Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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The Bdli* ^LOULS JOS AUTHOR OF "TSBRAJ 0Q.tLQJ)5mOTD?..S DQ copymcmt ar louta ooscph vahcs 8YN0P8I8. Pavld Amber. starting for a duck-shooting visit with his frlenu. Qualn, comes upon n young lady equestrian who has been dismounted by nor horse becoming frightened at tho sudden appearance In tho road or u ouny Hindu. He dcclurea he la Pcharl I.al Chatter 11, "th?? appointed mouthpiece of the Hell," addresses Amber mm a man of high rank and pressing a mysterious little bronxe box, "The Token." Into Mb hand. disappears In the wood. The girl rails Amber by name. He In turn addresses her as Miss SophU \ Karrell. daughter of Col. Farrell of the \ llrlilsh diplomatic service In India and \ visiting the (JuaJns. Several nights later \ the Qua'n heme la burglarized and thf bronze box stolen. Amber and tjualn g<; hunting en an Island and become lost anil Amber is left marooned. Me wander* about. Anally reaches a cabin and recognizes as Its occupant an old friend named Rutton. whom he last met In England. and who appears to he In hiding. When .Miss Farrell is mentioned Rutton i:> strangely agitated. ChatterJI appears and summons Rutton to a meeting of h mysterious body. Rutton seizes a revolver and dashes after ChatterJI. lie returns wildly excited, says he has killed tile Hindu, takes poison, and when dying asks Amber to go to India on a mysterious errand. CHAPTER VI. (Continued). The scrvnnt brought from Rutton'n leather trunk a battered bluckJapanncd tin box. whieh, upon exploration, proved to contain llttlo that might not have been anticipated. A bankbook issued by tho house of Rothschild Freres, Paris, showed a balance to tho credit of II. D. Rutton of something slightly under a million francs. There was American money, chiefly In gold certificates of large denominations, to the value of, roundly. $20,000. together with a handi'ul of French, German and English banknotes which might have brought In exchange about $250. In addition to these there v/ns merely a single envelope. superscribed: "To be opened in event of my death only. H. D. R." Amber broko the seal and read the enclosures once to himself and a sec uum -4IUU u'.uua m iMiggoti. X tie ante was barely a year old. "For reasons personal to myself and HiifUclent," Rutton had written, "I choose not to make a formal will. I shnll die, probably In the near future, by my own hand, of poison. I wish to emphasize this statement In event the circumstances surrounding my demise should appear to attach suspicion of murder upon any person or persons whatever. I am a widower and childless. What relations may survive mo are distant and will never appear to claim what estate I may leav that an appi proi In n To have died or left mo, however, the disposition of my effects Is a matter nbout which 1 am wholly careless." The signature was unmistakably genuine?the formal "II. D. Rutton" with which Amber was lamlllar. It was unwitnessed. The Virginian put aside the paper and offered Doggott the blank cheque on Rothschilds'. "This," he said, "makes you pretty nearly Independently rleh. Doggott." "Yes, sir." Doggott took the slip of paper in a hand that trembled even his voice, and eyed it incredulously. "I've never 'ad anything like this before, sir; I 'ardly know what it means." "It means," explained Amb<y?, "that, when you've filled in that 1 "ink and had the mniiov Anil***,* ~ j -? WIIC1.1CV iTOU! I IIP Rothschilds, you'll bo v>urth -with what cash Is* here?in the neighborhood ot forty-Ave thousand pounds I sterling." Dcggott gasped, temporarily Inarticulate. "Porty-flvj thousands pounds! Mr. AmV^r," he declared e9rn?m!y. "I never looked ft>r nothln' like this. I?T n?-'ver?1?" Quito without warning ho was quiet and composed again, "idight 1 ask it of you as a favor, i>'r, to look after this"?he offered to return the cheque?"for n while, till 1 .-an myko up my miud wk At to do with it." "Certainly." Amber took the paper, folded it and placed It in his cardcase. "I'd suggest that you deposit it as soon as possible In a New York bank for collection. In the meantime., these bills are yours; you'd better take care of them yourself until you open the banking uccotn^^. . "It'll keep as as \tny|wh< ' considered, relordt ing tie iioxi^ 'aven't 'ardly any usd for ne iK^^except, of course, to tide me over^B i flnd another position." What^H exclaimed Amber in amaze V s' fW." utflrnud Doggott respect "V,,^V' a hit too old to chynge my w'ys *, a valet I'vo been all uiy life and A valet I'll die. sir. It's toe lyto to think of anything else" "Hut with this money, Doggott?" "Hog pardon, sir, but 1 know; 1 could live eii9y like n gentleman if 1 liked?but I wouldn't be a gentleman so what's the use of that? So the w'y? 1 look nt It. there's naught for nie but !| HE TOOK ME A Broker Banked "Friend's" Check Aft ?r the Borrower Thought He Had Protected His Money. "Sec that heavily built guy who Jus came In?" said the broker to his frlen 'In the cafe. "You may have notice that he caught my eye, but pnssed o without a sign of recognition. Wei h*s a promoter. 11c and I used to b ,gr<>fw friends?ostensibly. He rush? Into my oir.ee one afternoon In a stat EPH VANCE 58 BOWIj" fcTC. a I) WAtLUEQiS ^ go on valeting until I'm too old; after that the raoney'll be a comfort, 1 dares'y. . . . Don't you think so, sir?" "I believe you're right, Doggott; i only your common-sense surprises me. i Dut it makes it easier in a way. . . .** 1 Amber fell thoughtful again. > " 'Ow's that, sir?if I m'y ask?" , "This way," said Amber: "Hoforo he died, Mr. Hutton asked me to do ! I him a service. I agreed. He sug j Rutton." The servant stared, Visibly impressed. "Very good, Mr. Amber. I'll remember, sir. 1 don't ordinarily gos| sip, sir; but you and him being so thick, and everything 'appenlng tonight so 'orrlblo, 1 forgot myself. I 'ope you'll excuse me, sir." "God In heaven I" cried the young man hoarsely, "ft enn't be true!" lie flung himself Into his chair, burying his face In hl? hands. "It can't!" Yet irresistibly the conviction was being forced upon him that Doggott had surmised aright. Circumstances backed M> circumstance within his knowlc^e of or his experience with the man, all seeming to prove lncontestably the truth of what at the first blush bad seemed so Incredible. What did he. Amber, know of Rutton's parentage or history that would refute tho calm belief of the body-servant of the dead man? And then Amber's Intelligence was smitttn by a thought ns by a club; A t-.1.1 ?.i I Uiiu ue m 11 wiuijur vioienny, uncontrollably, being wcakonod by faI tigue and the strain of that endless, terrible night. A strangled cry escaped him without his knowledge: "Sophia!" Sophia Farrell. the woman he had promised to wed, nay even the woman lie loved with all his being?a hnlfbroed, a mulatto! His mind sickened with the horror of that thought. His very soul seemed to shudder and his reason cried cat that the thing could never be. . . . Yet in his heart of hearts still he loved her, f still desired her with all his strength and will; in his heart there was no 1 wavering Whatever ltutton had been, whatever his daughter might bo, he loved her And more, the honor of . the Ambers was in pledge, holding I him steadfast to his purpose to seek s her out in India or wherever she might be and to bear her away from J the unnamed d.tn^er that threatened ! her?even to marry her, if she would have him. lie had promised; his word i 1 had passed; there could now be no ' J withdrawal. . . . > An hour elapsed, Its passing rau' coualy emphasized by tho tin clock. I Amber remained at the table, his head i upon it, his face hidden by his arms. [ so still that Doggott would have , thought him sleeping but for his un> even breathing. I At lengtn tne young man railed N ADVANTAGE. #- - ? of groat xolfoinent, saying that a little denl he was putting through made $50 necessary at oneo, and would I save him a little troublo by cashing n t heck for the sum. Ho always seemed d to lmvo plenty of money, so I gave d him the cash and took his chock. I n did rot see him again soon, and on my 1, depositing the check It came hack o n arked "No funds.' I looked up his d hank, and found he did have a dee posit there at ono time. I deposited ' K*.-sifu mat i iaKo you with me." , "I'm ready, sir." Interrupted Dog? pott eagerly. "There's no gentleman , I'd llko to valet fcr better than yourself." 1 "Hut there will be dangers, Doggott?I don't know precisely what. | That's the rub; we'll have to travel i half-way round the wor'd and face unI known perils. If Mr tnttnn were | right about it, weT j lucky to get away with our lives." "I'll go, sir; It was 'is wish. I'll go with you to India. Mr. Amber." "Very well. . . ." Amber spoke abstractedly, reviewing his plans. "But," ho enquired suddenly, "I didn't mention India. How did you know?T' "Why?1 suppose I must 'ave guessed It. Rir. It seemed so likely, knowing what I do about Mr. Rutton." Amber sat silent, unable to bring himself to put a single question in re- ! gard to the dead man's antecedents. But after a pause the Bervant continued voluntarily. "He always 'ad a deal to do with persons who came from India?niggers?I mean, natives. It didn't much j matter where we'd bo?London or j Paris or Berlin or Rome?they'd 'unt | Mm up; some 'e'd givo money to and ! they'd go aw'y; others 'e'd be locked i up with In Ms study for hours, talking, ! talking. They'd 'ardly ever come the same one twice. 'E 'ated 'em all, Mr. j Rutton did. And yet, sir, I always 'ad a suspicion?" Doggott hesitated, lowered his voice, ( his gaze shifting uneasily to the still, j shrouded figure In the corner. "What?" demanded Amber tensely. "I alw'ys thought per'aps 'e was what wo call In England a man of color, 'lmself, sir." "Doggott!" "I don't mean no 'arm, sir; It was Just their 'minding him, like, and Ms being a dark-complected man the syme as them, and speakln' their lan! guage so ready, that made me think ' ' ?<* o little 53 'd con? so, mce ^ ^? * '""I The Signature Was I J disturbed. . . . But you can bring i ! us coffee when it's ready." Quain motioned to Antono; the t Portuguese disappeared into the back , room with Doggott, who closed the communicating door. "You first." said Amber. "If you've ! fretted about me, I've been crazy about you?what time I've had to think-" Quain deferred to his insistence. "It was simple enough?and damned hard," he explained. "I caught the 1 Echo by the skin of my teeth, the skiinmy almost sinking under me. She was hard and fast aground, but I managed to get the motor going and backI ed her off. As soon as that was all | right we got a wave aboard that ' soused tho motor?like a fool I'd left j the hatch off?and short-circuited the roil. Aiier uihi. mere w wt> nun 10 i ray. 1 worked for half an hour reofI ing, and meanwhile wo went aground again. The oar broke and I had to go overboard and got wet to my waist before I got her off. By that time it , was blowing great guns and dead from the bearh. I had to stand off ami make for the mainland?nothing else to do We beached about a mile below <he lighthouse and I had the four-mile tramp home. Then after I'd , thawed out and had a drink and a ' change of clothes, we had to wait two . hours for tho sea to go down enough ; to make a crossing In the launch ! practicable. That's all for mine. Now , you? What's that there?" "A suicide; a friend of mine?the I man Button whom we were discuss| ing the night T came down. And that's not half. There's a man out there somewhere, shot to death by Rutton? | a Bengali habu. , . . Quain, I'v# lived in Purgatory ever since wo parted and now . . . I'm about done." lfo was; the coming of Quain with the ease of mind It brought had the check again and again It was returned. A week later I tried again, with tho same result. Moro for : it Miiicpmnnf than nnvf>i1ttcr nleo t * ??. ( / lump CI.1U, 1 SflH ; the check to the hank for the fourth time, and this time it went through! "Soon after thnt our friend onlls me up on the telephone, and in the most outraged tono of voice asks what 1 mean by taking advantage of him that way. He could not have been more indignant had I doublo-croBsed hlra in n straight deal. And that explains why he no longer speaks to me." / I I him and Doggott found him alttmg up, I with a haggard and careworn face, , but with the sane light of a man composed in his eyes. "Doggott," he aeked In an even, i toneless voice, "hav* you ever mentinned to anybody your suspicion about Mr. Hutton's race?" "Only to you, air." "That's good. And you won't?" "No, sir." "Have you," continued Amber, looking away and speaking slowly, "ever beard him mention his marriage?" "Never, sir. 'E says In that paper 'e was a widower; I fancy the lady | must have died before I entered 'is service. 'F was always a lonely man, all the 16 year I've been with '1m, keepln' very much to 'lmself, sir." Doggott disappeared to prepare a meal, but within five minutes a gun- i shot sounded startllugly near at hand. ' The Virginian's appearance at the ! door was coincident with a clear hall of "Ako-oy, Amber!"?unmistakably Quain's voice, raised at a distance of not over 200 yards. Amber's answering cry quavered with joy. And with a bear-like rush Quain topped the nearest dune, dropped down into the hollow, and was upon him. "By the Ix>rd Harry!" he cried, al, most embracing Amber in his exciteI ment and relief; "I'd almost given you up for good ami all!" | "And I you." said Amber, watching curiously and somewhat distrustfully a second man follow Qualn into the j vale. "Who's that?" he demanded. ' "Only Antone. We've him to thank. Ho remembered this old camp here? I'd completely forgotten it?and was sure you'd taken refuge in it. Come | inside." He dragged Amber In, the Portuguese following. "Let's have a look at you by the light. Lord! you seem to be pretty comfortable?and I'vo been worrying myself sick fo? fear you?" He swept the room wiift an approving glance which passed over Doggott and became transfixed as it rested upon the hammock-bed with its burden; and his jaw fell. "What's this? What's this?" He swung upon Amber, appraising with relentless eyes the havoc his night's experience had wrought upon the man. "You look like hell!" he ex- < ploded. "What's up here? Eh?" 1 Amber turned to Doggott. "Take Antone out there with you and keep him until 1 call, please. This is Mr. i Quain; I want to talk with him un w rl < I, i snapped I lev xorvour " tension ^ which had sustained Amber. He was 1 now on tho edge of cooapfcS and showed It plainly. But two tfircum- ? stances aided him to reeover his grip upon himself: Quain's compassionate consideration In forbearing to press his story from bliu, and Doggott's opportune appearance with a pot of coffee, steaming and black. Two cups of this restored Amber to a condition somewhat approaching the normal. He lit a cigarette and began to talk. For all his affection for and confidence in his frieid, there were things be might not tell Qualn^whtre* fore he couched his narrative In the fowest possible words and was miserly of detail.' Of the coming of the babu at d his going Amber was fairly free to speak; he suppressed little If any of that episode. Moreover, he had forgotten to remove tho Token from his finger, and Qualn instantly remarked It and demanded an expla- 3 nation. But of the nature of the errand on which ho was to go. Amber said nothing; it was, he averred, Rutton's private business. Nor did he it. U ? llSUl 11 upuu I lit? V|UtfBLlUI) Oi auiiuu B nationality. Sophia Farrell he never mentioned. Nevertheless, he eaid enough to render Qoaln thoughtful. "You've set on this thing, 1 suppose?" he asked some tiino aftei Amber had concluded. "Set upon it, dear man? I've no choice. I must go?1 promised." Qualn went tQ the hamwock-bed, turned back the sheet, and for several minutes lingered there, scrutinizing the stony, upturned face. "So!" he said, coming hick. "Here's new a that'll help you some. You wblind not to it yourself. TVi.'.t man's?was, X should say?a it'ijput." He waited tor the comment vhich did not came. "You knew it?" t "I . . . suspected, tonight." t "It's as plain as print; the mark of his caste is all over him. But perhaps he was able to disguise it a little I with his manner?alive; undoubtedly, I'd say. He was a genius of his kind t ?a prodigy; a mental giant.. That translation of the 'Tantras'?! Won- ' derful! . . Well, he's gone his I own way: God be with hiin. . . . t When do you want to start?" "As soon a3 possible?sooner. I've not a day to lose?not an hour." "Urgent as thnt, eh?" Qu&in ' ] i? <m/> u i i Unmistakably Genuine. I peered keenly into his face. "I wish ( 1 know what you know. I wish to ! , heaven I might go with you. But I'm , married now?and respectable. The , morning train leaves Nokomis at 7:30. You can make that. If you must. But you need sleep?rest." "I'll get that on the train." < " 'Knew you'd say that. Very nedl, j This is TllPsHnv T)i? - > ' _ maui ClUUltt or tho Lusitauia, 1 don't know which 1 ?sails tomorrow. You can catch that, too. It's tho quickest route, eastwards?" "But I've decided to go west." "That means a week more, and you said you were In a hurry." , "I am; but by going westwards it's barely possible I may bo able to transact or wind up the business on the way." As a matter of fact Amber was hoping the Rolands, with Sophia Farrell, might linger somewhere en route, . emembering that the girl had discussed a tentative project to stop over between steamers Yokohama. "Very well." Quain gave in; "you'ro the doctor. Now as for things here, make your mind easy. I'll take charge and keep tho affair quiet. There's no reason I can see for its ever gottinj out. I can answer for myself and j\ntone; and the two of us can wind things up. Get ready now to trot along, and I'll take care of everything." "There's no way of thanking you." "That's a comfort. Call Doggott now nit toll htm A ? m rui ready. You haven't much time vo lose." While they waited for the servant to pack his hand ba^?It being obvious that to take the trunks with them was not feasible; while Qualn was to care for Amber's things at i Tanglewood until his return from Indla?Qualn wus possessed by an Idea | Let the Fairies Afonel Another good but misguided woman lias undertaken a campaign for the abolition of "Mother Goose," "Alice In Wonderland" and fairy stories of all kinds. She declares thut these stories are lies and ought not to be tolerated. In her opinic-n Mother Goose is worse than a witch, und ' as for Ia?wis Carroll?well, this "Mrm. : Gradgrind," of Boston, would havo him J hanged on the highest hill. Ah, but i it would bo a sad old world If all the rblch he vu plei J t "It's this,' he e-pinined: "What 1 io you know about Calcutta T "Little or nothing. I've Uen thuru ?that's about all." "Precisely. Now 1 know the place, ind I know you'll never And this goldimlth In the Machua bazar without i guide. The ordinary, comatoeorfarden guide Is out of the question, of i ourse? But I happen to know an i Englishman there who knows more ihont that d&rk iMa nl India than KDT >ther ton men In th? world. H?H bo t nvaluable to you, and tou can treat iim aa you would Doggott. Go to him * toy name?you'll need no other la- [ ^eduction?and tell him what you're 1 *9ld me." "That's Impossible. Rutton ok)re?sly prohibited my mentioning hla 1 lame to any one So India." ii "Oh, very well. You haven't, have a rou? And ydu won't have to. Ill iWl J ' K i "Hang Your Promise." 1 ( ake care of that, when I write and ( oil Labertouche you're coming." "What name?" ( "I^ibertouche. Why? You don't ^ mow him." t "No; but Rutton did. Rutton got g hat poison from him." 8 wuain wntstied, his eyes round. 'EHd. eh? So much the better; he'll jrobably know all about Rutton and'U ake a keener Interest." "But you forget?" "Hang your promise. I'm not bound jy It and this is business?blacker business than you seem to realize, Davy. You're bent on Jumping blindold and with your hands tied Into the teething pool of Infamy and Intrigue hat Is India. And I won't stand for 1 t. Don't think for an Instant that I'm going to let you go without doing jverythirg I can to make things a? pleasant as possible for you. . . . Mo; Labertouche is your man." And to this Qualn held inflexibly; to that, in the end, Amber, unable to nove him, was obliged to leave the natter in his hands. A sullen and portentous dawn bung n the sky when the little party left :be cabin. Between two sand hills the Bengali ay supine, a huddled heap of garish : :olor?scarlet, yellow, tan?against ;he cold bluish-gray of snow. At a word from Qualn the Portu- t i iviiini?ueuven Knows wuere." | "Right-O!" agreed Quain. His j hand sought Amber's. "Goodby, and ; 3od be with you," he said huskily. Amber tisrhtened his clnsn unon the man's fingers. "I can't Improve on i , Lhat, Tony," said he with a feeble Goodby, and God be with you." He dropped his hand and turned away, i 'Come along. Doggott." The servant led the way baywards. i llehind them the angry morning blazed brighter in the sky. In the sedge of the shore they j found a rowboat and, launching it, | . embarked for the power boat, which swung at her mooring in deeper water. When they were aboard the latter, Doggott took charge of the motor, leaving to Amber the wheel, and with little delay they were in motion. As their distance from the shore in- , . creased Amber glanced back. The island rested low against the flaming sky, a shape of empurpled shadows, scarcely more substantial to the vlslon than the rack of cloud above. In the dark sedges tho pools, here and t there, caught tho light from above t and shone blood-red. And suddenly t the attention of the Virginian was ar- , rested by the discovery of a human | figure?a man standing upon a dune- , top some distance Inland, and staring , steadfastly after the boat. He seemed ( of extraordinary height and very thin; ] upon his head there was a turban; his i arms were folded. While Amber ( watched he held his pose, a living 1 menace?like some fantastic statue bulking black against the grim red ] dawn. I (TO BE CONTINUED.) Fences Ward Off Rabbits. Owing to the- increase of rabbits In cenain pans 01 Australia a movement has been started In the Armldale dls- i trlct to construct a barrier fence along 1 the eastern side of Central New England. This will serve to ward off the i rodents, which now abound In the rough country along the edge of the 1 tableland. These rnbblts are begin- < uing to crowd westwards, and are el- i < ready making their presence felt on { < the adjoining country. The suggee- I ( tlon is to link up the rabbit-proof fences which already exist along the edge < of the more settled area from Walcha < to Glen Innes districts, and thus cut > off the rough country where the rab- ; bits are thick. And where there is no chance of keeping them under. If all the dear delightful tales that have to do wi^i fairies and Imps and elves and hamadryads were to be do- j stroyed. The world Is sad enough as 1 It Is, but It would be Infinitely sadder ' and dreader If children did not believe in Fairy Fine Far and mothers and fathers did not yield allegiance to the Fame o' Dreams.?Rochester Post Express. Hair Indicates Strength. Short, thick, curly hair is an indies b rig lit 7" Tbey have been lea wm Bk this question by an arousal of conclenoe from lethargy that at one time - eemed to be as binding as prison n hains. In this reawakening the w hurch has played a most. important >art, but its appeals have been sec- .. mded by moralists and even by statesnen. Today the question, "What is ight?" is asked not only In personal norals, but in the larger affairs of to lfe, and to the extent that there is pi greater effort for higher standards th >f morality and of religious prac- ci ices. re The question is an old one. It has re >een asked by man since first he knew here was right which might be dlainguished from wrong. It has been liBcusseu in all its phases, and St. sc 3aul in bis letter to the Phlllpplans th sxhorts them In the words of our text. A de tells them that right is "what is til rue, what is honest, what is Just, what at s pure and lovely and of good re- ^ >ort." His exhortation is as pertilent today, as then, and bis definition d, ib complete. Let us first consider nen, not things. A. great many men are true so far 9* is their standards permit them to be. There are others who seek constant elivation of standards so that they may >e nearer the ideal true man. To be i true man means to be truthful in bought, in speech, in act. to be devoid >f dissimilation, to be right and to be ust what you Beem to be; to be loyal o all that is good and devoted to the urtherance of good. Such a man invariably answers the question "What 8 right?" correctly, and his answer ias the respect of his fellow men. A great many men are honest so ar as the demands of relationship vith other men may go, and few go >eyond this point and are honest with hemselves as well as with their felows. In their transactions they have 10 doubts, no regrets, no sufferings >f conscience. They make every ransnrtlnn n i?ln?oH ri eo /* 1^.-. In svery sense of the word. They are ight. Such men are the examples of lonesty that should be emulated. Men are just in the measure that bey mete to their fellow men; and A lome of them are just to the extent hat they heap the measure to overlowing. They neither weigh to the Mince, nor exact their pound of flesh is old Shylock did. If anything, they ire just to the point of Wve satisfaction of kr owing that j r.ivcu toll value tull . o al: #!th whom th? v c. in 1 oit men -ir po-e to the extent ! ? 1 v have t o faults or vices that ' &s ; them immoral. Tb.ro *ro ' 1 so \i.o\ hts ven are pure . nuom impurity is absolutely ob-. ioxIous. They think good, and as the to bought is the father of the act, they let well. TheBe are the men at whom w :he linger of suspicion never points, jut are always held as models after nb'ch we should p&ttei u. Men who are truly honest. Just and ?ure, men whose thoughts are always i jpward, are men of good report. They I ? lave unassailable reputations support- 1 lb ?d by unimpeachable characters. They ta isk the question. "What Is right?" l>* from the Innermost recesses of their i Ci iouIs, and answer it with all the enlghtenment of conscience and spirit- J jal guidance that God can give them. ; dJ They are alwayw men of good report ' and always will be so long as they ! c' possess the virtues tbat the apostle ?l las enumerated. 48 1 know that the apostle tells the srethren to 'think of things that are rue, honest, pure, lovely and of good report." It is by thinking of these n hlugs that men become honest, true and just. The apostle asks them not u anly to think but to reason, for he says that "if there is any virtue in it hese things, if there be any praise" d hlr.king of them will bring them into :heir lives and cause them to be grateful for the good they receive. Men who think honestly, men who try to be ;onscientious gain for themselves all the good that can be derived from t right thought and pure thinking. And that good is ability to think straight, and answer correctly the question. "What is right?" I' Of course ther6 Is no absolute right. Men do not think alike. They have not the same standards, nor the same jonceptiona, and yet they have one <3 standard of right and their conception c nf that standard will always grow bet- ^ ter and better the more they study 1L. That standard was set hv *> ? - iou raui | studied it, and his wonderful growth i < In spirituality enabled him to tell the c Phillppians what they should think 1 about, for he knew that the man who a wns true, honest. Just and pure, the t man who regarded things that were el- s ova ting and of good report, would be- e come the man who would be able sooner or later to answer more exactly the t question. "What is rightV c You can follow Paul's prescription, n especially if you ask for that guld- n ?nce which has been promised you by that greatest exemplar of right 0 ? tl Woman's Rights. c During these days we hear a great n deal of women's rights which are really women's wrongs. I know not v whether women will ever get what v they term equality with men. Man \ and woman are equal in the sight of Ood, but here below woman occupies j T a different station. She was created \ ( to be man's helpmate nnd to supple- I j ment what he lacked. She was to be , kind end gentle under long suffering. | -?Bishop J. J. Nllan, Roman Catholic < Hartford. Conn. All human culture rests on a wlllngness to make sacrifices to tlM it -J* ?^P!1| ^jTa^r^^M, r^o?9t?ptfw'' in tried an kMi of Klilii lit ft ":^1 IT All faded to ?w ma Then to* -fjl itther told me to Ink* CaiduL When - - " - - ^ wl of my Wfj/k. K can jtodtoMJMPPk ,\ii ^v.-iq TjH Mrthrt |o to tto grsatwl fpM. > 1 6 I id bactaeh^eto^Ato ntofW#' SgangK v I ma of her Uto ' ' I oper treatment, tl>3WMtotoCfc?lllfc. 1 e woman's tonic. ^to^Sjmt: 'apijBSl j I ae, or tonic, has ***<$|Mj^tol|(iit 1 suits as CardoL No othto^^yHfc'v" I cord of so many years of ltoi|||^R&?- 9 e in cases of womanly ailanml^. If Mrs. Qarrett had taken Qmmf ^ oner, she might hare been ipsnd e Ions sickness and mock suffering. few doses of Cardui at the right ne will often save serious suffering id prevent a long sickness. Doat lay. Begin to take Cardui at fises. IV. *?Write tei l.eSlfP AS lie?j'K' i VU CkatteBMga HHtdne Ce* CfceS owe, Teu, rwrSycdal toetewernf* f""dWeiTee-* eeirt*bl^'hito wa^! 8crtbb told me that he one? wrote $20,000 prise story.** "And did he get the $20,000?" "No. The girl wrote and told him le had accepted his rival." Too Late *? " \ man chji no mor< change his vpa*.ion tbs t lio can change hie i&ce h arms " said .Senator L* a !>aii^uet in Me lisou. } . "There w>\a* once a yiokM old Madin *nir?i? isjiro who took hie pastor lde nnd Bald: . goto*? > ')* ote V- rrtwuuci ui my me to doing good.* "Dr. Thirdly, outspoken man, parted : " 'Do you mean John H. Good, the eaunv rarmer ,or young Sam Good, le Socialist millionaire?'" They're All About Tailor*. "All criticism," said Professor rander Matthews in one of his brilint Columbia lectures, "is, to a oerln extent, personal and biased." He uised and smiled. "The Tailor and alter, a weekly paper," he resumed, laid in a recent leading article: " 'Carlyle's "Sartor Resartua," Mereith's "Evan Harrington" and Kingsy's "Alton Ix>cke" will be great lassies when the ephemeral novels r today will have long since perhed.'" Would Arrest Him Anyway. Sergeant?'Alt! Take Murphy's ame for talkin' in the ranks. Corporal?W'y, sergeant, 'e weren't Ukin*. Sergeant?Wasn't be? Well, cross ; out an' put 'im in the guardroom for eceivin* me.?Tatler. Overlooked. 1VIIH HCI- M t UU1 *- UU I jr reiutrcra ny longer. Bocker?But they didn't take awxr he girls' hatpins. 8HIFT f Your Food Fails to Sustain Change. ^ ^ One sort of diet may make a person ''' lespondent, depressed and bine and n hanga to the kind of food the body lemands will change the whole thing. A young woman from Phlla. says: "For several years I kept in a runlown, miserable sort of condition, was lepressed and apprehensive of trouble. [ lost flesh in a distressing way and eemed in a perpetual sort of dreamy lightmare. No one serious disease bowed, but the 'all-over' sickness was nough. nnauy, Detween toe doctor and faher, I was put on Grape-Nuts and ream, as it was decided I must have a ourlshing food that the body could lake use of. "The wonderful change that cane ver me was not, like Jonah's gourd, he growth of a single night, yet it a me with a rapidity that astonished ie. "During the first week I gained ha weight, my spirits Improved, and the irorld began to look brighter and more vorth while. "And this has continued steadily, till low, after the use of ir.pe-Nuts for mly & few weeks, I ax i perfectly well, feel splendidly, take a lively interest in everything, and am a changed person n every way." Name given by Postnsa Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Read the little book, "The Road to Wellvllle," In pkga. "There's a reamm." Bv*r read iho rtw A. >m one npprara from tUir ttamm. IHiij A