentions and possibilities of others j
i about him.
We recognize the first of these j
things. We know that the leader j
; must have principles of 'his own; '
j that he must stand for something j
definite, which he is prepared to
! ' * - ? - -Li 1- 51 !
; maintain mruugu em ic^uit quu >
| good report. We do not, I think, |
j recognize the second of these things j
i to an equal degree. We do not ap- |
! predate how necessary it is for a ;
j man to believe in those about him j
just as far as he can and co-operate j
with them just as fully as he can. :
i Yet this also is a condition of leader- i
i ship. No matter how high the ideals j
J for which we stand, we cannot expect j
i others to follow us unless we have
confidence in them. We cannot ex- i
j pect devotion if we return it with ;
distrust. We cannot expect co-oper- !
ation unless we are prepared to give i
1 freely of our confidence. The man J
who lacks faith in other men loses
J his best chances to work, and gradu- j
I ally undermines his own power and i
i his own character. The man who j
| has this faith in other men gets his :
; work done and impresses his own j
personality and Ideals upon his age j
i and his nation. It was this faith in j
men which made David, with all his
! faults, a worthy forerunner of Jesus j
! l^nribl. It wtLS luib laiLU m rncu
j which marked every stage of the
j work of Jesus Christ Himself.
i It is not hard to see this when we !
! study the history of religion. It is j
had to realize its decisive importance j
i in the incidents of our daily life, j
Yet it is just as essential to-day as it j
! ever was.
I Now we, as ambitious men, are not I
! only ready, but anxious, to go into i
| honorable competition. We believe
I that we can do something for the j
I world, and we are ready to stand by j
i the results; to make what we do the (
; test for leadership. But while we ;
! are engaged in this work?whether j
| it be in law or in business, in pollj
tics or in scientific discovery?there
' comes a tempter who says: You are
; making a mistake to put your atten- ,
tion solely upon your work. You
J will never get on in this way. You '
j are intent upon doing what is to be j
j done. This would be all right if all j
others were doing the same thing. (
. But they are not. They are bending
their energies toward getting credit .
| for what is being done?not only the 1
, credit that belongs to them, but the !
[ credit that belongs to you. Insensibly,
we begin to believe these intima
tions: insensibly we pay a little less
attention to. our work and a little
more to keeping ahead of our fellows.
Suspicion takes the place of j
co-operation. We enter into a con- j
test with those who ought to be our 1
friends. Sometimes w win the con- {
test, sometimes we lose it. Whether !
we win or lose, the work itself is !
sacrificed. We remain at best leaders i
of a cause where there is nothing
worth leading.
The man who is cynical, whether
about women, or business, or poli- '
tics, is assumed?and in nineteen !
cases out of twenty, with full justice
?to be immoral in his relations to
women or business or politics. The
man who has faith in the integrity
of .others in the face of irresponsible
onnnodii'mo 1*0 occumpH?and In nine- '
teen cases out of twenty justly assumed?to
have the confidence in
others' goodness because he is a good
i man himself. This is why people will
I follow the optimist even though he is
I sometimes wrong, and shun the pes- :
; simist even though he is sometimes {
| right.
It does not make much difference !
what is the law or what is the creed i
j of the church, in comparison with !
I the question whatds the habitual at- .
| titude of men toward their neigh- j
bors. Not only the man who origin- j
j ates slanders, but the man who idly j
j repeats them, or even lends ready '
credence to them, is poisoning the !
rources of public opinion. One of the I
J.rst things that is prohibited in war- j
fare as soon as nations begin to berime
civilized is the poisoning of
veils. Yet we too often allow in j
I 'mes of peace the poisoning of the
v ells of public opinion by the light
repetition of unfounded reproacfe
ajainst one's neighbor.
The prophets who preceded Jesus
cr.ucisea xne evus 01 uucn muc just j
a? unsparingly as did Jesus Himself,
and at far greater length. The thing
that He had and that they had not i
was the belief in the essential good- I
nfss of humanity, which would respond
positively to the gospel of self- '
sacrifice. He that would follow in I
the footsteps of the Master must be |
prepared, not simply to stand upright j
himself, but to have faith that others j
will stand by him.
i
Gentlemen of the graduating class:
Tho scholars and scientific men of
the country have sometimes been reproached
with a certain indifference i
to the feelings and sentiments of j
ibeir fellow men. It has been said i
that their critical faculty is developed !
more strongly than their constructive j
Instinct; that their brain has beeD ;
nourished at the expense of their !
heart; that what they have gained in
breadth of vision has been outweighed
by a loss of human sympathy.
| It is for you to prove ice iaise- i
I nes.-. of this charge.
There will probably be times when
this is a hard task. If you have
studied history or literature or science
aright some things which look
large to other people will look small
to yc
Yo ? will frequently be called upon
to give the unwelcome advice that a
desired end cannot be reached by a>
short cut.
There are always times when a
man who is clear-headed is reproached
with being hard-hearted.
But if you yourselves keep your faith i
in your fellow men, these things,
though they be momentary hindrances,
will in the long run make
for power of Christian leadership.
THE GREAT DESTROYER
SOME STARTLING FACTS ABOUT
THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE.
\
The Dog, or the Wife and Children.
Hueber had drawn his wages for
the week, now $8.50; formerly it
was $30. But Hueber had fallen into
evil ways and gone down gradually,
until he was unfit for anything but
the commonest and most unskilled
labor. He had moved from his
former comfortable home to a
wretched little shanty on the outskirts
of the city. Saturday meant a
half-holiday to Hueber, a great spree,
and the wasting of all his wages. It
meant dread and grief to his family.
It was March, a cold, pitiless day,
with the biting wind from the northwest.
After drawing his $8.50 Hueber
made a bee-line for the saloon,
paid up for last week's drinks and
then filled up full on the poison they
willingly gave him. With a few pennies
in his pocket, he started for the
butcher's. His brain was beginning
to whirl and his feet to stagger. He
asked for ten cents' worth of soup
bone. Three small pieces of the
poorest and cheapest were given him,
being wrapped in a piece of brown
paper, but not tied. Then Hueber
started home, growing colder and
more bewildered at each and every
step. He tried hard to hold on to
the three small pieces of soup bone,
but his hands we're very cold. He
had no mittens, no overcoat, a
wretched old hat, shoes badly worn.
Just as he passed the church that
stands for all that is good and ele
vating in the community, his legs
gave out and he fell to the pavement.
The pieces of soup bone went with
him, one piece in front of him. one
on each side of the cement walk in
the dirt. He tried and tried again
to rise, but for a long time he could
not. Then a beautiful child, a Jittle
boy about four years old cam'e tc
where he was, stood and looked at
him a minute, while the man looked
up at the child. Finally the dear little
fellow took in the situation, evidently
thinking the man was sick,
and so he gathered up the pieces of
soup bone, while the man staggered
desperately to regain his footing,
when he had done so, the child
handed him the pieces of soup born
and tripped merrily on. Huebei
blundered forward two blocks farther
and again fell to the cemehl
sidewalk. Again the meat was scattered
here and there. This time nol
a child, but a large dog came upon
the scene, and thinking, no doubt
that he had more right to the bom
than the prostrate man, he seized the
largest piece and trotted off, while
poor Hueber looked on in helpless
confusion. *
Some time later Hueber managed
to regain his feet and his remaining
two pieces of soup bone and reached
home, where the wife and childrer
had been anxiously waiting for him
many hours. When the wife saw the
two tiny pieces, with not enough meal
upon them for one person, her hearl
sank and she fell into a chair sobbing.
"O John! John! Is this all we are
to have from now until Monday morning?
What have you done with the
paper that was wrapped about the
meat?"
'*1?I dun know. Guess it blowec
away, an'?an'?the cur?he took the
biggest piece. I seed him run ofl
with it?but?but?I couldn't catct
him!"
And so the poor Hueber family had
to manage on less than five cents
worth of meat for their Sundaj
meals.
That same afternoon the saloon'
keeper's wife went downtown witl
six dollars of the wages of Huebei
in her pocket. She purchased a nic<
roast for eighty-five cents and a bet
ter soup bone for her yellow dog thai
John Hueber had bought for his wif<
and children.
Somebody had voted to give the sa
loonkeeper the right to rob Johr
Hueber and his wife and children
Somebody had voted to make it pos
Bible for John Hueber to get so drunli
that he could not walk and for th(
dog to run away with his soup bone
and somebody in a little while wil
have to help support the Hueber wif<
and children, for John will not las
long at this rate. Someone is help
ing to kill him. Noboay arrested th<
dog for stealing the meat, for every
body was sur'fe the dog was not t(
blame. But somebody was to blami
and 1 have been asking who it was
Can any one tell??C. W. Stephen
son.
Saloon is Doomed.
The official organ of the Nationa
Liquor League of America, which is
published under the name, Bever
ages, unites with Bonfort's, anothei
periodical in the service of alcohol, ii
expressing the opinion that the sa
loon is doomed. It writes editorially
as follows:
"The result in Georgia presents n(
pleasant outlook for any section o
the business. That State in its jud'g
*- 1 4.nil olilr/a on^ n (
mem U&5 UCOICU an aiinv, w.
false notion that beer is a temper
ance beverage and should be allowec
to hold on has been brought forj
ward.
"We dislike to acknowledge it, bu'
we really believe the entire businesj
all over has overstayed its opportuni
ty to protect itself against the on
ward march of Prohibition, which ii
some sections of the country is ad
vancing like a prairie fire and not i
hand raised to stop its progress.
"Five years ago a united industr;
might have kept back the situatioi
that now confronts it, but to-day it ii
too late.
"Might as well try to keep out th<
Hudson River with a whisk broom.'
Prescribes Xo Alcohol.
Professor Max Kassowitz, M. D.
of Vienna University Medical School
Austria, says: "I have not pre
scribed alcohol to my patients fo
mure than fifteen years, and can af
firm positively that they have fare<
well under this change of treatment
Since I formerly followed the uni
versal practice, I am competent t(
make comparisons, and these speal
unconditionally in favor of treatnasn
without alcohol."
A Hateful Thing.
Search through the history of thi
hateful thing, and read one pag*
over which some mother can bov
her grateful head and thank God fo
all the Baloon did for her boy
There is no such record. All its his
tory is written in tears and blood
with smears of shame and stains o
crime and dark blots of disgrace.?
"Ecb" Burdette.
Not many years ago of the twenty
four aldermen in New York City tea
were liquor dealers and two other:
had been such.
j T/yjUgHTS
QUItTH^R
A MORNING PRAYER.
Dear Father, hear us while we pray,
That through the hours of this one da)
Our humble dwelling place may be
! Fast closed to all despondency. ^
Let sunshine find an entrance here,
To fill our hearts with wholesome cheer,
j And grant us courage to express
i A large, unflinching hopefulness.
I
) Strengthen our hands, and help us find
; The fountains that refresh the mind,
1 j And may the faith by which we live
i Have fragrance such as roses give. I
: Help us, dear God, this day, and make ' \
! New music in our souls awake? ,
' | Communicable songs that show
j The glad companionship we know.
! ?Stephen Tracy Livingston, in The Con;
gregationalist.
Unfinished Pictures.
I had laid myself down to rest, and \
i ns T rlnserl mv ptps mv minrt wnn?
dered back -to the,^?ords I had been
| reading in the Bible a few moments
| before,, about the great refiner. I
; remembered also, the process of refining
silver, how the metal was con!
sidered unfinished until it reflected
the refiner's image.
I Thus thinking I fell asleep, and
was led into "dreamland," where I
i thought myself in a studio. I looked
' around, wondering, for it did not
' seem like anything I had ever seen
: before. There were many easels
! standing about, holding unfinished
1 pictures; and pieces of canvas, with
I simple outlines, were resting against
! the wall on all sides of the room just
! leaving a corner, where an old man
i with silvery hair and softened fea:
tures sat slowly painting. In a few
moments I noticed that he stopped
and put aside his brush and palette,
when only the very last touch seemed
wanting to complete his labor,
i I was puzzled with the scene bej
fore me; and, eager to have it ex;
plained, I said: "Sir, will you tell
me why there are so many pictures
, unfinished, and what all t'aese outi
lines are for?"
He replied, "I am the artist of the
I King of kings, and He bids me paint
the pictures of His children. I can
only paint them as they grow like
Him in their character, and, alas! it
(s very slow work. Sometimes there
are years in which I cannot touch a
picture already begun, for the characters
do not grow, they are ever
asleep. Others grow quite rapidly
anH andripnlv Rtnn. as if thev were 1
, | wearied, and so the pictures must re- j
t | main as I left them. The outlines
i | that you see are those who bear our ]
> Lord's name, but have never shown <
i ; any likeness to Him, and I am watch- <
tng each day, homing to fill them in." ,
[ J I thought to myself, is there a ]
; ! picture here for me, or am I one of ]
i j those simple outlines? but I will ask, j
i i for I ought to know where I stand, j
i j So trembling, I said:"Is there any- ,
, thing here for me?" j
; I The artist moved to a corner I had \
[ not noticed, and drew from it a pic- i
. i ture just commenced. There was ;
j something more than, an outline, and )
s | there were touches that looked quite ]
I freah. as if they had been put on late- (
. | ly. I looked at it with eyes scarce
| 1 able to distinguish, they were so full j
of tears, as I saw how little was j
I ' painted; and yet, hardly expecting ,
, I anything. I was glad and grateful,
j I The old man seemed touched by j
| ; my emotion and said to me, "You ]
i have been growing more this last ]
I j year; you have been working for j
? others as our Lord commanded, j
r Many times you have not pleased ,
! yourself, and we are told in holy ,
. j Scripture that that was part of our 1
, , Saviour's life; 'for He pleased not i
, i Himself.' Take courage! and let m? ]
j { paint diligently. When you become ,
like unto Him, the picture will be |
[ j 3one." ,
, : Then I understood why there
| were so many unfinished portraits i
j In this quaint old studio, and why <
the dear, gray-haired artist stopped j
just as his work seemed completed. ,
I It was because our Lord's disciples j
" stopped in the way of their duty. ,
, And with these thoughts I awoke >
' from my strange dream. I
j But I felt as if I had looked be- <
yond the veil. The studio and its ,
t uncompleted pictures and bare out' ,
iines. were all plain before me; the ,
j gentle face and touching tones of ,
' the artist were with me, too, all wero |
" stamped on my memory^ The par- ,
cial picture of myself I felt I could j
? never forget, and yet I was humbly ,
' thankful that it was not a simple ,
" j outline. It had begun to be som&- ,
! thing. ,
Let us not be content until we are ^
i full pictures of Him "who paints our j
i everyday lives." Let us not be weary ,
1 j and pause in our duty, but. with His |
3 I grace, go steadily, lovingly on until ,
? the last touch is added to the can- J ;
r | ras, when it will leave the studio of J
) | earth for the walls of Heaven.? ,
. [ Zion's Watchman. ,
1 j <
Give Yourself. i
j ; Someone has aptly defined ordinary j
f ! :harity as "giving something that you (
Jon't want to somebody else." And {
3 scientific charity as "giving some- i
- thing that you don't want to some- ?
1 | body that doesn't want it." And or- t
r I ganized scientific charity as "giving t
something that you don't want to an j
t institution that it may give it to j
3 somebody that doesn't want it." But (
- Christian charity as "giving some- t
. thing that you want to somebody that
1 wants it more." He might have gone
. on to add that Christian love is giv)
lng yourself to somebody that wants c
)-ou; giving your sympathy, your fel- |
j lowship, to somebody that needs it, ]
1 holding out the friendly hand to
3 some feeble grasp that must have It,
j or else sink into the Slough of De3
1 spond.?Bishop Williams. ?
| ?
The Pious Fraud.
1 The wealth of the pious fraud, the
I wolf in sheep's clothing, whose stolen
I fortunes should be denounced; the
men who help to build the churches,
' out at the same time exact their
usurious returns from the tumbler
I town, ramshackle, tenement houses.
* i ?Rev. T. Schanfarber.
j i
- J Confidence Needed.
* | Confidence is what we present-day
" Christians need.?Rev. Edward Yate?
! 1 Hill
* i
Like Son, Father is Killed.
Joseph A. Blundon, sixty-five, a
prominent contractor, was killed by
s a B. and O. train near his home at
3 Riverdale, Md., a suburb of Washing?
ton, D. C. Fourteen years ago Waters
1 Blundon, the fourteen-year-old son of
'< Joseph A. Blundon, was killed in the
same manner, on the same spot and
. j at the same hour. Mrs. Blundon has
' I never recovered from that first trag
edy. It was feared the second will
be more than she can survive.
Mew Railway Begun.
; Construction has begun on the Mis?
g sissippi Wentern, which is to run from
Meridian to Natchez, 195 miles. j
The
Sunday=School
INTERNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS
FOR SEPTEMBER 26.
Subject: Temperance, 1 Cor. 10:2382?Golden
Text: Rom. 15:2?
Commit Verse 24?Commentary
on the Day's Lesson.
TIME.?57 A. D.
PLACE.?Ephesus.
EXPOSITION.?I. Let no man
jeek his own, but each his neighbor's
good, 23-30. Some of the Corinthians
whose thoughts were entirely
Decupled with themselves and their
Dwn rights and privileges were saying:
"All things are lawful to me."
Paul, wno was governed by the Christian
principle of love, and therefore
thinking of the effect of his actions
aot only upon himself, answers:!
'Yes, all things are lawful; but all
things are not expedient Oor helpful, .
or profitable)." A true Christian
3oes not ask what is permissible, but
what is profltaWe. He asks, not what
I have a right to do, but what will
"edify," what will build up the
Church of Christ, others as well as
myself. "Is It permissible for a
Christian to attend the theatre?" one
asks. Better ask, Is it profitable, will
It edify? "Is It permissible for a
Christian to use the Lord's Day as
he nthor Hnve?" Potto*- emir T?
It profitable, will it edify? In all
things "Let no man seek his own but
each his neighbor's good." The believer
should not be troubled with a
morbid conscience, he should not fear
to eat anything sold in the markets
because of a suspicion it might have
been offered to an idol and thus
tainted. He need ask no question
about that; for even if it had been offered
to an idol it really belonged to
the Lord; "for the earth is the Lord's,
and the fulness thereof" (Ps. 24:1;'
60:12; 1 Tim. 4:4}. A glorious
truth that, with many practical applications.
If the earth is the Lord's
It is ours also if we are His children,
rhere are some to-day afraid to sit
down to the Lord's table unless they
hive first carefully examined every
pne there and found that they are
perfectly sound in doctrine and in
life, lest they themselves be defiled,
rhat is sadly confounding the O. T.
laws with N. T. liberty. One caa
never know perfectly, and coula
therefore never have a conscience
perfectly at rest. Christianity is not
morbidness (2 Tim. 1:7; Rom. 8:15),
rhe Christian might even go to a
feast made by an unbeliever, and in
case ne uiu ne suuuia etu wasiever was
set before him, and not be haunt*
sd by the torturing suspicion, "Perhaps
this was offered to an idol." He
need ask no question about this. But
[f some one should say, "This hath
been ofTered in sacrifice," then he
3hould not eat, not because he would
himself be hurt, but for the sake of
the one who said it, that he might not
be hurt. His liberty could not be
ludged by another's conscience, and
he would still have liberty to eat as
Tar as his own conscience was concerned.
but his liberty would give
place to love. Here are two great
principles: (1) Every man's liberty
must be determined by his own conscience,
not another's (cf. Rom. 14r
2-10). (2) Liberty must give way
before love. The question is not what
have I liberty to do, but what doealove
prompt me to do. If I do partake
in grace, no one else whose opinion
may differ about what is permissible
has a right to speak evil of me
concerning that for which I return
thanks to God. But if I am a real
Christian (cf. Jno. 13:35), I will do
nothing that will cause' another tostumble
just because I have a right
to and no one else has a right to conlemn
me for doing.
n. Whatsoever ye do, do all tothe
glory of God, 31-33. Paul lays
Sown a very simple but very great
principle for deciding what we may"
Jo and how to do it, "Whether therefore
ye eat or drink, or whatsoever
? J - ?il fflnrv nt ClnA "
vuu, uu an iu buv givtj W4 viww*
That principle will settle all our questions.
Do nothing that you cannot do
to God's glory, and whatever you decide
to do, do it to His glory. Then
ive can put away all troublings of our
conscience and be free from all sense
>? condemnation. But how many
things professed Christians are doing'
which, if they stopped and thought
:hey would soon see that they could
aot do to God's glory. ' If you have any
Joubt about anything you are doing,
isk yourself, can I do this to God's
jlory? If you are not absolutely sure
:hat you can then don't do it. And
f you do it be sure you do it to God's
;lory. We should give no occasion
:o stumbling to any one of the three
ilasses into which God divides men,
lews, Gentiles, the Church of God.
Dur own pleasure* should never be .
)ur rule of action, but the pleasure
md profit of others, even all men.
3ur own profit should be utterly iglored
(cf. Phil. 2:4), and we should
ive for the profit of others, i. e., that
hey may be saved. We should be
;lad to give up our liberty or any
ight if some one thereby may be
laved (cf. ch. 9:12, 22). How inensely
Paul was occupied with one
hing, the salvation of others (cf.
*om. 10:1; 9:1-3; 11:14; 1 Cor. 9:
!2). This is the Christian "principle
)f total abstinence, abstinence for
he purpose of saving others.
Social Position.
What satisfaction is it to have so:ial
position and political preferment
f our conscience is dulled??flev.
fohn Hale Larry.
Sacred Truths.
The truth of affection is more sa:red
than the truth of science.?Rev.
,yman Abbott.
KeaJisni in War iTactice.
The battleship lena, the magazine
of which exploded in March, 1907,
killing or injuring many and badly
damaging the vessel itself, is being
used as a target in an interesting
corioc nf e-nnnerv trials at Toulon.
France, by the armored cruiser
Conde. The experiments are being
conducted by Admiral de la Payrere,
Minister of Marine. Dummies and
live animais are placed on board the
lena, and after each shot from the
Conde the Minister boards the lena
and carefully notes the effects of the
Bring on them.
Fishhook Causes Lamoreux's Death.
Judge Silas W. Lamoreux, United
States Land Commissioner under
President Cleveland and a prominent
Wisconsin steel manufacturer, died at l
Beaver Dam, Wis. His death followed
a long illness from sepsis arising
from a small scratch on hjs hand
from a fishhook
Anti-Opium Law Annulled.
The Chinese at Pekin report that
Japan has annulled China's AntiOpium
Growing law within the South
Manchuria Railway zone.
^ i i n - ? isa"ii i*i f r*i