Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 16, Decatur, Adams County, 5 July 1895 — Page 8

I*V .4v»* I + I ’ 5v I\ WBVSSv n h*oß vNWiWWr’ vSrllr Wp* *tW *• *<L yt> CHAPTER IX.—(Continued.) “So Lady Dorrington is in town,” said the latter, after their first exchange of greetings. “Indeed! I have not heard from her. “I don’t think I was mistaken. I saw her drive up to Mrs. Ruthven's hotel as I left this morning.” ‘T did not think she would be up just yet. How is Mrs. Ruthven to-day?” “No great things," said Shirley. “This unfortunate business has taken such a hold on her. I believe she suspects every soul that comes near her. She ought to get away, among new scenes and people. It Is a pity she has bought this villa.” “It is not a bad investment. She might sell it any day for a thousand or so more than she gave. The owner was very hard up for ready money.” “Ah! that’s always the way—those that have, to them shall be given. And our charming friend has a keen appreciation of a bargain!” “Os course —it is in her blood,” said Marsden, laughing. “Now I must go and look after this sister of mine. Shall you see Mrs. Ruthven to-day?” “I hope to do so. She fancies she has some faint clew to the ruffian that robbed her. I don’t believe it myself. It seems there is some suspicion about a half-caste, from Pondicherry. I scarcely know what,” and Shirley pulled himself up. “I avoid the subject with her now.” “We cannot wonder if she is a little morbid! I shall call at any rate —early to-morrow.” They interchanged “good mornings” and parted. “I wonder the bereaved widow did not send for me?” mused Marsden. “Why does she hang on to that cad?” He walked slowly toward his club. “I don’t fancy she cares for him, not now at least —I wish she did—or, for any one except myself! She might have him for a trustee — she may have whom she likes. lam well out of my difficulties, and I’ll take deuced good care to keep clear of any more. The fact is I am very simple in my tastes, only I fell in with an extravagant set! I wish Mrs. Ruthven would take her departure — anywhere, even to another world. Has she made a will? Who has she left her money to? She has no relations. Suppose she made me her residuary legatee? That would be too comic! I wonder Why she is so civil to Nora? She is always watching her. She is such a keen devil, she suspects I am in love with my charming cousin. Ay! but she little knows how deeply! That girl has given me a fresh youth and force, and invention. Nothing shall part us. But I must be cautious for a little longer—then—then—” So, with head erect, a delicious sense of success uplifting his spirit, Marsden strolled down Park lane and along Picadilly. Reaching his club, he found a note from his sister, commanding—rather than inviting—him to dinner that day. Marsden felt bound to obey—much to his annoyance. Lady Dorrington wps exceedingly formidable to him just then. She knew something of his life and embarrassments—and she suspected more. She had no hesitation in questioning him, in the coolest and most embarrassing manner; moreover, it was exceedingly difficult to mislead her. Marsden, however, prepared himself for the ordeal, and “came up smiling” at sev-en-thirty, with his pleasantest, frankest manner. “Well, Clifford, and what have you been doing with yourself since we parted?” asked Lady Dorrington, when dinner was over and they were left alone. “A great many things. It has been a beastly time altogether. I was over in Amsterdam, as you know, after these unlucky jewels. I was in great hopes of finding a clew there, but it’s no use. Mrs. Ruthvea will never see them again. Then I went to Paris, to see De Meudon. He was awfully ill, poor fellow—gastric fever or some such thing. I spent a few days with him at his villa, and had a talk with some of the principal jewelers in Paris, but could find nothing. One of them suggested the stones might have gone to New York or Sydney. Then I came over here to attend to Mrs. Ruthven’s business—she was in such a violent hurry about that villa.” “Is the affair finished, and the money paid down?” sharply. “Yes,” returned Marsden, looking up surprised. “Why do you ask?” “Thank God!” said Lady Dorrington emphatically. “You know I never mince matters, and I can tell you I was in a » horrid fright about this purchase, lest — well, lest the money for it should not be forthcoming in time.” “My dear sister, I am immensely flattered by your high opinion of your only brother,” bowing ironically. “That is all very well, Clifford, but I know you, and I know what temptation a large sum of money absolutely at your disposal must be. I dreaded the appointment of a new trustee and the discoveries he might make; that was one reason why I was so eager to press your marriage with Mrs. Ruthven. I am still anxious for it, but not for its immediate celebration.” ’ “Isabelle,” said Marsden quietly, but in a tonfe.of feeling, while he looked straight at her, his soft, dark-blue eyes grave and reproachful, “I have been reckless, • extravagant, everything I ought not to be, but to rob a woman, too, of whom I am, in a sense, the guardian—that is an infamy of which I am incapable.” He was evidently a good deal moved. ‘T do not deserve such suspicions from you.” “Well, I am sure I hope not,” cried Lady Dorrington, with a searching look, “I beg your pardon; but I confess I have been terribly uneasy since you paid off that mortgage of Greenwood’s, in May.” “Ah! yes. I was wonderfully lucky last spring. I won a few thousand at Monaco, and De Meudon's broker managed to double them several times over; In short, I never bad such a chance before, so I was able to clear Greenwood and one or two other small things. You may well beg my pardon. If you believed me to be stfch a blackguard, how could you care enough about me to wish me married to

any woman—to wish" to sacrifice any woman to me?" “Clifford," cried Lady Dorrington, “I know that you have very little principle, yet I am fond of you. I have seen you grow up. You have always been nice and kind to me, and you are the last of our family. I want to see you well married and free from the awful temptation of money difficulties. If I have done you injustice I am very sorry." “I can afford to forgive you, Isabelle, but if you knew how much I value your good opinion you would not have wounded me as you have done." Lady Dorrington, quite melted, held out her hand, and Marsden rose, took it, and kissed her brow. “Now,” she resumed cheerfully, after a moment’s silence, “let us talk seriously of your marriage.” “Must I marry?" “Why, yes; of course. It is a special intervention of Providence that sent Mrs. Ruthven in your way—and such an attractive woman, too.” “Yes, she does her best in that line.” “And to judge by your conduct, especially the night of that unlucky ball, she is eminently successful. You really must not play fast and loose with a woman’s affections.” “Affections! You don’t mean to say you believe Mrs. Ruthven has any affections. She has vanity, if you like, and gratifies it unscrupulously; they used to tell funny stories of her up in the Hills.” “Still, Clifford, I do think she is sincerely attached te you; and just consider what her money would do for you and your estate!” “I don’t think you show much true friendship for her by trying to marry her to an impecunious country gentleman.” “Nonsense! You only want a little ready money to put you straight again, and the estates would soon recover themselves.” “Give her another chance,” pursued Marsden. “Ask one or two matrimonially disposed peers to meet her, and see if my fascinations would counterbalance a coronet.” “I shall do nothing of the kind,” cried Lady Dorrington impatiently. “I dare say you are talking in this strain just to worry me. I dare say you have made up your mind to marry her all the time. If so, do not be too sure of your game—beware of that Captain Shirley. Ho is a rival, a masked rival; he is always hanging about, and acting as if he were her best friend.” “He is decidedly objectionable; but I do not fear him.” “You are wrong, Clifford! He is not to be despised! lam going to persuade Mrs. Ruthven to come down with me to Chedworth. It will draw her away from her perpetual fretting about those jewels; these are a perfect craze; and I think those horrid detectives are playing upon her credulity; it is a game that pays well.” “I don’t believe she is the sort of woman to waste her money iri any direction. But she is a little gone off about this unlucky robbery. Do you know she seemed disposed to suspect Shirley himself!” “Is it possible? Well, she knows him better than we do. Ido not like his countenance!” “Nevertheless, I do not suppose his being objectionable to you is any proof that he would be guilty of felony,” said Marsden, laughing. “Os course not! I am not so silly as to think any such nonsense! But, seriously, Clifford, I want you to come down to Chedworth and help me to cheer up poor dear Mrs. Ruthven—there is very good shooting, you know how strictly Dorrington preserves his game—and if yon do make up your mind to marry Mrs. Ruthven—which I hope and pray you will—everything might be settled, and the ceremony could take place early in the new year.” ’ » “Not so fast, my dear sister. I will do my best to oblige you; but I make no positive promise. Do not be too sure of your little game! However, I will so far oblige you as to bestow the delights of my society on you for a few days; then 1 may be called away, for I have some business in hand which requires my personal attention. So I will leave the final cheering up of our fair friend to you.” More than this he would not promise. Lady Dorrington was therefore forced to be content. “I hear Mrs. L’Estrange and Nora are in town? What in the world are they doing here? Wasting their money?” “I suppose they got bored and nervous at Brookdale. Why should they not be comfortable and happy? It can cost next to nothing, living as they do.” “Oh, you think people are strictly economical when they don’t drive four-in-hand and sit down to truffles, pinapples and pate de foi gras every day. However, they have a right to please themselves. I wish Winton would make haste to marry Nora; it is time she were settled." . “Are you sure he intends to marry Nora?” “He is behaving very badly if he does not. Why, he almost lived in her house all the summer, they tell me.” “Is it not just possible he may marry Mrs. L’Estrange, who was his flame long ago? It looks to me very like a case of returning to his first love.” “Ah,” dried Lady Dorrington. “Is it possible? That never struck me. I don’t see why it might not turn out very well, and then Nora need not make any provision for her little sister; besides, I have often thought, what a nice match she would be for Dorrington’s nephew, Charlie Dyson. You know Charlie? A very good fellow, and getting on very well indeed at the,bar. He would be the very thing for Nora. If Mrs. L’Estrange goes to India, we must marry Nora to some one, she cannot live alone.” “Certainly not; we must marry her to some one,” agreed Marsden, with cheerful alacrity. “I will ask them all down to Chedworth for Christmas. It would be quite exciting if the triple event came off at* my house.”, “It would indeed. Now,” added Marsden, filling and swallowing a large glass of sherry, “I must leave you; I have one or two people to see before I retire to rest, so good night, sister mine; try and believe your brother is pot a felon!” “My dear Clifford, how can

such things? Be sure you do not J®** money at carda or anything of that kind. He was got up In a style of the severest respectability and might from his appearance have'been the secretary of a benevolent Institution. He paused in the middle of the room, and made a low bow. Mrs. Ruthven looked at him steadily before speaking, then a smile crept round her lips. ‘I think we have successfully disarmed any suspicions or fears Captain Shirley may have had," she said. “I can afford to wait. You have done your work well, it only remains to give you your reward.” She opened her cash box, which stood on a table beside her, and counted out some notes. The man's eyes sparkled as he watched her. When she stretched out the notes, which she held loosely, h« again bowed low. “It has been a difficult business," he said, taking them; “perhaps the most difficult I ever undertook, nor could any one have succeeded but for the clew you possessed. You have rewarded me generously, and you will always find me ready to do your servlqe.” “I shall be more generous,” said Mrs. Ruthven eagerly. “If a year passes without a whisper, a suspicion of the truth getting abroad, you shall have twenty-five pounds. If two years, fifty; after that all will be safe. But no other creature beyond you and me has the faintest inkling of the fact, therefore should it be known, it will be through you. But,” she dwelt on the word, and then paused, “should I be disposed to open the case, to punish the—the felon"—her small hand, which lay on the table, clinched itself tightly, “your evidence will be forthcoming?” Waite bowed. “Have you brought me the papers—your written account of your search?” “I have.” He drew a long, well-filled envelope from his breast pocket and gave it to her. “That is well.” She grasped it eagerly. .“Of course,” she continued, in a changed voice, “of course my object is to get back my jewels. If I can do that, I do not wish to destroy any one. That would do me no good.” “Certainly not, madame, if it give you no particular gratification.” “You have a wide experience, Mr. Waite. I suppose human nature does not seem very estimable to you.” “We know nothing better, and certainly nothing worse,” he returned, philosophically. “At any rate, this especial culprit has been fortunate. Had you left him to the regular police, nothing would have saved him from! public trial; but, even with your help, I doubt if they would ever have tracked him. Englishmen are clumsy in such matters, and I found my nationality, my familiarity with my father’s language, of important assistance in my researches. As I said, it is well for ” “Captain Shirley,” cried a waiter, throwing open the door to its fullest extent. Mrs. Ruthven and Waite exchanged a look, and a slight smile passed over the lips of the latter, while Mrs. Ruthven rapidly thrust the packet she had just received into her cash box and locked it before she rose to receive the newcomer with a sweet smile of welcome. Waite stood back with an air of extreme deference. “Very glad to find you are looking so much better,” said Shirley, who was neater, fresher, keener than ever. “I am almost myself again,” she replied; then turning to Waite, she said graciously: “I need not detain you longer.” “I wish you good morning, madame, and deeply regret I could not do you better service.” “I am quite sure you have dope your best. I have your address if I need your assistance further. Good morning.” (To be continued.) Cold and Appetite. Professor Raoul Pictet, as is well known, has found methods by which exceedingly low temperatures may be obtained. While the Arctic regions provide some fairly cold weather—say 60 or 75 degrees below zero i> ahrenhelt —Monsieur Pictet is able to improve on nature’s achievements, and when he wishes 150 or 250 degrees below zero, he can obtain it How this is done it is unnecessary here to state. It is interesting to study the effects of such low temperatures on animal life. Dogs, when Introduced to such an environment, stand it well, provided they are covered in blankets and wool, and provided the experiment is a short one. But a curious fact is that when they come out they are fearfully hungry. Having seen that dogs stood the experiment well, Monsieur Pictet tried the effects of the Intense cold upon himself, and went down into his “cold pit" carefully dressed in warm clothing and furs. The temperature was kept steadily at 110 degrees below zero, centigrade—l 66 degrees Fahrenheit. After four minutes Monsieur Pictet felt very hungry, and was more so when he put an end to the experiment, coming out of the cold after eight minutes. He took a hearty meal and enjoyed It greatly; and this seemed all the more strange because for years he had not known what it meant to be hungry. Appetite was a word without meaning to him, and the digestion of each meal was commonly such a painful process that he ate very little,:’and never enjoyed It. He repeaed the cold treatment daily for a week, and after eight cold baths of eight or ten minutes each, his pain and distress after eating vanished. Appetite was restored and digestion became painless. Since these experiments, now some months old, Monsieur Pictet has been in excellent health, and he thinks much may be accomplished for the relief of certain diseases by the cold treatment, which he calls frigotherapy. The Best Thing to Do. In a letter to the Sydney (Australia) Telegraph a missionary on the Fiji Islands writes thus apropos of the great hurricane: “I most firmly believe that the best thing a man can do in a hurricane is to keep on praying and nailing on diagonal braces.”

the Anvil of Go<l> Troth-Swinging Ont and Swinging In. Preached in New York. In his sermon for last Sunday Dr. Talmage chose a momentous and awful topic, “The Gates of Hell,” the text seh-cted being the familiar passage in Matthew xvi., 18, “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” Entranced, until we could endure no more of the splendor, we have often gazed at the shining gates, the gates of pearl, the gates of heaven. But we are for a while to look in the opposite direction and see swinging open and shut the gates of hell. I remember, when the Franco-German war was going on, that I stood one day in Paris looking at the gates of the Tuileries, and 1 was so absorbed in th> sculpturing at the top of the gates—the masonry and the bronze—that I forgot myself, and after awhile, looking down, I saw that there were officers of the law scrutinizing me, supposing, no doubt, I was a German and looking at those gates for adverse purposes. But, my friends, we shall not stand looting at the outside of the gates of hell. In this sermon I shall tell you of both sides, and I shall tell you what those gates are rqade of - With the hammer of God's truth I shall pound on the-brazen panels, and with the lantern of God’s truth I shall flash a light upon the shining hinges! Impure Literature. Gate the First—lmpure literature. Anthony Comstock seized twenty tons of bad books, plates and letter press, and when our Professor Cochran of the Polytechnic Institute poured the destructive acids on those plates they smoked in the righteous annihilation. And yet a great deal of the bad literature of the day is not gripped of the law. It is strewn in your parlors; it is in your libraries. Some of your children read it at night after they have retired, the gas burner swung as near as possible to their pillow. Much of this literature is under the title of scientific information. A book agent with one of these infernal books, glossed over with scientific nomenclature, went into a hotel and sold in one day a hundred copies and sold them all to women! It is appalling that men and women who can get through their family physician all the useful information they may need, and without any contamination, should wade chin deep through such accursed literature under the plea of getting useful knowledge, and that printing presses hoping to be called decent lend themselves to this infamy. Fathers and mothers, be not deceived by the title “medical works.” Nine-tenths of those books come hot from the lost world, thong 1- they may have on them the names of the publishing bouses of New York, Chicago and Philadelphia. Then there is all the novelette literature of the day flung over the land by the million. As there are good novels that are long, so I suppose there may be good novels that are short, and so there may be a good novelette, but it is the exception. No one —mark this—no one systematically reads the average novelette of this day and keeps either integrity or virtue. The most of these novelettes are written by broken down literary men for small compensation, on the principle that, having failed in literature elevated and pure, they hope to succeed in the tainted and the nasty. Oh, this is a wide gate of hell! Every panel is made out of a bad book or newspaper. Every hinge is thd® interjoined type of a corrupt printing press. Every bolt or lock of that gate is made out of the plate of an unclean pictorial. In other words, there are a million men and women in the United States to-day reading themselves into hell! When in one of our cities a prosperous family fell into ruins through the misdeeds of cne of its members, the amazed mother said to the officer of the law: “Why, I never supposed there was anything wrong. I never thought there could be anything wrong.” Then she sat weeping in silence for some time and said: “Oh, I have got it now! I know, I know! I found in her bureau after she went away a bad book. That’s what slew her.” These leprous booksellers have gathered up the catalogues of all the male and female seminafies in the United States, catalogues containing the names and residences of all the students, and circulars of death arc sent to every one, without any exception. Can you imagine anything more deathful? There is not a young person, male or female, or an old person, who has not had offered to him or her a bad book'br a bad picture. Scour your house to find out whether there are any of these adders coiled on your parlor center table or colled amid the toilet set on the dressing case. I adjure you before the sun goes down to explore your family libraries with an inexorable scrutiny. Remember that one bad book or bad picture may do the work for eternity. I want to arouse all your suspicion about novelettes. I want to put you on the watch against everything that may seem like surreptitious correspondence through the post office. I want you to understand that impure literature is one of the broadest, highest, mightiest gates of the lost. The Dissolute Dance. Gate the Second.—The dissolute dance. You shall not divert me to the general subject of dancing. Whatever you may think of the parlor dance or the methodic motion of the body to sounds of music in the family or the social circle, I am not now discussing that question. I want yon to unite with me this hour in recognizing the fact that there is a dissolute dance. You know of what I speak. “It is seen not only in the low haunts of death, but in elegant mansions. It is thefirst step to eternal ruin for a great multitude of both sexes. You know, my friends, what postures and attitudes and figures are suggested of the devil. They who glide into the dissolute dance glide over an inclined plane, and the dance is swifter and swifter, wilder qnd wilder, until with the speed of lightning they whirl off the edges of a decent life into a fiery future. TJhis gate of hell swings across the axminster of many a fine parlor, and across the ballroom of the summer watering place. You have no right, my brother, my sister—you have no right to take an attitude to the sound of music which would be unbecoming in the absence of music. No Cbic&ring grand of city parlor or fiddle of mountain picnic can consecrate that which God hath curs* •d.

Perhaps none else will dare to tell you, so I will tell you that there are multitudes of men who owe their eternal damnation to what has been at different times the bold.ness of womanly attire. Show me the fashion plates of any age between this and the time of Louis XVI. of France and Henry VIII. ofJEngland and I will tell you the type of mbrals or immorals of that age or that year. No exception to it. Modest apparel means a righteous people. Immodest apparel always means a’contaminated and depraved society. You wonder that the city of Tyro was destroyed with such a terrible destruction. Have you ever seen the fashion plate of the city of Tyre? I will show it to you: “Moreover, the Lord saith, because the daughters of Zion are haughty and walk with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling with their feet, in that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round tires like the moon, the rings and nose jewels, the changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping pins.” That is the fashion plate of ancient Tyre. And do you wonder that the Lord Gbd in his indignation blotted out the city, so that fishermen to-day spread their nets where that city once stood ? Alcoholic Bevcraarc. Gate the Fourth.—Alcoholic beverage. Oh, the wine cup is the patron of impurity. The officers of the law tell us that nearly all the men who go into the shambles of death go in intoxicated, the mental and the spiritual abolished, that the brute may triumph. Tell me that a young man drinks, and I know the whole story. If he becomes a captive of the wine cup, he will become a captive of all other vices. Only give him time. No one ever runs drunkenness alone. That is a carrion crow that goes in a flock, and when you see that beak ahead, you may know the other beaks are coming. In other words, the wine cup unbalances and dethrones one’s better judgment and leaves one the prey of all evil appetites that may choose to alight upon his soul. There is not a place of any kind of sin in the United States to-day that does not find its chief abettor in the chalice of inebriety. There is either a drinking bar before, or one behind, or one above, or one underneath. These people escape legal penalty because they are all licensed to sell liquor. The courts that license the sale of strong drink license gambling houses, license libertinism, license disease, license death, license ill sufferings, all crimes, all despoliations, .ill disasters, all murders, all woe. It is the courts and the Legislature that are swinging wide open this grinding, creaky, stupendous gate of the lost. But you say: "You have described these gates of hell and shown us how they swing in to allow the entrance of the doomed. Will you not, please, before you get through the sermon tell us how these gates of hell may swing out to allow the escape of the penitent?" t reply, but very few escape. Os the thousand that go in 999 perish. Suppose one of these wanderers should knock at your door, would you admit her? Suppose you knew where she came from, would you ask her to sit at your dining table? Would you ask her to become the governess of your children? Would you introduce her among your acquaintanceships? Would you take the responsibility of pulling on the outside of the gate of hell while the pusher on the inside of the gate is trying to get out? You would not, not one of a thousand of you would dare to do so. You would write beautiful poetry over her sorrows and weep over her misfortunes, but give her practical help you never will. But you say, “Are there no ways by which the wanderer may escape?” Oh, yes; three or four. The one way is the sewing girl’s garret, dingy, cold, hunger blasted. But you say, “Is there no other way for her to escape?” Oh, yes. Another way is the street that leads to the river, at midnight, the end of the city dock, the moon shining down on the water making it look so smooth she wonders if it is deep enough. It is. No boatman near enough to hear the plunge. No watchman near enough to pick her out before she sinks the third time. No other way? Yes. By the curve of the railroad at the poipt where the engineer of the lightning express train cannot see a hundred yards ahead to the form that lies across the track. He may whistle “down brakes,” but not soon enough to disappoint the one who seeks her death. But you say, “Isn’t Go# fcood, and won’t He forgive?” Yes, but man will not, woman will not, society will not. The church of God says it will, but it will not. Our work, then must be prevention rather than cure. Great Evils of Society. Those gates of hell are to just as certainly as God and the Bible are true, but it will not be done until Christian men and women, quitting their prudery and squeamishness in this matter, rally the whole Christian sentiment of the church and assail these great evils of society. The Bible utters its denunciation in this direction again and again, and yet the piety of the day is such a namby pamby sort of thing thtft you cannot even quote Scripture without making somebody restless. As long as this holy imbecility reigns in the church of God, sin will laugh you to scorn. Ido not know but that before the church wakes up matters will get worse and worse, and that there will have to be one lamb sacrificed from each of the most carefully guarded folds, and the wave of uncleanness dash to the spire of the village church and the top of the cathedral tower. Prophets and patriarchs and apostles and evangelists and Christ himself have thundered against these sins ns against no other, and yet there are those who think we oujjjit to take, when we speak of these subjects, a tone apologetic. I put my foot on all the conventional rhetoric on this subject, and I tell you plainly that unless you give up that sin your doom is sealed, and world without end you will be chased by the anathemas of an incensed God. I rally you to a besiegement of the gates of hell. We want in this besieging host not soft sentimentalists, but men who are willing to take and give hard knocks. The gates of Gaza were carried off, the gates of Thebes were battered down, the gates of Babylon were destroyed, and the gates of hell are going to be prostrated. The Christianized printing press will be rolled up as the chief battering ram. Then there will be a long fist of eroused nulnlts.

I M «!»• wanl Mercy for the w| H But there may bo one] - |l|g|g would like to have a kil homeward. I have told I s|s|B has no mercy. Did I Jfit* 11 NMB point in this subject thuil ‘ ‘MH mercy upon any wandererl |||||B to come back to the heart F lo ' MM A cold Christmas night I«p- *MM Father comes in from th1.,,1. 'MM the snow from his shoes ad the fire. The mother sit] ’. knitting. She says to hill < member it is the annivjjrj if ' Mmß The father is angered. 11BM any allusion to the fact thal ( MSM away, and the mere suggesi MM the anniversary of that stW ’SKH him quite rough, althoughld mHM down his cheeks. The old Bl !MM had played with the wand* was a child comes up and ■ ’ 'IMM ou the old man’s knee, but * ; HH| pulses the dog. He " IMM mind him of the anniv&y MM A cold winter night iKp c] v ' JaHM is Christmas night. They bB ( . ; HH| orating the sanctuary. A I |jM of the street, with thin shat attracted by the warmth an* 'jMM in and sits near the door. T* ;|MM religion is preaching of hl mum] wounded for our transgressiol ed for our iniquities, and the] |MM the door said: “Why, that ml Mercy for the chief of sinri ,MM for our iniquities; wounded f] USsB gressions.’” The music that night in til jMM brought back the old hymn wlj Imgii to sing when, with father and! worshiped God in the village I ‘MM service over, the minister we aisle. She said to him: “Were ||||B for me? ‘Wounded for out MM sions.’ Was that for me?” 1 ‘MM God understood her not. II ‘MB how to comfort a shipwrecke ‘MB he passed on, and he passed ot MM wanderer followed into the str "MM Hope for the Faile jjMM “What are you doing here, i |MM the police. “What are you doi night?” “Oh,” she replied, “I MM warm myself,” and then tl cough came, and she held the r .MM the paroxysm was over. She >NM down the street, falling from el jMM recovering herself again, untl while she reached the outskirts I |MM and passed on into the country! ImMh seemed so familiar. She kept oil and she saw in the distance a lil BBM window. Ah, that light had bc>* ■MM ing there every night since she w| Ml Ou that country road she passeil |MM came to the garden gate. She ] |Mg| and passed up the path where s| |MM In childhood. She came to the I looked in at the fire on the heart] she put her fingers to the latch] |MM that door had been locked she w<| perished on the threshold, for she | MEH to death! But that door had I IMB locked since the time she went awl ‘AM pushed open the door. She KHM lay down on the hearth by the li| M@l old house dog growled as he saw h| MM but there was something in the I MM recognized, and he frisked about I MM he almost pushed her down in hisl MM In the morning the mother cam] |BM and she saw a bundle of rags] MM hearth, but when the face was uplil l]||| knew it, and it was no more old I MM the street. Throwing her arms ] |MB the returned prodigal, she crie<| MIM Maggie!” The child threw he] MM around her mother’s neck and sail mother!" and while they were en| MB a rugged form towered above was the father. The severity all gIMM of his face, he stooped and took tenderly and carried her to her room and laid her down on motherMßß for she was dying. Then the looking up into her mother’s faceMgß “ ‘Wounded for our bruised for our iniquities!’ MothM you think that means me?” “01MM9 ray darling," said the mother. “If iMM is so glad to get you back, don’t God is glad to get you back?” And there she lay dying, and aIIMM dreams and all their prayers wereMM with the words, “Wounded for our MM gressions and bruised for our iniquMlll until just before the moment of hMM parture her face lighted up, showinH pardon of God had droppefl upon And there she slept away on the bosMM a pardoning Jesus. So the Lord one whom the world rejected. The Voice of a Fish. To most people the notion that have voices would seem rather MB surd. Yet there are many species seem to talk, and even sing. miliar ones, like the bluefish, ciM’ when they are pulled out of the They do likewise in their nativc»M| ment, and often in concert, produ<M| quite musical effects. A “grunters” will furnish an examM| From a vessel anchored in SouthM waters one frequently hears at the slow “boom—boom” of the jewM Crews of ships have been startled M| occasions by extraordinary noises 1M the beating of many drums in the <M tance. M Likewise produced by fishes w® sounds heard by Lieut. White, UnitM States navy, in 1824, at the mouth oM river in Cambodia. They suggested® mixture of the bass of the organ, tM ringing of bells and the tones of M enormous harp. In Chilian waters mN sical cadences are sometimes heard riß ing from the sea and covering foi notes, resembling the tones of har strings. The “maigres” are famous f< their vocal powers, emitting loud whil tlings and hummings. The way 4 which fishes make these noises is a yet a mystery. Fishermen in Easter Asia are said to hang little bells on th ends of their nets to attract fishes. In one county of Utah there*!# sail to be an iron belt containing 50,000,001 tons of pure iron ore surrounded NJ inexhaustible supplies of coal, but awaj from any railroad. A late report de Clares that a rich gold field was accl dentally found a few weeks agh.) on the San Juan Bi ver on the NewMooxlcan border, fay a school teacher and bls' dupUa J -