St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 45, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 26 May 1894 — Page 7

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Wi J»w\ •W ^ww i W «»; f /MJ T WM CHAPTER X—Continued. “The river. ” thought Constance, White with horror; “the ruins are only a little way from I ho river. " She ran along' the romantic pathway whiqh followed the river bank for about half a mile, and there ascended the steep hill on the slope of which stood the battered old shell which had once been a feudal castle, with dunpeons beneath its stately halls, and a deep and sacred well for the safe putting away of troublesome enemies. Very peaceful looked the old luinson this balmy September day. in the mellow afternoon sunshine, solitary, silent, deserted. There was no trace of nurse | or child in the grassy court or on the crumbling old rampa »t. Yes, just where the ram port looked down upon the river, just at that point where the short, submerged grass sloped deepest, Constance Sinclair found a token cf her child's presence—a t>y dog, white, fleecy, and deliciously untrue to nature -an animal whose shapeless beauty had been the baby Christabel's delight. Constance gave a little cry of joy. “They have been here, they are scmewhere near,” she thought, and then, suddenly, in the sweet summer stillness the peril of this particular spot struck her—that st.ep descent — the sunburned sward, slippery as gdasi—the deep, swift current below—the utter loneliness of the scene—no help at hand. “Oh, God!” she cried, “the river, the river!” She looked round her with wild, beseeching eyes, as if she would have Asked ail nature to help her in this great agony. There was no one within sight. The nearest houso was a cottage on the bank of the river, about hundred yards from the bottom of the slope. A narrow foot-path at the -other end of the rampart led to the bank, and by this path Constance , down to noako inquiries at the I ,7"^ open, and I n noU«. of mwavai |

'^Wff'pßPSb mri Lely. “Das arme madcheu. Ach, Himmel! Was gibt es?" and a good deal more of •a spasmodic and sympathetic nature. A woman’s garments, dripping wet, were hanging in front of the stove, beside which .-at an elderly vine-dresser with stolid countenance smoking his pipe. ( i nstance Sinclair put the women -aside and made her way to the bed. it was Melanie who lay there wrapped in a blanket, sobbing hysterically. "Melanie, where is my child?" The girl shrieked and turned her face to the wall. “She risked her life to save it.” said the man in German. “The current is very rapid under the old Schloss. She plunged in after the baby. I found her in the water, clinging to the branch of a willow. If I had been a little later she would have been •drowned.” “And the child —my child?” “Ach. mein Gott;' exdaimel the man, with a shrug. "No one has seen the p or child. No one knows.” “My child is drowned!" “Liebe Frau,”said one of the women, "•the current is strong. The little one was at play < n the rampart. Its foot slipped, and it rolled down the hill into the water. This good girl ran ■down after it. and Jumped into the water. My husband found her there. She tried to save the child: she could ■do no more. But the current was too strong. Dear lady, be comforted. The good Ged will help you." “No, G( d is cruel,” cried Constance. “I will n >ver s>o Him or believe in H m any more.” And with this blasphemy, wrung from her tortured heart, a great wave of blood seemed to rush over Constance •Sine, ar s brain, and sho fell senseless j on the stone four. CHAPTER XT. GETTING OVER IT. Baby Christabel was drowned. Os 'that sac there coull not be a shadow of doubt in the minds of those who had loved her, although the sullen stream which had swallowed her lovely form refused to give it back. Perhaps the loreleis Lad taken her for their playfellow, . and transformed her mortal 1 beauty into something rich and strange. 1 Anyhow, the nets that dragged the ' river did not bring up the golden hair, I or the sad drowned eyes that once -danced with joyous life/ And if any- i thing could add to Constance Sinclair s i grie it was this last drop of bitter- ; ness—the knowledge that her child would never rest in hallowed ground, that there was no quiet grave on which : to lay her aching bead and feel nearer her daring, no spot of earth to which | ■she could press her lips and fancy she i could be heard by the little one lying! in her pure shroud b dow, asleep on Mother Earth's calm breast. No, her little one was driven by Winds and waves, and had no restingplace under the weary stars. Melanie Duport, when she recovered from the horror of that one dreadful '.day, told her st ry clearly enough. It was the same story she 'had told the peasant woman whose husband rescued her. Baby Christabel was playing on the rampart, Melanie holding her securely, as she believed, when the little : pne, attracted by the flight of a butterfly, made sudden spring—alas! ma- ’

dame knew not how strong and active the dear agel was, and how difficult it was to hold her somet mes—and slipped out of Melanie’s arms on to the rampart—which was very low just there, a; m idame nyght have observed —on to the grass, and rolled and rolled down to the river. It was Jill us quick us tho ght; one moment and the angel’s white frock was floating on tl e stream. Melanie tore down, she know not how; it was as if heaven had g ven her wings in that moment. The white frock was still floating. Melanie plunged into the river; ah! but what was her life at such a time? —a nothing. Alas! she tried to grasp the fr < ck, b t the st ream swept it from her: an instant and <ne saw it no more. She felt herself sinking, and then sho fainted. Sho knew nothing until sho woke in tho cottage where madamo found her. Melanie was a heroine in a small wa, after this sad event. The villagers thought her a wonderful person. Her master rewarded her handsomely, and promised to retain her in his service till sho should choose to marry. H«r mistress was as grateful as despair can be for any service. The light of Constance Sinclair's life was gone. Her one source of joy was turned to a fountain of bitterness. A dull and b ank despair took possession of her. She did not succumb utterly to her grief. Sho struggled against It bravely, and sho would act opt no one's compassion < r sympathy. One of her married sisters, a comfortable matron with half a dozen healthy children in I her nursery, offered to co no and stay with Mrs. Sinclair; but this kindly offer was refused almost uncivilly. “What good could you do me?” asked Constance. “If you spoke t>moof my darling I should hate y >u, yet 1 shoul’l always be thinking of her. Do you supi ose you c u’d comfort n o by tell ing me about your herd of ehil lr* n or by repeating bits of Scripture, such as people quote in letters of condolence ' No; there is no such thing as comfort for my grie'. I like to sit al no and think of my pet, and l« wretched in ray own way. Ds nt I e angry with me, dear, for writing s » savagely. I sometimes feci as if 1 hated e er < no in the world, but happy mothers m *st of ail.” Gilbert Sinclair endured the loss of hie little girl with a certain amount of philosophy. In the first place she was not a boy. and had offended him ah initio by that demerit. She had bwn a pretty little darling, no doubt, and he had had his moments of fondness for her; but his wife’s Idolatry of tho child was an offense that had rankled deep. He had been jealous of his infant daughter. He put on mourning and expressed himself deeply a r icted, but his burden did not press henriiy. A boy would come. }>erhaps, by and bv, and make amends for this present lo>s, and Constance would begin her babv worship again. Mr. Sinclair did not know that for Sn Ihortr U no U>ginnit U

baby was genuine and unml-uk able. C< n-tanco offered to keep ler in her service, but this Ivor Martha dec ined with tears. “No. Its l>o<t for both that we shell'd part. 1 should remind ■ d of" here a burst of sob- sup i.» i th<- ! mis-iug name "and you'd remind mo i I’ll go homo. I'm more grateful fan word-can say for all yur ;• 00 , ; but, oh, I ha - ® mvs If -o for Leiti^ i I 1 IV ver, never, shall forgive i .v/ " never.” So Martha went ba-k to Davomv.t in her mistress' train, and there part. ' I with hoi to return to the jaronta. roof, which was not very far off. it was not so with Me’anio. she on!’, clung to her mistress m re devot* ;:v I after the loss of the baby. If her dear i lady would but let her remain with her as her < wn maid, she would b- b ■- i yond measure happy. Was not hair dres-ing th • art in which sho most de- ■ lighted, and millinery the natural b ■. t of her min i? Gilbert .-aid the girl i had acted nobly, and ought to be retained in his wife 3 service: so Constance, whose Abigail had late y left her t > 1 setter herself by marriage with an aspiring butler, e< nsented to keep Melanie as her personal attendant. She did this, believing with (.ilbert that the girl deserved reompn-e: but Melanie's presence was f .11 of painful associations, and kept the bitter memory of her lost child continually before her. Constance went back to Davenant, and life flowed on in its sullen cour e somehow without Baby Christabel. The two rooms that had been nurseries —two of the prettie t rooms in the big । o d house, with 1 reach windows and a wide balcony, with a flight of steps leading down to the quaintest old gar- , den, shut in from the rest of "the

i grounds by a holly hodyc now became I tampion do Hcate Ito the lost. But the I business of life stil went on. and the o ; was a g.eat deal of time she con d not ‘ call her own. Gilbert, having dimissed the memory of his 10-t chi d to Ine limlsi of unpleasant recollections, resented h s wife s brooding grief as a personal injury, and wax determined to g.ve that sullen sorrow no indulgence. \\ hen the hunting season was at its best.and phea-ant shooting male i 01 . 10 °f the attractions of Davenant, Mr. । Sinclair determined to fill his house , with his own particular set horsy ! men—men who gave th ir minds to guns and dogs, and rarely opened their i mouths for speech except to relate an I anecdote about, an accomplished setter, |or I ver-color'd pointer of mine, you anow. <r to dilate upon the noble beI havior of that central fire Lancaster of mine,” in vesterda s battue m n devoted their nights an 1 days to billiards, and whoso conversatio i was of breaks and Hukes, pockets and cannons. “Youd better ask some women Constance,” said Gilbert, one Sunday morning in November, as they sat al their tetc-a-tete breakfast, the wife reading her budget of letters, tho husband with the “Field” propped up in front of Its coffee-cup, an 1 tho “Sporting Gazette” at h s elbow. “Ive got a lot of men coming next week, and you might feel yourself de trop in a masculine pa ty.” “Have you a-ked people, Gilbert, so soon?” said Constance, reproachfully. “I don't know what you call soon. The pheasants are as wild as they can I

-B । have be, and Lord Highover's houndsVil betbeen out nearly a month. You’Wj—the ter ask some nice young women*Obout right sort, you know; no nonsense them.” “I thought we should have spent this^| winter quietly, Gilbert,” said Con- ’ stance, in a low voice, looking down at her black dress with i>s deep folds of crape; “just this one winter.” “That's sheer sentimentality,” exclaimed Gi bert, giving tho “Field” an impatient twist as ho fol led it to get at his favorite column. “What good would it do vou or me t >shut ourselves ui> in tuis dismal old house like a pair of superannuated owl <? Would it bring back tho poor little thing wove lost, or make her happier in Paradise? No. Constance. Sho’s happy. ‘Nothing can touch her more, as Milton, or somebody, says. Egad, I think the poor little darling is to bo envied for having escaped all the troubles and worries of life; for life at l ost, is a bad book; you can't hedge eve q thing. Don't cry, Constance. That hng face of yours is enough to send a fellow into an untimely grave. Let us got a lot of pleasant people round us and make the most of this place while it s ours. We mayn't have it always.” Tho sinister remark fell upon an unheeded ear. Constance Sinclairs th ughts had wandered far away fr< m that oak-paneled break fast-room. They had gone back to tie sunny hillside, the gras y rampart, the swift and fatal rL er, the bright landscape which hud! r-t imped itself 1 pun her memory in- < I delibly, in the < ne agonized mmient in which Him had diii id her darling’S fate. “Gilbert, I really am not fit to receive people," she said, a ter a silence of some minutes, during which Mr. Sinclair had ammo 1 himself by sundry a venturous dips of his fork, like an old Jewish priest's dive into the tarred , se flhing-pot, into tho crockery ca-o of a I’erigord pie. “if you have set your I heart upon l aving your friends this winter you ha I better let me go awav. I to I la-tings or s mewhire. it would j be a pleasure for you to bo free from the sight of my unhappino-s." "Yet. a d so • you to find conaolati n | elsewhere, no doubt. You w u’d pretty soon find a cons ler if I gave you your libel ty." “Gilltcrt!" “Oh. don't think to frighten me with 1 your Indignant looks. I hav»* not for- i gotten the scene in this r o:n when you ■ heard your old lover s sup; os • i death. I Sir Cyprian Davenant is in hndon, in I high feather, to >. I understand; for some ancient re at ion of his has been j obliging enough to die and leave him i another foitin* A pity you did not w it a litt’e longer, isn't it' A pity your father should have l>een in such a hurry t > make hi- last matrim »nial j bargain." “ .ilb*rt ” cried Constance, na»aion* j atoly, “what have I < ver done that ou 1 shots d dare t , tabs t > me like this? j II jw have I ever failed in my duty to you?" “s-hall I toll vou ' F won’t say that, i having accepted mo for yaur hust and, ! you ought l< have loved me. 1 hat ! would bo asking too much. The ethics ; Os the nineteenth century don t war so . I high as that.. But you might have j protended to earn for me just a little. I it wr id hav. Le. vn’.y .i k B. nnd «• 1 would huw made the wh<o’» of Ute g* -***-’*■** 1 f'»i* Hhfl* of । A

I t: -K I both shwwerfd (•mounce, graveh. I “If you would only K- a little more con-4 Kid rat and give mo credit for being what I a n. your trw and dutiful wife, | 1 might give ou a* much adoption a# I th* m<-t exa ti g hll-b nd ow’d de ! sire. 1 wmld. GLUrt,” sho cried, in a voice eh ked with sobs, "hr the sake ! of our d. ad child ” 1 ; bumbug." «a:d Gilbert, -ulk- I ’“ ? • Go Ought to umU-rstand each I j < it' er by th.- *;n.o A- for running I । away from fs. hou o or any <t Os • I to :md con- atmn a .mg old ’riends. 1 । p ea-e caiuprfn-ihl t at if y u eave ■ jmy hou-o once v 11- v,. it fcrov.r, I I shad ex: ,et to ..... y. . h t the h ad of •ro i d y mr.-mf with p. - yw- men. I 1 -Imli ex • C- y. u t> Is. a wife that a I f-1 ow mav be proud of " “1 shall do m;. 8.-t to oblige vou j ‘ / •• 11 ' ou ha l lot me ! ta.;e life my own way.” |TO HU CvSTlNeim.l A MODERN HEROINE. How She Stopped a HrAer’s Brutal Treatment of a Hors sleighs d-. aw by four horses are employed on tno We! ington street route, say- the Montrea. Star. A heavily 1 oMe.. - •■igh wa- cotning c tyward. ] One of the hors. - next the vehicle fell. 1 Ine drive ■ la-hed it with his whip. I Hen he kicked it. l intilv he swore I at it. Bit he did not get d >wn to ex- I trieat > the animal from the harness, | which held it a prisoner. The men I m the s eigh bur e 1 their chins in | their overcoats <nd in iu ged the con- | t- mplat on of fatalism as a philosophy I which 10 novas every pa.sMoa.from the ’ brea-t. Suddenly a Indy t q a d i n a i

sealskin sac jue g>»t < ut. uni, going up to t o driver, said to him in an imjerative way: “ ive no that whi^“ The drive:- was da-cd. Tn a >t ipe wav h ■ handed over the whip. “Now.” said the little lady, "if you touch that ] hers -again I wid Lt you feel the weight of this whip a ross your shoul-<le-s. Get । own this moment and cut the harness and help the horse to rise.” The driver Mare lat her. The women in tho sleigh titt-red, the men hung their heads. (let rown this mt m nt,” said the a ly, shaking the whin over the driver The latter mechanically ob -ved. The harness was loosene t the hor.-c was raised to its feet. The lady put her hand in her sachel, brought f< r h some biscuits, and treated the four horses t > one each The effect was magical. The hopelesi mnni-m of their poor faces gave place to hope, anl love, and gratitude. Then the lady. v< ry white, but as resolute as ■Joan of Are e.er was, entered the sleizh. The men still hung their heads m silence. sir Frederick Leighton, the great English painter, is a stalwart, lonernosed man of pompous manner, with , curly hair and a flowing gray beard ' and always wears a voluminous silk tie’ I loosely knotted, the ends flowing su- ‘ perbly over his shoulders. He is a profoundly ornate speaker, but his teriods, like his paintings, smell too strongly of the lamp, and the art students, whom he addresses with immense suavity once a year, find him a bit of a bore.

5 MANGLED AND TORN CYCLONE DOES FEARFUL HAVOC IN OHIO. F-lve l I * or8on " Killed at Kunkle, In Wmiams Co't’ ly ~ Many Other “ ""J"""* ~ at Cl «veland — Work of the Bto| rm Wls<on ’ iln “nd Minnesota. ■ fierce Wind and II til. 11 rnado passed one-fourth 0/ IT? 9 Wn tof Kuak °*. ThursdayM te ™ n ’ ki!li ng five persons, fnta^? lnjU ln ” tW ’ others an d slightly weu| aiDff Baveal m,ro - Tbe dead t»ro:lxiHi, n tRRK TT n W n H AII HETT. 1 ha DASO. M#- RUK °XfN<IER. GM RA D aSO - M*e scone < f tho cyclone, a dispatch h “. r,, ° uo to d»scrib.. Li i!nd cbitructlons Huft, , nd ’ ,n '■ho path < f the storm of I, , !^ en , <a , r l° l away a: <1 nothing , J bl mark tho sp t Vthuiethey tool >pt holos in the ground. Ths ■'® of devastu'h n i, about t»neOXCI 'sor of a, mile w bh, and six miles in -0® c, jhe great funnel-shapetl clomi qm fcgod in an irrornlar sout avast, rly lens *°* 'hogreat Ist d m age Ixdng d< uo A a mile fr in wnore it r. se and M on east. Oman Cirrci a <>f n Mils*. h« building in which were Daniel gott, his wife, aid their two grand- ’! rhters, Myra a d Mrrt ia 1 aso, is bus pnipletely dt niolid ed that not even day mion of thefoundati >n is left. The S ' ^-‘ I!i nants of the house are at least aP 1 yard-from where it stotnl. Hero! hrs a | ow - mattering b ards, and fur- j 1 ion can l>o seen larger portions of ' if W’ldiug, and about b rty r.sis from fits it stood lies tho roof almo-t inj 'bdt ether with port io-s of the wnfoework. Mrs. Barrett, who was ta • worst, mangled, was cart- o 1 ovo; a fraster of a mi e and dropped thd a fevmet ry. Porfii nt of the I9”|y p wore <arried s< me distance in ther. Daniel Birrett was oari ls<| alo.it forty rods from where 1 n ' ht uc k him. One hand rU 'l.k n at wr * st an d scattered j ! thdho wit d«, on-* ley was i eaten int > a w ap, and ho suffered internal iti urios. s to [Wn« still hr a’hing wh n f und. but n a ' ' rWil d with' nt becoming u< - Mnr ha and Myra Davi, ! d 7 in anoth « r P‘'t of the house, I where* th«s houH» st’oms j wAve eono to pieces .Martha, tho • * k,ed 11 w apiwrently injur d b»Bib ut the heivi which was crushed i eE< £ 1 , si’le The younger, aged on By »hnwt in tho arms of her sisI kn l and khe botes in al! parts of her j b'* w ® r « broken and gro nd into tho tei-. Nothing cmiid b> d-na t > relievo ; ^Bittle < no’s suffering, and sho died ■ clock in the evening. i th|uruM a Haulm! tn ta«> Hr. I al borgw Olinger, a hired hand at’ who was fa the t eld plowaw the ’or n c<vn ! ng, and raa h r Ip He mi .ai def Tn getting his j|r t ‘P” da and raa f uf houw>, I ! thT 11 ’ n * u , V!s f rou i ’ > * d y 5” Has with the '

V V d,r mth * grounded’whlrb <! ^T«mrat 1 ■ vs; I f o ~t, together voy wspo i up in t IO r Plug onaimho IJ rods fr in wber *it was |jfu d int» t»e sir. HBb u-spr trud.M from the fl*.h and hh BMr indi bb-1 that he I i trees and beams. James Whittle, a. »«th r farm hand in the om l»v of R nrrn t. had ara r we- a m lie was it tbo with n fg*. . r. . i.u .A 1 . n ~n in company w Ith ’ »xwger an . s’eri .1 f . !, ;lrn T o the fact ths* h s t P3m became un^ana.'oab.ea i b <>ko a -.a. from him h .’probably owes hi. life. ’ DA'I AGE t I.'EH num I, ms In WUronsln ant Minnesota Bill Reach S 1.000,000. St. Paul, Mimi. Ia o reports from t he distrie:- vi-ite I by -t >rm and flood i Jdicate th .t th.- I.— wa- heav icr than fl r t rep mto i an I will reach al lea-t ? 1.(0 U”’ •• All the railway Im s entering St Pau except the ( hieag . Groat Vo tern an i Mmm apolis an 1 .-t, Louis ^rnplyel all the Horn n the. c ud ; nd in repairing bridges and tracks .ashed away. Kush River ov- r.l >wed ts banks during Wedno dav night md the raging torrent c irri -d every- ! 1 hiug lie fore it. Every b?i:ge from j ho headwat- r of Kush River to its | | itlet in the Mississippi has b. on swept ' sway. Both flouring and saw mills I ■vero ruined an i the total 10-s will •■each MOO,(0 ■in this county. At least * dozen farm-houses along Hush Ri. er ■vero washed away. Huds m, Wis , s f- j ■ered an enormous 1 »ss through the (breaking of three dams in the Widow liver. Theso dams were 1 cated at lewett's mil!-. B irkhart and Green..' lad an hour aher the breaking of the ’ lams the flood swept .i<>-.vn op.?u HudAvn, overtl .wing the dam at that । hu-e

and undermining the Chicago, St. I'aul Minneapolis and Omaha Hoad, wh ch ri.-ei thirty feet above the wat r. Within a iia'f h ur 200 fe *t of the t ack was suspended from the abutment. All the fLh hatcl cries have been swept away. On the Wisconsin Central line the flood damage is enorm us. Hnllstones ax Higas Apples. Decatur, III.— Hai.stones eleven inches i i circumference fell here, do ing great damag • to property and fruit and causing much suffering to stock. Ireeport, 111. —A fierce rain, wind and hail storm prevailed. Great trees voie blown down, f» nees demolished, and windows broken. The hailstones were as large as walnuts. It is feared tudu (ldinu<jo Inis Ucon done tlic crow- ■ ing crops. Shelbyville, Ti d.—The damage to ' property is cc ndderable, but as yet no injuries to persons have been reported. Furious H:ii!4orm at (levclaa I. Cleveland, Ohio.—The worst hailstorm that has visited this ctv in j years rage 1 for nearly an hour. “The I storm was accompanied by heavy rain thunder and lightning. Many of the I hailstones were as large at hens’ eggs au<l were driven before a brisk sou ch wind. Thousands of windows all over tho city were broken, greenhouses were wrecked and several runaways re sulted fr< m horses trying to esc ipo the bombardment of ice. Sycamore, Ind. —The hail did considerable da age to growing crops.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. SERIOUS SUBJECTS CAREFULLY CONSIDERED. A Scholarly Exposition of the LessonThoughts Worthy of Calin KeaecUonHalf an Hour's Study of the Scripture.Time Well Spent. Moses Sent as a Deliverer. Tho lesson for Sunday, May '>7 ma. bo found in Excd. 3: 10-20. J ( INTRODUCTORY. Paul had his seminary training in Arabia, where, teeminglv, in silent communion with Col afteEhis conversion, he fitted his soul f>r ids great life wo k. Moses had simila discipline unid tho Midian fortresses, l.eir.io Lai well said: “In this sanctuary of the hills, awaiting tho time when tbo Hdvan. ingpurpoMisof G< d had ri t ened Israel for the great moiem -n* of its deliverance, and, meanwhile, unconsciousl. preparing for the mighty task beloio him, Moees spent, a . St. Stephen informs us, no fewer than forty years His wanderings would make him acquainted wbh every valley, plain, gorge, hill, a id mountain of tho whole region; with its )>opulati< n. whether native i r that of the Egyptian mines, with every spring an 1 well, and witii । all the resources of every kind offore 1 by any spot: an educati m < f supreme itnportance toward fitting him to guide his race, when resi uod from I’gypt. to the safe shelter at.d holv lanetmiries of this prolestined scene of their long encampment. still more, in those calm years every problem to be solved in the organization o ape pie woul I I rise successively in his mind and find j its st Inti n; and, above all, his own j soul mu t have been disciplined and : i purit o I by isolation from the world i and closer and more continual communion with Goi.” POINTS IN THE LESSON. ‘t ime now. therefore.” Now. ust now! The hi ur had struck. Jn the I Hebrew, ^ere. the time word is the emphatic word. But back of all, < ver all and in a'l was -God, tho “I Am.” “Who am I?” M ses is presently all t< o meekly asking. “I ” Never mind the human i I. 1 i ten; “I will send.” Los? sight I of poor, pitiful self; fix your eye upon the groat Jehovah—“l Am.” I his i-h.dl b© a t ken,” or sign. Tho word means a mark, or impression, a seal. Here wa; a chance for faith. Moses was to look about upon that emptv mountain, empty save where the shoe * and cattle were browsing, and he was to seo it peopled with w. r shi; ing Israel. In due time this faith was turned to sight, and God gave him the visib e, tangible t >ken. The vision of the burning bush must have given emphasis to this promise; may. Indeed, have been a part of the “token it elf. it was a meaningful symb I of Israel in the midst of tribulation, kept by the power of GoJ, burning but not consumed; und also an obje. t e--*n of the orvantof God himso.f, ,u |oncd amid tiery trials by the indwcUlmj and upholding spirit of God. * lam that 1 am.” More luminously*, "I am that which I am, or what I am, G< d s unrhaugeablenesq Mos'S was ant;vii<aHng ■-Scepticism on the part of t?'o sluggish, downtrodden people. »bt mv credentials.

। | •»“ ... ~ • N: yy '■ bo-se t nmc sal I urge in my Itohn'f , *•’ rt • u a >|s :i ' An 1 <.l gj vo , I o :.!■< ,- !;1 n -tho < at i., n ha h sent me unto you. ' Even so spake ■'.a achi afterward: “lam the Lo d, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob u o m ’ c ms med." "1 am -lie Hebrew, 1 know that the j king of Egypt will not let you go." Id ’ emty the second, the hardening of I haraoh - heart. But does n t this 1 ' w, f > .j - foreknowledge, throw a : L" ■ ightupon the mystery? Difli- ■ . ty the third immediately follows the ie “i ie v woman-hall borrow of her neighbor. ’ But the wo d "bo - i u w. -tr.mgely so r.-ndered here, is tho '•■ '■ das .s rightly translated a-k i a ' I- '■ Ask of me and I .-hall give 1 D - h-ath.m f r thine inheritance.” I , “Borrow of me,” shall we say? lUMs AM) IbLVSrRATIoXS.

1 he J-s on ha-todowith preparation for ervic •: and surely it is a very pra t'.ca les-on. Gods nds his servants to school, and fits them for the disi charge of great responsibilities. Instance the mon who have been thus , developed, tried and proved in the sehooig f experience. Christ himself le .rm d ot edien <• by the things which . be suffered. What do you know of the back side of the desert.' Have you ■ be n to Horeb. ; It is into resting to nte how God em- , ploy- the natural talents and p wens of men t > his ultimate glory. He takes our youth ul energies, and chastens and molds them to his will. It is said tha’ the first thing Carey did after recovering from a broken arm, gotten be falling from the limb of a tree, was to go out and climb thattr. e again. Training counts for much in the a'fairs of life. Good habits play a greater part than we think in bringing ab ut results, and the unconscious inilm nee of hon e-bred honesty and good

’ . ’ uvi Nl, is worthy of large co sideran 11. When Jona: J,a > .Stur.r t . s went x n . . New \ ork, a humble, renniTes- la<i, ho , loun I his way. as was his custom, on i the first Lord’s day to church. He • j was s unewhat dismayed at the sump- । : tuousness of the place till a watchful and kindly member of the church invited him t> a seat in his pew. The next morning young Sturges presented his letter of introduction and besought the credit he needed to engage in his contemplated < ccu; ation. “Did I not see you in Mr. Len xs ] ew yesterday’'” said the Scotch merchant to whom he had applied. “I don’t kn >w,” was the ' re- ly, "whose pew I sat in. sir. but a , kind gentleman eave me a seat.” “Well j lad. that was Mr. Lenox, and it is no I ci mmon honor to be asked to sit in his | row. I will trust any b y with goods j "J 10 ,J ias that honor conferred upon I him. ’ It was the b -ginning of a noble anil successful business career. Next Loxs >n —“ lie Passover In tituted. ” Lx. 12: 1-14. Every-day Fancies. A man who knows how to wait, knows how to get even. < k'< 'ASION ally the wisest owl hoots at the wrong time. A fool L wiser in his advice than wise men in their actions. When you look at some men, they som -how make you think of a deserted woman. Every man has an ax to grind, and locks upon every other man with an eye to inducing him to turn the grindttone.

MAN WITH A HISTORY The Terrible Experience that Befell John W. Thomas, of Theta, Tenn. Afflicted with a Peculiar Disease, His Body Covered with Lumps, Could Not Eat, and Thought He Was Going to Rry Lp—His Recovery the Marvel ol Tennessee. . JJ y o rn <f»’ Mis Avtf/e (Tenn.) p ann -r.] Mr- John W. Themis, Jr., of Tteta, , ® n ?7“ amaa 'd:h a most interesting history. At jra ent he is interested in blooded horses, for which Maury County is famous. rew peop.e, I take it,” said Mr Ihimas to a reporter who ha 1 a,ked him tor the story of his lite, “have passed through as remarkable a chain of events as I have and remained afive to toll tho story. was , a '°t>g in 1884, whon I was working in tho silver mines cf New Mexico, that my troubles began: at , first I Buffered with indigestion, and so I ?' cu “? ?.'d the puit.B become that 1 went . • Ci *j l ' orn!a ,' or my health, but the j trip aid me little good, and fully im- • I P r ® sß ®d with the idea that my last day had nearly dawned upon me, I hur. led • back here to my <id home to die. ‘ “From simple indigestion my malady developed into a chronic icability to , taKo any substantial soc-d, I was barely 1 ante to creep about, and at times 1 was ’ | projtrat’d Ly spells of heart palpita- : lion. This condition continued until I one year ago. I “On the 11th of April. 18! 3, I sudj denly collapsed, and for davs I was un- . com cions, in fact I wys not fully my- ■ self until July. My condition on*Sept. : 1 was simply horrible; I weighed t ut seventy pounds, whereas my normal weight is 165 pounds. All over my b dy there were lumps from the size of a grape to the size of a walnut, my fingers were cramped so that I could ; not more than half straighten them. I had entirely lost control of my lower limbs and my hand trembled so’ that I could not drink without spilling the liquid. Nothing would remain on my stomach, and it seemed that I must dry up before many more davs had passed. “I made another round of the physicians, calling in one after the ither, and by the aid of m rphine and other meuictnes they gave me, I managed to live, though barely, through the fall.” Here Mr. Thomas displayed his a. ms, and just abo»e the elbow of each there was a large irregular stain as large as the palm of the hand and of a purple color; the space covered by the mark was sunken nearly to the bone. “That,” eaid Mr. Thomas, "i< what the doctors did by putting morphine into me. “On the 11 th of December, 1893, just eight months after I t?ok permanently to I ed— 1 shall never forget the date—my cousin, Joe Foster, of Carter’s Creek, called on me and gave me a box of Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pale People, saying they had cured him of partial paralysis, with which I knew he had all but died. I followed his directions and began taking the medicine. As a result I stand before vou to-day tho most surprised man" on earth. Look at my hand—i< is a8 steady as yours; my face has a healthy look about it: I have been attending to

my duties fop « i takiny- the pills i i pounds, and I am 4m trained thirty 'the knots have disamiared 1 ^ j body except this lf tlb , kernel h °™ e “£ .my palm. I have a good appetite and । 1 am Almost I ever was A esters.ax I ro<3e thirtV’Seven miles on horseback: I feel tired to-day, but not sick. I used to have from two to four spells of heart i alpitation every night. Since I began the use of the pills I have had but f ur spells altogether. “I know positively that I was cured by Dr. Williams' Pink Pills, and I believe firmly that it i- the most wonderful remedy in exist-.-nce to-dav, and . every fact I have presented to'vou is 'known to my neighbors as well" as to myself, and they will certify to the truth of mv remarkable cure.”

i Dr. Williams' Pink Pills for Pale ' People are n t a patent medicine in ; the sense that name implies. Thev . were first compounded as a prescrip- • tion and used as such in general prac- , tice by an c minent physician. So great ; was them efficacy tnat it was deemed , wise to place them within the leach of |a L They are now manufactured by the Dr. Williams’ Medicine Co r pany, j Schenectady, N. Y., and are sold in ; boxes (never in loose foim bvthe dozen ' or hundred, and the public are cautioned against numerous imitations sold. ' in this shape at iO cents a box. or six ; boxes for $2.5 , ard may be had of all .druggists orduect by mail from Dr. I M ill urns’ Medicine Company. Kossuth Needed a Word. | Kossuth had a remarkable mastery ,of English. This story shows how he ! strengthened his knowledge of our dif- । ficult tongue. Speaking at Concord, ; Mass., Kossuth wi-hed to express the figure of the Austrian eagle rending ; the young freedom of Hungary. The word escape 1 him. Stopping for a moment in the full flight of eloquence, who^t^n^hhar^^t-^S^ when man tea- his coat?” “Hole, ” was the reply. That word did not satis y him. and Rai; h Waldo Emerson, who had overheard the question, whispered “rent,” with poetic sympathy for euphony, and the stately sweep of' the sentence was completed. He learned the language after his arrest in 1837, when he was sentenced ia 1838 to three years’ imprisonment, during a part of which he was cut off from all communication with his fr ends and was denied the use of pen and ink, and even of books. In the second year he was allowed to read, but as all political books were interdicted, he selected an English grammar, “Walker’s Pronouncing Dictionary” and Shaksneare. Without knowing a single word he began t> read “The Tempest.” He was engaged for a fortnight in getting through the first ] age.

How She Found Out. The other night at a fashionable concert I sat next to a pretty girl who ' presently confided to me that she knew j the price of nearly every hat in the ; house. “How cn earth can that be?" I j asked, amazedly, for of course Easter hats are of vital importance to all women. “Why," said she, “you see when I bought my hat I was hard to please and I went to every store in town and tried them all on, and, of course, priced them." —New Orleans TimesDemccrat.