Decatur News, Volume 3, Number 21, Decatur, Adams County, 17 July 1901 — Page 3

The Contrabandist; =" =s One Life’s Secret!

CHAPTER XIV. “I shall see Robin this morning!’’ was ’the first thought of Rose, as she sprang from her couch at dawn, and her heart beat faster, and her cheeks flushed with -a deeper red, and her sweet hazel eyes with happy excitement as she isat before her mirror. The blue-eyed Finette was in raptures. Rose had hardly thought, during the absence of Robin, that she could be so deeply excited by the news of his anticipated return; but she was too overjoyed toy remain quiet a single moment. At breakfast, it was impossible for her to eat; and the remarks everywhere made concerning the sudden improvement in her appearance, as well as on her sudden aifd contradictory loss of appetite, increased the tinge of crimson that already glowed in her young cheek. One thing detracted from her otherwise perfect happiness, Louis had excused himself from appearing. She had scarcely seen him the night before, after leaving the library, and then he had been unusually quiet, communing with himself during the entire evening; and he was absent this morning. She longed to see him—to hear him speak, thatishe might know he was not offended with her; for she remembered the interview between them; and might not the abruptness—the violence, perhaps, of her manner, unconscious though it was, have wounded him? les; despite the tenderness of that silent parting. How her pulse quickened at the remembrance of his embrace! She could but sigh. “I wonder at what time I shall see Robin?” soliloquized the young girl. '‘Will monsieur le marquis call me into the library, I wonder? Or will the meeting take place here, among all these people? Where is Robin?” was her next restless Inquiry—an inquiry which she had started a thousand times, and as a matter of course, in vain, since the previous evening; ‘‘and where is it that monsieur le marquis has seen him so often of late?” Her queries were interrupted by observing suddenly that the marquis was about to leave the apartment, “Ah, he has not said a word to me!” meditated Rose. “He tantalizes me. Will he not come back and speak—only three words? Will he not even look at me, that I may understand—that I may know whether Robin is coming soon?” But he neither spoke, turned nor gave her a single glance. Yet there was something, despite his evident care, which betrayed in his countenance the sympathy is felt with Rose. He went out. The {fount de Ckirville talked, aside, with his wife. Helen Montauban, at a distant window, sat calmly at her embroidery. Lord Egerton bent over her, and spoke, from time to time, some words, which, if their effect had been noted, might have "been seqp, ever and anon, to be followed by a deeper mantling of color in the fair ■cheek of the lady, though she scarcelyseemed pleased, either. Anon the young man toyed and trifled with the gorgeous silks that lay in a tangled mass of rainbow bloom in the tiny basket by Helen’s side; and then his glance rested on her face with an expression difficult to be defined, though at times it was clearly one •of unhappineks and disappointment. But Rose, albeit she glanced towards -the pair more than once, hardly took note -of these things. She could only think -of the marquis, of Robin, and of the anticipated meeting. She was restless —uneasy. From one employment to another she turned, without being able to settle her attention undividedly upon any individual thing. Suddenly mademoiselle ■called, gently: “Rose, come hither a moment!” The young girl advanced towards the ■window. “You wish to speak with me, Helen?” she asked. “I have been telling Lord Egerton of some favorite books of his which are In the library,” returned Mademoiselle Montauban, carelessly. “Will you have the kindness, Rose, to help him find them? He will tell you their titles.” “Cruel Helen!” murmured Francis Egerton, reproachfully, as he glanced at her •quiet face before turning away. “Not so, my lord," she answered, in the same tone, without lifting her eyes. At that instant a domestic entered, and coming directly to Rose, informed her that monsieur le marquis desired to see her immediately in the library. The young girl’s heart bounded violently. “I am going now,” she answered; and yet she paused. Francis Egerton glanced back at Helen, with an air, half of triumph, half of morrow, which said plainlv. “You see your unkind artifice to repel me avails •you nothing! Why will you persist in this conduct—this treatment of me?” Mademoiselle Montauban saw the look, and read it easily; but she never once ■changed countenance, and her eyes were instantly fixed on her embroidery again. Lord Egerton turned to Rose: “You are going, mademoiselle?” “Yes—now.” She gathered courage; -she would not look up in her companion’s face, but hastily proceeded to meet the marquis. Francis accompanied her as far as the ■library door, and then leaving her, returned directly to Helen. But Rose, even though her hand rested upon the fastening of the door, had, at first, scarcely the courage to pass in. She hesitated and trembled, but finally, laugh, -'ing at herself for a little coward, she -quietly entered. The marquis stood at the further end of the apartment, in -company with a gentleman—a stranger, and both had their faces turned from the door! 1 They-had not heard her come in. She paused an instant longer, and looked about her. No other person was in the room. Robin, then, was not here. She had half expected, she hardly knew why, to see him at this moment, and she sighed. The marquis still continued his conversation with the stranger. This person, who was richly yet plainly attired in a suit of deep black, with a short cloak of sable velvet drooping from his shoulders, held In one hand a pen and a small

portfolio of papers; the other rested on the table beside him, supporting him, as he leaned forward towards the marquis. Suddenly the latter, aroused by some movement of Rose, turned and beheld her, and immediately, after whispering a single word to his companion, advanced to meet the young girl. There was an arch smile on his countenance as he bent down to kiss her. “Rose, my pet,” he said, simply, “yonder is Robin; go and meet him.” And hie passed her directly, leaving the apartment and closing the door bethind him. “That Robin?” Rose, in her astonishment, could neither speak nor move. “That Robin?” was her inward query. For, forgetting the warning of the ftiarquis, she had looked for Robin of the olden memory, and the change bewildered her, until recollection came. Here, indeed, was no sturdy figure, in its linen blouse, its heavy boots, no large hat, such as had covered the gardener’s head, and shaded his face from the sun; no peasant’s garb, or peasant’s air; arid yet—it was Robin! “Why does he not speak?” said the .young girl, tremblingly to herself. But suddenly the gentleman raised his hand, passed it across his brow, and held it there for an instant; then, laying aside the writing materials which he held, turned and advanced to meet her. A low, glad cry escaped the lips of Rose on beholding that sac face, and then she was silent—she turned pale. What was this change which she beheld as he came nearer? what countenance was it? Did she indeed behold Robin himself, or The cloak dropped from his shoulders. “Robin —Louis!” she uttered, quivering with emotion. “Well, which is it?” With the same light, beaming, sunshiny smile that she had met every day for the last two weeks —with the familiar voice and air that blended in one two characters hitherto distinct, he came forward, and taking her hands into the gentle yet firm clasp of his own, while he drew her to his breast, repeated: “Which is it, Rose? Doubting and believing, too? Tell me my name, mignonne!” “Ah, Louis—Louis, tell me what this means?” she cried, in an imploring tone. “Then you declare that I am Louis?” he said, laughingly; “but see—see how audacious he has grown!” And the young man, with daring tenderness,, pressed his lips to hers. “Which is it now, Rose?” “It is—Robin—it is Louis; either, and —both. I cannot tell. lam bewildered!” She covered her face with her hands. “My Rose —my little, faithful, noblehearted darling!” Louis murmured, lovingly, and with the softest emotion in his tones, as he led her to a seat. “My generous—brave Rose, will you forgive this long and heavy trial? You have conquered—nobly conquered! You are victorious, love. Look up and speak to me. Let me see, at least, that Louis has not lost the heart that Robin won.” She did look up. The sweet face, tinged with reddest blushes, sparkled with blended tears and smiles. “You deceived me, Louis. I see it now; I understand it all. But you deceived me most cruelly!” she said. “And almost broke my own heart, Rose, as well as your own. Ah, if you new how I suffered last night, you would forgive me!” And Rose could but do so. The period of probation was passed. The unhappiness to which each had been subjected, in its duration, was terminated now. Louis d’Artois had perfected his scheme, and tested it fully, to his own satisfaction. The outward charms of the woman he loved were nobly equalled by her truth, her firmness, her constancy. Neither ambition, nor pride, nor cupidity, had tempted her, for one instant, to swerve from her faith. She had remained tyue to the humble lover who had won her first affection. “Rose, do you love me? will you take Louis now?” asked the count, with arch tenderness. “How can I tike Louis? I am promised to Robin,” returned she, gravely. “I came here to meet Robin; he has vanished and you are answerable for his disappearance. I refused Louis last night.” “Nay, then—l will become a gardener again, for your sake, love. I will put on my peasant’s dress once more and take my spade, and toil in the garden from morning till night; while you sit, as you used to sit, just by the cottage door and sing to me while you sew. What a pretty cottage girl you were. Rose! I believe I loved you the first time we met.” “And I thought ” “Ah, what, Rose?” “That you loved Helen,” she answered, blushing. “Helen, thou little mouse, what put that thought into thy pretty head ?” “It came there, Louis; I do not know well how. I suspect the idea was a very natural one. She is so beautiful!” “My pet, Helen must never hear you acknowledge that little piece of innocent audacity. Helen? Ah, she would smile with amusement at the mere mention of such a thing! She would not marry me, Rose. I do like her very dearly. She likes me, also, quite as well, I believe; but I should as soon contemplate an alliance with a queen as with her.” “You make me smile, Louis. How modest you are! You mean to say that Helen——” “I mean to say, Rose, that my proud and lovely cousin will be content to remain unwedded all her days rather than wed with so humble a personage as myself. She is a dear cousin, Rose; but 1 think that, secretly, she is ambitious. Francis Egerton loves her, I am sure; but do you not see that she treats him coldly?” “I thought it was so,” said Rose, in a half-musing tone. ' “And, speaking of that same Francis Egerton, do you know, Rose, that I came near being jealous of him on the first evening of my return hither? He was continually near you. He seemed chained to your side.’* “And you to that of Helen, do you re- j

Member?* archly asked Rooe. “Probably the latter circumtftance was the cause of the former.” He laughed. f ; “Perhaps; but I think, if he had nevei seen Helen, he would have been yout Captive. How would you have treated him, petite?—as you treated me last night?” “Yes.” “I believe it. How fortunate he is! I endured agony last evening, Rose!” His tone was sad as he said it. “Agony, Louis?” “Lest I should gain the very boon I seemed so earnestly to crave. But you were true to Robin. I was more than satisfied with the result of my trial. And then, what joy filled my breast, with the ringing echo of that sorrowful, yet firm denial of my suit! It was music to me.” “Why, Louis —Louis! Where are you, my boy?” shouted the rich, clear, merry voice of the Count de Clairville, from the terrace; and the next moment they heard his step approaching the library. Rose sprang up. “Let me go, Louis,” she said. “Away, then, my bird!” And he sprang to a sid» door that opened on a staircase leading to the gallery above. “This way, Rose. Our mischievous friend, I strongly suspect, knows all about this business of ours, and is inclined to tease me a little.” And the door closed behind Rose just as the summons of the count was heard at the opposite entrance. < '•«*««** It required some hours of retirement end silence in the solitude of her own chamber to restore to Rose anything like her usual tranquility. The excitement of the last four-and-twenty hours had their effect on her, and every nerve was thrilling to the tension produced by it. Quiet was impossible; so she fastened her door, and walked the floor to work off in soma degree the restless agitation she felt. When she had succeeded in wearying herself with the exercise she sat down, and leaning back among the cushions, laughingly and resolutely shut her eyes, with the determination to sleep. Thia was a difficult matter, however. Het mind was not quite composed yet. Rose, after she had bathed her face, had het hair re-arranged and made some alterations in her dress and descended to the saloon. Louis was gone to the village. The marquis and his friend, Count Frederic, walking together on the terrace, were engaged in conversation. The Countess Marie, is one corner, read quietly from a favori'.e book. Helen Montauban worked at her embroidery and wore a brighter and better pleased expression than in the morning; for Francis Egertbn was away. She beckoned Rose immediately to her side. “Truant? where have you been?” she said, smilingly, as she made the young girl sit by her and stroked her bright hair. “In my chamber, Helen,” answered Rose, laying her pretty head against the shoulder of her companion, with happy and loving confidence. “A penance of solitude and reflection, my fair sistef? What sin have you committed?” “No sin—no penance was mine. I was restless. I Went to''become calm and quiet.” “And succeoded, I think. But what ails you, Rose? What is in your eyes—your face? Some reflex from underlying emotions—glad emotions. You have had good news?” “No—yes! Ah, do not ask me—at least, not now!” laughed the young girl. “Come to my chamber to-night—will you, Helen ? or, I will come to yours; it does not matter which; and then I will tell you what I cannot—daro not tell you now, here,in this broad daylight, with eyes and ears all about us. Yes—ah, yes, Helen! lam glad!” She hid her face on Helen’s breast and clapped her arms about her. A strange expression flitted for a moment over the countenance of Mademoiselle Montauban. It filled hgr dark eyes with a glance of quick anJ searching meaning, as they rested fixedly on Rose. But it was only tor an instawt; for Rose lifted her head again, and those sweeping, jetty eyelashes veiled every gleam of the awakened - splint. (To be Continued.) -.—-a. The Sequel. “I have written on article o» ‘How to Live on $2.50 a Week,’ ” he explained to the editor. “Well,” said the editor, “you had better write the sequel to It.” “I do not understand.” “Why, ‘How to Get the Twe-flfty.’ ” —Baltimore American. Approval. “What do you th’nk of government ownership?” . “I’m in favor of It,” answered Senator Sorghum, with emphasis. “I’d like to see the government own everything. My experience hag been that it is a great deal easier to get money from the government than from most private concerns.”—Washington Star. Great Opportunity. Mrs. Bjentdns—They are going to have another rummage sale next week. Mr. Bjenkins—Good! I wish you’d send down that rocking chair in the sitting room that I always tumble over when I come in late ikt ville Journal. *- jtr- . Dangerous Tardiness. First Doctor—What makes you think the patient will die If we don’t perform the opccution? Second Doctor—That isn’t the point. This is a new disease, and if he should live without the operation It would establish a precedent—Life. Always ou Top. “There, dessj doi’t be discouraged,” said the stovepipe to the tackhammer; “it only happens once a year.” “O, your is not to be wondered at,” respoadM the tackhammer wearily; “you always come out on top.”—Ohio State Journal. A Courageous Job. Colonel Bragg—l've fought and bled for my country, sir; I’ve 1 Alex. Smart—Yes, but did you ever help your wife hang pictures?—Ohio State Journal. Swiss Schools for Girls. Switzerland has 125 schools for girls. Domestic science and gardening are among the branches taught.

A TRUE STORY OF THE SOUTH OF FRANCE

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(Copyright, Louis Klopsch, 1901.) HN this discourse Dr. Talmage shows the causes of the great financial disturbance which take place every few years and arraigns the people who live beyond their means; text, Jeremiah xvil.. IL “As the partridge sitteth on eggs and hatcheth them not, so he that getteth riches, and not by right, shall leave them in the midst of his days and at his end shall be a fool.” Allusion is here made to a well-known fact in natural history. If a partridge or a quail or a robin brood the eggs of another species, the young will not stay with the one that happened to brood them, but at the first opportunity will assort with their own species. Those of us who have been brought up in the country have seen the dismay of the . farmyard hen, having brooded aquatic fowls, when after awhile they tumble into their natural element, the water. So my text suggests that a man may gather under his wings the property, of others, but it will after awhile escape. It will leave the man in a sorry predicament and make him feel very silly. What has caused all the black days of financial disasters for the last sixty years? Some say it is the credit system. Something back of that. Some say it is the spirit of gambling ever and anon becoming epidemic. Something back of that. .Some say it is the sudden shrinkage in the value of securities, which even the most honest and intelligent men could not have foreseen. Something back of that. I will give you the primal cause of all these disturbances. It is the extravagance of modern society which impels a man to spend more money than he can honestly make, and he goes into wild speculation in order to get the means for inordinate display, and sometimes the man is to blame and sometimes his wife and oftener both. Five thousand dollars income, SIO,OOO, $20,000 income, is not enough for a man to keep up the style of living he proposes, and therefore he steers his bark toward the maelstrom. Other men have suddenly snatched up $50,000 or SIOO,OOO. Why not he? The present income of the man not being large enough, he must move earth and hell to catch up with his neighbors. Others have a country seat; so must he. Others have an extravagant caterer; so must he. Others have a palatial residence; so must he. Extravagance js the cause of all the defalcations of the last sixty years, and, if you will go through the history of all the great panics and the great financial disturbances, no sooner have you found the story than right back of it you will find the story of how many horses the man had, how many carriages the man had, how many residences in the country the man had, how many banquets the man gave—always, and not one exception for the last sixty years, either directly or indirectly extravagance the cause. The Refinements of Life. Now for the elegances and the refinements and the decorations of life. I cast my vote. While I am considering this subject a basket of flowers is handed in —flowers' paradisiacal in their beauty. White calla with a green background of begonia. A cluster of heliotropes nestling in some geranium. Sepal and perianth bearing on them the marks of God’s finger. When I see that basket of flowers, they persuade me that God loves beauty and adornment and decoration. God might have made the earth so as to supply the gross demands of sense, but left it without adornment or attraction. Instead of the variegated colors of the seasons the earth might have worn an unchanging dull brown. The tree might have put forth its fruit without the prophecy of leaf or blossom. Niagara might have come down in gradual descent without thunder and winged spray. Look out of your window any morning after there has been a dew and see whether God loves jewels. Put a crystal under a microscope and see what God thinks of architecture. God commanded the priest of olden time to have his robe adorned with a wreath of gold and the hem of his garment to be embroidered in pomegranates. The earth sleeps, and God blankets it with the brilliants of the night sky. The world wakes, and God washes it from the burnished laver of the sunrise. So I have not much patience with a man who talks as though decoration and adornment and the elegances of life are a sin when they are divinely recommended.' But there is a line to be drawn between adornment and decorations that we can afford and those we cannot afford, and when a man crosses that line he becomes culpable. I cannot tell you what is extravagant for you. You cannot tell me what is extravagant for me. What is right for a queen may be squandering for a duchess. What may be economical for you, a man with larger income, will be wicked waste for me, with smaller income. There is no iron rule on this subject. Every man before God and on his knees must judge what is extravagance, and when a man goes into expenditures beyond his means he is extravagant. When a man buys anything he cannot pay for, he is extravagant. There are families in all our cities who can hardly pay their rent and who owe all the merchants in the neighborhood and yet have an apparel unfit for their cjrcumstances and are all the time sailing so near shore that business misfortune or an attack of sickness prepares them for pauperism. You know very well there are thousands of families in our great cities who stay in neighborhoods until they have exhausted all their capacity to get trusted. They stay in the neighborhoods until the druggists will let them have no more medicines, and the butchers will sell them no more meat, and the bakers will sell them no more bread, and the grocerymen will sell them no more sugar. Then they find the region unhealthy, and they hire a carman, whom they never pay, to take them to some

new quarters where the merchants, the druggists, the butchers, the bakers and the grocerymen come and give them the best rounds of beef and the best sugars and the best merchandise of all sorts until they find out that the only compensation they are going to get is the acquaintance of the patrons, There are thousands of such thieves in all our big cities. You see I call them by the right name, for if a man buys anything he does not mean to pay for he is a thief. Meetins- One’s Obligations. Os course sometimes men are flung of misfortunes and they cannot pay. I know men who are just as honest in having failed as other men are honest in succeeding. I suppose there is hardly a man who has gone through life but there have been some times when he has been so hurt of misfortune he could not meet his obligations, but all that I put aside. There are a multitude of people who buy that which they never intend to pay for, for which there is no reasonable expectation they will ever be able to pay. Now, if you have become oblivious of honesty and mean to defraud, why not save the merchant as much as you can? Why not go some day to his store and when nobody is’looking just shoulder the ham or the sparerib and in modest silence steal away? That would be less criminal, because in the other way you take not only <he man’s goods, but you take the time of the merchant and the time of his accountant, and you take the time of the messenger who brought you the goods. Now, if you must steal, steal in away to do as little damage to the trader as possible. John Randolph arose in the American Senate when a question of national finance was being discussed, and, stretching himself to his full height, in a shrill voice he cried out, “Mr. Chairman, I have discovered the philosopher’s stone, which turns everything into gold—pay as you go!” Society has got to be reconstructed on this subject or the seasons of defalcation will continue to repeat themselves. You have no right to ride in a carriage for which you are hopelessly in debt to the wheelwright who furnished the landau, and to the horse dealer who provided the blooded span, and to the harness maker who caparisoned the gay steeds, and to the liveryman who has provided the stabling, and to the driver who, with rosetted hat, sits on the coach box.

Extravagance accounts for the disturbance of national finances. Aggregations are made up of units, and when one half of the people of this country owe the other half how can We expect financial prosperity? Again and again at the national election we have had a spasm of virtue, and we said, “Out with one administration and in with another and let us have a new deal of things and then we will get all over our perturbation.” I do not care who is President or who is Secretary of the Treasury or how much breadstuffs go out of the country or how much gold is imported until we learn to pay our debts and it becomes a general theory in this country that men must buy no more than they can pay for. Until that time comes there will be no permanent prosperity. Look at the pernicious extravagance. Take the one fact that New York every year pays $3,000,000 for theatrical amusements. While once in a while a Henry Irving or an Edwin Booth or a Joseph Jefferson thrills a great audience with tragedy, you know as well as I do that the vast majority of the theaters are as debased as debased they can be, as unclean as unclean they can be and as damnable as damnable they can be. Three million dollars, the vast majority of those dollars going in the wrong direction. Harmful an 1 Unnecessary Expenne. Over a hundred millions paid in this country for cigars and tobacco a year. About $2,000,000,000 paid for strong drink in one year in this country. With such extravagance, pernicious extravagance, can there be any permanent prosperity? Business men, cool headed business men, is such a thing a possibility? These extravagances also account, as I have already hinted, for the positive 'Crimes, the forgeries, the abscondings of the officers of the banks. The store on the business street swamped by the residence on the fashionable avenue. The father’s, the husband’s craft capsized by carrying too much domestic sail. That is what springs the leak in the merchant’s money till. That is what cracks the pistols of the suicides. That is what tears down the banks. That is what stops insurance companies. That is what halts this nation again and again in its triumphal march of prosperity. In the presence of the American people so far as I can get their attention I want to arraign this monster curse of extravagance, and I want you to pelt it with your scorn and hurl at it your anathema. How many fortunes every year wrecked on the wardrobe. Things have got to such a pass that when we cry over our sins in church we wipe the tears away with a $l5O pocket handkerchief! I show you a domestic tragedy in five acts: Act the First —A home, plain and beautiful. Enter newly married pair. Enter contentment. Enter as much happiness as ever gets in one home. Act the Second—Enter discontent Enter desire for larger expenditure, hJnter envy. Enter jealousy. Act the Third—Enter the queenly dressmakers. Enter the French milliners. Enter all costly plate and all great extravagances. Act the Fourth—Tiptop of society. Princes and princesses of upper tendom floating in and out. Everything on a large and magnificent scale. Enter contempt for other people. Act the Fifth and Last —Enter the assignee. Enter the sheriff. Enter the creditors. Enter humiliation. Enter the wrath of God. Enter the contempt of society. Enter ruin and death. Now drop the curtain. The play is ended, and the lights are out. I called it a tragedy. That is a mis-

nomer. It is a farce. Extravagance counts for much of the pauperism. Who are these people whom you have to help? Many of them are the children of parents who had plenty, lived in luxury, had more than needed, spent all they had, spent more, too; then died and left their families in poverty. Some of those who call on you now for aid had an ancestry that supped on burgundy and woodcock. I could name a score of men who have every luxury. They smoke tha best cigars, and they

- - -E TWR drink the finest wines, and they have th» grandest surroundings, and when thqy die their families will go on the cold charity of the world. Now, the death of such a man is a grand larceny. He swindles the world as he goes into his coffin, and he deserves to have his bones sold to ths medical museum for anatomical specimens, the proceeds to furnish bread for his children. Providing for One’s Own. I know it cuts close. I did not know but some of you in high dudgeon would get qp and go out. You stand it well! Some of you make a great swash in life, and after awhile you will die, and ministers will be sent for to come and stand by your coffin and lie about your excel- j lences. But they will not come. If yon send for me, I will tell you what my text will be: “He that provideth not for his own, and especially for those of hjs own household, is worse than an infidel,” And yet we find Christian men, men of large means, who sometimes talk eloquently about the Christian Church and about civilization, expending everything on themselves and nothing on the cause of God, and they crack the back of their Palais Royal glove in trying to hide the one cent they put in the Lord’s treasury. What an apportionment! Twenty thousand dollars for ourselves and one cent for God. Ah, my friends, this extravagance accounts for a great deal of what the cause of God suffers. And the desecration goes on, even to the funeral day. You know very well that there are men who die solvent, but the expenses are so great before they get underground they are insolvent. There are families that go into penury in wicked response to the demands of this day ; . They put in casket and tombstone that which they ought to put in bread. They wanted bread; you gave them a tombstone. One would think that the last two obligations people would be particular about would be to the physician and the undertaker. Because they are the two last obligations those two professions are almost always cheated. They send for the doctor in great haste, and he must come day and night. They send for the undertaker amid the great solemnities, and often these two men are the very last to be met with compensation. Merchants sell goods, and the goods are not paid for. They take back the goods, I am told. But there is no relief in this case. The man spent all he had in luxuries and extravagance while he lived, and then he goes out of the world and has left nothing for his family, nothing for the obsequies, and as he goes out of the world he steals the doctor’s pills and the undertaker’s slippers. I was reading in a New York paper an account of the obsequies in a family of very moderate estate, and the aggregate was $3,000. A man in New York of moderate estate dies. He has lived in extreme luxury. He departs this life. The family, desirous of keeping up the magnificence, orders the following things; they were produced and never paid for to this day: Casket, covered with Lyons velvet, silver moldings SBSO Heavy plaited handles 60 Solid silver plate, engraved in Roman letter? 75 Ten linen scarfs 150 Floral decorations 225 Music and quartet choir at the house 40 Twenty carriages 140 Then fifteen other important expenditures amounting to 330 Making an aggregate of sl,B7tTy< And dll that to get one poor mortal tx/ j his last home and never paid for! Swindled his family! Swindled thb world! He is swindling it now. It is one of the great curses of this day, the extravagance, the wicked extravagance, of the country. God’s Cause Impoverished. And then look how the cause of God is impoverished. Men give so much sometimes for their indulgences they have nothing for the cause of God and religion. Twenty-two million dollars expended in this country a year for religious purposes! But what are the twen-ty-two millions expended for religion compared with the hundred millions expended on cigars and tobacco and then two thousand millions of dollars spent for rum? So a man who had a fortune of $750,000, or what amounted to that, in London spent it all in indulgences, chiefly in gluttonies, and sent hither and yon for all the delicacies and often had a meal that would cost SIOO or S2OO for himself. Then he was reduced to a guinea, with which he bought a rare bird, had it cooked in best style, ate it, took two hours for digestion, walked out on Westminster bridge and jumped into the Thames—on a large scale what men are doing on a small scale. Oh, my friends, let us take our stand against the extravagances of sqeiety. Do not pay for things which are frivolous when you may lack the necessities. Do not put one month’s wages or salary intoa trinket, just one trinket Keep your credit good by seldom asking for any. Pay!* Do not starve a whole year to afford one Belshazzar’s carnival. Do not buy a coat of many colors and then in six months be out at the elbows. Flourish not, as some people I have known, who took apartments at a fashionable hotel and had elegant drawing rooms attached and then vanished in the night, not even leaving their compliments for the landlord. I tell you, my friends, io the day of God’s judgment we will not only have to give an account for the way we made our money, but for the way we spent it. We have got to leave ail the things that surround us now. Alas, if any of you in the dying hour felt like the dying actress who asked that the casket of jewels be brought to het and then turned them over with her pale hand and said, “Alas, that I have to leave you so soon!” Better in that hour have, one treasure of heaven than the briday trousseau of a Marie Antoinette or to have been seated with Caligula at a banquet which cost its thousands of dollars or to have been carried to our last resting place with senators and princes as pallbearers. They that consecrate theii wealth, their time, their all, to God shall be held in everlasting remembrance, while I have the authority of this book for an nonneing that the name of the wicked shall rot. • The Example.—By the very example of some parents their children are being weighed dosra with curses, not from God, bnt from their parents. The child simply reaps as the parent sows. —Rev. L. M. Zimmerman, Lutheran, Baltimore, Md.