St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 20, Number 41, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 4 May 1895 — Page 3

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Fw^Pßh v^> A-' ’ CIIA Pt"er \ L—H ’on t i nued). “We will go at once to Storr & Mortimer’s,” said the countess to her niece; “it will take some time to choose the settings.” “Aunt," said Barbara, “do not go there. I might say I was too tired, or give other excuses—all would be equally false. Do not go there to-day. and promise not to ask me the reason until we reach home.” “What can you mean, Barbara?” asked her aunt, haughtily. “Have you some plan, some design of your own for the diamonds? You should have mentioned it before, my dear.” “I have no plan of my own,” she replied, wearily. “I will explain when we reach home.” Although Lady Bayneham longed for an explanation, she was top well-bred to repeat her question. Barbara’s face had grown strangely pale, and the countess gazed at her with surprise. They were not long in reaching Grosvenor Square. “Come with me to my room, Barbara,” said her aunt. “Let me hear what this mystery means.” Miss Earle followed Lady Bayneham quietly enough to her room. She dosed the door with her own hands, and stood before it. “Few words are always best, aunt," she said, with a feeble attempt at smiling. “I did not go to choose a setting for the Bayneham diamonds because I am not going to marry Claude.” “Not marry Claude!” gasped the countess. “Have you lost your senses, Barbara?” “No —I have merely found them.” said the young girl, sadly. “Do not be angry, aunt. If Claude knelt here asking me for a year and a day, I should still refuse.” “May I ask,” said Lady Bayneham, haughtily, “why Miss Earle declines an alliance with my son?” “No, aunt,” replied Barbara, proudly; “that is the one question you may not ask. I decline to answer it.” “Have you seen some one you like better?” interrupted Lady Bayneham. “Yet I need not ask. You are not a weak, vain girl, who thinks little of her plighted word.” Then Lady Bayneham’s voice softened, and she threw one arm caressingly round her niece. “Do yon fear Claude does not love you?” she asked. “Believe mo, Barbara ” “Aunt,” interrupted her niece, “do not seek to know my motives; our engagement was a great mistake. Let us bo thankful for having discovered it in time. Believe me, dear aunt,” she continued, earnestly, “if I married your son now, we should both be wretched for life.” “But, Barbara," cried Lady Bayneham. “why did you not discover this before?” “I am perhaps to blame for that.” she replied, gently, a sharp quiver of pain passing her face. “1 have found it out now.” “What will the world say?" cried the countess. “Every arrangement made, even to the ordering of your jewels.” “They may even yet I e worn,” said Barbara, with a smile. “Barbara,” said Lady Bayneham, “are you jealous?” “No,” was the reply. “Try to believe me, dear aunt. I am thoroughly in earnest. Our engagement was a terrible mistake. I have found it out. and refuse to fulfill it. Your son is free. I have told him so, and nothing can change or alter my decision; it is made for life. My greatest grief is the sorrow I know it will cause you.” For once, Lady Bayneham had nothing to say; she was too angry for speech, too bewildered for remonstrance, too much annoyed to care for further conversation. “You can leave me now, Barbara,” said the countess, haughtily. “I can have no respect for any one who deliberately breaks a promise and draws down ridicule upon those who love her best. Have you considered in what a cruel position your conduct places Claude?" “He will be strong enough to bear it," replied Barbara, dryly. “I have not remarked any change in his looks or his spirits; have you, aunt?” Considering that Lady Bayneham had said that morning, in Barbara’s presence, that her son had never looked better, she could make no reply. “Let us be friends, aunt,” said Bar- i barn, gently, and there was a wistful | tone in her voice. “Lot us be friends. I dear aunt. I have no one in the world but ’ you.” Lady Bayneham was, however, too an- | gry for any reply. “1 can but hope and pray, Miss Earle, that you will soon return to your senses,” she said. “Will you be kind enough to leave me now; the dressing bell has rung. I presume you did not hear it.” That was all the consolation Barbara Earle received in the greatest trouble of her life.

CHAPTER XII. That evening fate was kind to Hilda Hutton. The agent for Brynmar came over purposely to consult with Lady Hutton as to some alterations making at the Hall. So it happened that when Lord Bayneham called in Park Gardens, ho was told that Lady Hutton was engaged, but that Miss Hutton was in the drawing room. “I will see her," he said, trying to look ns though she were a substitute for Lady Hutton, and signally failing in the attempt. When the drawing room doors were opened there was no one to be seen; but Claude’s quick eye discerned the floating of a white dress in the dim light of the conservatory, and instinct told him to seek his love there. He walked so quietly, that she did not hear him; and he stood for a moment, lost, as an artist might have been, in delighted admiration at so fair a picture. The golden bead and

fair young face shone brightly in the dim mellow light. I here was a dreamy smile ! on the sweet lips, as though pleasant ■ dreams were with her. She was bending ! over some choice white lilies, and they i were not so lair and pure as she. thought j < laude. She did not look surprised when j ho uttered her name, and the smile deep- : ened, as though the pleasant dream had j come true. “Mamma is engaged," she said in re- i ply to Lord Bayneham’s few words. “The ! agent is here from Brynmar. See, Lord | Bayneham, he brought me these lilies i himself all the way.” "It was very kind of him," said Claude; j “I am not sorry Lady Hutton is engaged, for I enme purposely to see you.” In some vague, distinct way, Hilda knew what was coining. Her simple, loving heart fluttered and bent so quickly that she could hardly brentlie. “Hilda,” whispered the low voice at her : side, “do forget those lilies for one mo- ■ ment. and look at me. Can you guess what I have to say?” The shy, sweet eyes did not meet his ! own; the little hands still trembled amidst * the white blossoms. "I am jealous of those flowers," said j Claude, impatiently, ns he removed them. J “I want all your attention for once, and for a few minutes; Hilda, do you remember that May morning in Brynmar wood ?" i “I remember it well,” replied a faint, ; half-frightened voice. “Do you know,” said Claude, eagerly, “I loved you then? It was the fairest, sweetest picture my eyes ever fell upon, as you stood in the woods, with the blue- i bolls in your hand. I could hardly tear myself an ay. I longed there ami then to i kneel at your feet and offer you, as I do I now, my life with my love. 1 hare never thought of anything or any one since I । saw you. Until 1 found you again my life j was one long dream of misery, Hilda, j There never was n love so strong, so I deep, so true as mine. Is there any hope I for me?” There were a few minutes of unbroken I silence, then a gentle, half-sad voice re plied: "How could you care for me when you ! were pledged to marry Miss Earle?" He told her the whole story, bow from childhood they had been trained to under stand that at some future time they were to be married- how ho always liked Bar barn in a calm, kind, brotherly way, and when his mother suggested the time for the marriage had arriicd, he h. d "no ob jection.” “I had not seen you then. Hilda," ho continued. “When 1 did so, my heart awoke suddenly. I was like a man who j had been buried in a deep sleep. 1 awoke to find myself passionately loving you. i yet pledged to marry Barbara Emh . I was half tnnd for some time, but 1 had no idea of freeing myself. 1 thought I must bear my fate, ami trample you out of my heart. But. Hilda, Barbara has dismiss ed me; she says our engagement was a foolish mistake, for which I shall not suffer. She refuses ev< n to mention it again, and I am free free to lay my heart at the feet of the only one 1 ever , can love. Have you no word for me, Hilda ?” “Is she is Barbara unhappy?" sho ask i cd, gently. "Do not lot that shadow stand between us,” cried Lord Bayneham. "Hilda, if I was to pray ns man has never prayed before, Miss Earle would not deign to listen to me. If she were here, she would plead : for me. Oh, Hilda, can it be that 1 am mistaken -that you do not care for me?" I She turned her face to him, mid he read j his answer there. "Your life shall be just ns bright as the j life of one of these flowers,” said (.’laude; ■ “no shadow, no storm shall come near you. ; I shall nave but one care, and that will ' be your happiness; and in return for all my devotion, will you give me a little love, Hilda?” “A little,” she said, wondering if he ; knew how much that meant. “You will be happy at Bayneham." he continued. “My mother is sure to love ! you very dearly, Hilda -she loves mo so , much. I have won my treasure now. mid I am impatient to call it mine. When shall I see Lady Hutton? Before the spring blossoms come again, promise to be • my wife, darling?” But that Hilda would not do. In her gentle, child-like heart there was a gracious dignity- all her own. He had won enough; she would promise no more. lio loved her but the more for the pretty coy . words that fell so softly from her lips. “I shall come to see Lady Hutton tomorrow,” he said, half inquiringly. "Not to-morrow,” she replied, “mamma 1 will be busy with the agent. Let mo | have that one day to realize my happiness t and to dream.” “It shall be so," replied Claude. ( ! In after years Hilda wondered what I , i her fate would have been if he had seen i Lady Hutton as he wished. “Now, before I go," said Lord Baytie ' ham, “grant me one favor. You gave me . a bluebell that May morning; give me now one of those white lilies, I shall know then in the morning that my happiness is real, not a dream.” She gave him what he asked, and the time came when those two withered flow- j ers were more precious to the young earl

than all the world besides. As he was leaving the house he heard a bell ring violently, and half wondered who it could be ringing in such hot haste. **»**«» "Tell Lord Bayneham, as soon as he returns, that I wish to see him particularly I shall bo in my own room.” So said Lady Bayneham, in her coldest voice, intended for Barbara's benefit. She had not vouchsafed one word to the young girl herself, choosing to consider her in a state of rebellion Claude’s face did not express any rapturous delight when the obedient domestic delivered her ladyship's message, lie loved his mother dearly; he had the deepest respect and admiration for her beauty and talents, her grace and dignity—she was his complete ideal of a British peeress; but, if the truth must be told, the young earl held his mother in wholesome awe. lie feared nothing upon earth; no danger ever awed him, no fear ever daunted him; but he could not face his

lady mother when ho had offended or displeased her. “One more battle,” he muttered to Dimself, “then all will be plane sailing.” But Lady Bayneham’s greeting astonished him. “My dear boy,” sho cried, “my poor Claude—what does all this mean?” “All what, mother?” he asked, briefly. “Barbara’s strange conduct,” she replied. “She tells me she has given you your freedom. I asked no questions from her—l felt too angry. Tell me, have you accepted it?” } “I have,” said Lord Bayneham, “and • gladly, too. I am of Barbara’s opinion—j our engagement was a terrible mistake. She is a noble girl, and 1 love her as । though sho were my own sister; but I can never care more for her than I do now.” Lady Bayneham’s face grew white with anger. "It seems I am utterly ignored in the matter," she said bitterly. "Not ignored, mother,” replied Chitide, gayly; "but you see, us the matter restock with Barbara and myself, we settled our own affairs,” "I never admire flippancy,” was the haughty reply; "it is not in good taste from you to me, Claude.” "I beg your pardon, mother," he replied, earnestly, "I only meant to say it was a matter that concerns ourselves alone.” “Toll me one tiling,” cried Lady Bayneham "has Barbara dismissed you? Os have you ceased to love her?” "Barbara dismissed mo,” he replied, with a strange smile. “Then she is a false, faithless girl, and must be brought to reason," said the countess. indignantly. "Hush, mother.” stud the earl. “She Is the noblest and truest of women. Sho dismissed me because she saw that I had learned to love some one else truly and dearly. She would not stand between mo and happiness. 1 should never have named my love; I should have married Barbara. and endured my life ns I mild. But she saw it. and set me free.” "It is just as I expected,” wan her ladyship’s indignant comment “a set of ridiculous, sentimental ideas. So yon, my lord, have broken your faith, if not vour । word, with the ‘noblest of women!’ You । fly in the very tace of society ; you set the i world and all its laws at defiance and for what ! for the love of some fair, foolish I face. or. perhaps worse. 1 cannot tell.” "Be just, mother," said Lord Bayneham. "I have done all you say for love of the sweetest, loveliest and purest girl the world over wiw.” "Favor me with the name of your new love.' said the count) ss oonfmnptiiously. "1 hat e no wish to hear any absurd rhapsodies.” "The girl I love and have ask« d t<> be my wife, is Hilda Hutton. Lady Hutton's ward, he replied. “I twg you, mother, I to say what you will of me. but spare her. I love her, mid she will be my wife." Never with Illy consent," ex< laimed I tho eountt -■ "I forbid miy su< h folly. I I insist upon your returning to your al- I legiance to Barbara, mid forgetting this I fair, foolish "Hush, said I.ord Bnynelinm, his face I growing dark mid stern "not one word I against her. Thore are limits to a man's j patience, mother." "And to his court--y. It seem*" tv*! fortod the Indy. "I refuse tn hrtr one j word more. If I could Idinve you m rimiM. Claude. nit sorrow would he so great t it would neat ly kill me. When you hnv* ] thought betti rof it. -ui e m me again,” With a • ■••.al thus dismi- ;.‘d |u f -on (Tv bo enntinmsl ) POTTER PALMER S PORTER. Why There An No More lips for Taking Trunk* Ip Stair**. This is the nnn iilve of Pott t Palmer and Ids chief porter, as told in a Chicago paper; Mr. Palmer has what he considers an educat'd last.* in horseflesh, lie thinks be,knows a trotter when he cos him, and has little doubt of his ability to j Judge of the aforesaid trotter when ho sits behind him with ribbons In his j bands. Mr. Palmer sunt" time ago bought a I horse with an alleged ability to do a mile in 2:50. that str o k him as being extremely desirable. He paid a good deal of money for the animal, and he was filled with delight when he thought of the easy and brash mann> r in which he would pass the various turnouts on the Lake Shore drive. He asked Mrs. Palmer to come out with him to try the new horse, ami, having nothing better to do, Mrs. Palmer consented. The wagon was yoked up and the driver attached. (ino by one the speedy hors's of the neighboring Armours and Trees and Healys were passed, and Mr. Palmer was just beginning to rejoice in his purchase when there came behind him the clatter ami rattle of a badly constructed village cart. “M e v. ill have to have one more run, my dear,” said Potter Palmer. “Just this once, love," said Mrs. Potter Palmer. The clattering camo nearer, and nearer, and nearer, and then presenter and presenter, and at last passkiger and passinger. until it faded away in the distance far beyond anything Potter Palmer and bls new horse could do, but as the vehicle went by Mr. Palmer recognized the driver. It was his own head porter! The man who had thus brought him to open shame was tho person who told the slaves how to pile the truuics around in the Palmer House. He said nothing just then, but like the parrot In tho story he thought a heap. Mrs. Palmer made sttfli conversation as there was held in the rest of the trip, ami Mr. Palmer go t back to the hotel as soon as possible. "How much does the head porter get a month?” he demanded. "l itty dollars,' replied the manager. “Ilow can lie buy trotting stock on SSO a month?” demanded Mr. Palmer. "Oh, you forget his fees.” “What fees?” “Why.his tips—the money people give the head porter when their luggage is brought for them.” “Hereafter,” said Mr. Palmer, “no porter is to be permitted to collect fees. You see that he doos what he is paid to do for what he is paid for it. And, by the ivay, find out what he will take for that horse he had out to-day.”

AGRICULTURALNEWS things pertaining to the farm and home. h Unwise to Incur Much Debt to ^ock u„ d Tool the 1 ,- urm _ Amo|lllt ™ lertili^er to Be Used-Directions »or Spruylnu Trecx. Beginning Farming. it does not seem wise to incur much oeot to stock and tool the farm. A team IB a necessity, but a serviceable one ! may be purchased very cheap. Pertain tools are indispensable, but it is better to get only these at first and add to them afterwards, one nt a time. Same cows may be purchased, nnd others added or raised. It Is most prof--U&ble sometimes to begin small and Increase as experience and results Bdkn to warrant. The same is true of pMtltry, small fruits, etc. Tho farm rJ ! .v be gradually improved, buildings 3pulred, and needed HnprovefgQnUjj N^ade w ithouL__Ju^g harder . ll^SfflirWTnTortable stables are n t*’ os^y to profitable dairying, ami a silo isa great help to cheaper feeding. One Buould be careful about making luvesttients that do not tend, directly or in Arectly, to pay for themselves and in ctease the earning capacity of the firm. Much may be learned by a Bindy of the methods of successful farmers in the neighborhood. In selling the products, the middle- i man should be dispensed with so far as possible, and business done with the consumer. If the farmer intends to cater to a summer hotel or similar trade, ho must have a variety of products. What these shall be he must judge for himself, nnd be influenced by the demands. All dairy ami poultry products will be wanted. Chickens, fresh and plump, will find n great market. All choice fruits will sell well nnd be profitable to grow, as well as fresh vegetables. Those maturing during the season when summer boarders abound must be chosen. The claim Is sometimes made that tho summer ; hotels and bearding houses get most of their supplies from the city. This Is often true, but it Is b<*cnuso they arc forced to do so. They must have certain continuous nnd regular supplies, i nnd In many neighlmrhoods those canD« be obtained from the farmers. Thore Is good money ami genuine sat isfaetlon In furnishing these choice pnslucts. often city people who are 'vfii fed direct from tho farm during I their summer outings, desire n continunnco of these same products In their | cl^ hoUMW. ami thus the market may *hq extended. The summer boarder is fa| profitable field for cultivation. Cauutry Genlh man. ^W^sit Dreaming* of Fertiliser. A prftfwwor In om- of the experiment j stations ridicules the farmers who use | only Ks) to 20«> pHuiib of phosphate ; per a<to, saying that this quantity is not enough to give the manure a fair I chance. It all depends upon tl. • < tn which the fertilizer is applied. 1’ Is fair to pr« smne that the farmers who use this small quantity per acre k::oo nhnt they are alsmt. om- hundred ami fifty to fl.'s l p<mnd.* of phosphate p-r arm, drilled In with wheat, barley or produces large increase of the crops of all these grains. These j amounts are for such crops .ill that are needed on good land and will produce Ih'tter results than more would do We have known farmers t• < apply lot) to sno I |M>unds of pliosphale to grain, causing I too mnk a growth, giving sometimes a poorer yield of grain than the smaller amount. The phosphate with the seed * made some of the soil in < mitact with It give up more of its plant food than it otherwise would. But if phosphate is sown broadcast instead of being drilled with the seed a larger amount Is needed to produce any effect. More mineral manures should also be applied to potato and vegetable crops, but the amount that can be used in the hill with potatoes is not more than 150 to 2imi pounds per acre. If broadcasted, 000 to 800 poumls per acre can b ■ us< ' with profit Where these large amounts are used much of the phosphate remains for use the second year. The small dressing of phosphate with grain shows Its effects In the clover which follows it. ■Tur for Woijiklh on Trcus. So.;)© kinds of fruit tret s have such f] t .li c at(^*b:irk that their trunks and in Rome 'W (vS their hi'iiO’-hes have their p ar p scaled and cracked by exposure to Thc Twenty ounce apple ■ lolly liable to this injury. It is n He/ valuable and productive varicty and tills is its only fault. Henry Beyi^ilds of North Carolina says that tho implication of tar to bark that is scalded and cracked enables a to heal perfectly. He finds it very valuable . to cure injuries made by the poach tree borer, taking eare to first kill the borer. The application of the tar to tho trim - of peach trees near the ground lie finds to be the cheapest and easiest way to prevent the deposit of the peach borers’ S praying. As to spraying apple trees, all depends on what they are to be sprayed for. If for the scab, xvhieh of late has proved so damaging to the apple crop, they should be sprayed twice before the leal buds open, and with Bordeaux mixture, if they are to be sprayed to destroy the codling moth, this should be done soon after the blossoms fall, and Avith Bordeaux mixture, adding about two pounds of london purple to 300 gallons of the wafer; mixing the purple first in a small dish into a thin paste, before putting it into the tank of waiter. London purple is better than paris green, for the reason that when mixed into the water it does not settle as paris green does. Once spraying thoroughly for the codling moth, if well done, will do, except xvlien a 1 rain follows the spraying very soon,

in which case It should be repeated. A light spray, Just enough to wet every part of the tree, is all sufficientCountry Gentleman. Dorses In Old Age. It is a common opinion that a horse of twelve years Is too old for service, but I have one at the present time that Is thirty years old. and good for a ride of thirty miles a day yet. He Is dot his usual xvork and keejis his level Lyi! side a mule only six years old in plow or the wagon. I once bought a mule thr. wr d to be forty-five years old. an^" ,'idenee was certainly tr^^,,W .that he had been worlc^^ q- .aniily thirty five years, n nim from the grandson of e man -ra.o had him all that time. » think T am correct in saying that- the noted trotting mare Goldsmith Maid went into the breeding stable only whim twenty-six years old, aud many of the best of the racers hav. lived over tliirty years. . here is a record of a shire horse In Jngland that reached the age of tlftyil nine years, at which his teeth and eyes xvere still good, and he was then pensioned off by ids owner on a farm. My forty-flve-year-old mule did good service drawing empty railroad cars into a mine which I was then working, to be loaded with Iron ore, and I kept him at it two years, when I gave him to i the person who bought out my interest i in the property. He was still nt the same work two years after that. My old horse is still able to shell his corn as well as my young mules can. and how much longj er he will work I suppose depends on his ability to feed, which just at present seems to bo assured for several yeai*s, as evidenced by the vigorous neigh when I go into the stable at feeding time. And occasionally he । takes a colt like frolic with his companions in the pasture. Now, If it Is possible for a horse, by means of good feeding ami general eare. to live and work to such an age as this, how much is tin' aggregate loss which occurs through neglect and mismanagement <>n all the farms in the country? Country Gentleman. Heavy Ferdins: on Rich La The question as to whether th, seedI Ing or thick seeding ot grain preferable cannot l»e determined by any general rule. Sometimes thin seeding produces a full crop, especially if the s.-cd be sown early and the season be such ns to Induce tilling of the plant. But on very rich land this makes too luxuriant growth of straw, which falls down and makes the grain light .and shrunken. If tho soil is very rich it ia better to sow the grain so thickly that the plints will slightly crowd each other from the first. Al»out the time of io tiding the plants will draw so heav- ■ lly on the s»>ll for moisture that each x% 111 check the growth of the other, and nil will stand up w itH w ell tilled heads of grain Hut this heavy seeding will be hard on clover or grass seed, though n<<t so much so as will the fallen straw where the seeding has not been so heavy. Manurr for Onions. The nauuint of mnoure necessary to bring a good crop of onions depmnls on previous treatment of the land; In other words, on it* present state of fertility. It is always sal" to be liberal and to err oti the side >f generosity, rather than the <>pp site. Hut on a good coat of manure if you have it. No soil is bctt-T adapted for the exclusive use of fertilizers than that which is well provid- d wlfh organic matter, Ilk > muck ami jm aty lands, etc. Still, we would prefer the application of good, rotted stable manure, nt least every second or third year. Nothing in the shap r ‘ of fertili'Z' is for muck lands would be superior to wood ash.-s and bone. <Hi a good, rich muck, we think 100 bushels of unieached wood ashes nnd 100 pounds of tine bone meal an acre would be .sufficient to give an extra crop. Butter f< r Eiialish Markets. The butter from Holland dairies is v< ry soft, ami for this reason does not keep so well when sent abroad. Danish butter is hard, and it has therefore superseded butter from Holland in English markets. The Danish dairymen feed a good d"al of oil meal. This makes butter of a firm texture, and one that bears transportation well. It is w’eP known that the filling of cotion seed meal makes the butter hard, and this teed ought always to make some part of the ration for unifies w here the butter is to go to England. A Pound a Day. A good butter cow should produce at least one pound of butter per day. ; There are hundreds of cows which proi duce double that quantity, but where I a farmer Ims a herd lie ran just as easj ily procure a pound of butter from each | cow as not, provided lie will raise his calves and breed for butter-producing qualities. Breeders of puic-bred stock would not keep a cow in the herd that i even produced so small a quantity of I butter as a pound a day. AA’ecda in Clover Seed. The foulest seed sold is that of red (lover. All sorts of weed seeds may be found in it, and much of the seed itself is not sound. It is not inferred that such seed is sold w ith the object of imposition, but as much of it comes from different sources it is difficult to secure clean seed. The clover seed is a very small bean, and is easily distinguished with a large reading glass of high magnifying powers. Advntange of AVurm Feed. Giving warm feed to young animals not disposed to be thrifty will very often have a happy effect. These animals may suffer from w eak digestion, w hich in turn produces a poor appetite. The animal does not eat heartily, and what it does eat is not well digested. A hot mess some cold morning sharpens the appetite and tones up the digestion.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. THOUGHTS WORTHY OF CALM REFLECTION, A Pleasant, Interesting, and Instructive Lesson, and Where It May Be Found—A Learned and Concise Re* 4 view of the Same. Lesson for May 5. Golden Text.—“ Tho cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?”—John 18: 11. The lesson this week is found in Mark 14: 32-42, ami deals with tho immediate sequel to the Supper is Gethsemane. We are also here at the close shadow of the i cross. Right between the last supper ami > the last suffering stands the garden of . Gethsemane. If tho supper was for the । strengthening of the disciples and s the cross for the finishing of the work, this was for the strengthening and comforting of him who 1 gave bread for the supper anil an offering • for the cause. The closing hymn was a sung at the Pascal feast, and they went - out, only one of them knew to what. / Across the Kidron, under the glootn of . night, they bent their steps, and up the j lower slopes of Olivet. Here was tha ( cool retreat of a garden where they had often met; to Jesus a fit closet for his 1 communings with the Father; to Judas ’ a suitable place of betrayal. Thus often are the most sacred spots dishonored and dishallowed. When the sons of God • come to present themselves before the Lord, Satan comes also among them. We shall presently see even his holy of holies invaded with sword and lance and false kiss. As sang the loved poet Sidney Lanier: “Into the woods my Master went Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to him. The little gray leaves were kind to him. The thorn-tree had a mind to him— When into the woods he came. Out of the woods my Master went And he was well content. Out of the woods my Master came, Content with death and shame. When death and shame would woo him last. I’rom under the trees they drew him last; 'Twas on a tree they slew him last When out of the woods he came.” “They came to a place.” A place ordained of God from the foundation of th-3 world, the hist station on the way to the cross. It was named "Gethsemane.” Gethsemane means oil-press. Have you been through it? Do you know anything of its fruits? Better still, have you been touched with the well-refined cil of Christ's Gethsemane? ”Sit ye here, while I shall pray.” We do little better to-day. We sit here, part of the time asleep. Christ is yonder praying. Lord, relax not thy vigilance. Our strength, at best, is so weak. I’ray on. "O hands that were extended Upon the awful tree, Lift up those previous nail-prints A !:<1 intercede for me.” “Tarry ye here and watch.” It is our part. Christ is the author and finisher of our faith. In a very large sense the battli- is his; he wrestles for us and wins the victory. A faithful watching people he most desires. We stand, as it were, still upon the edge of Christ's achieving. There within he is, again, holding audi•nee with the Father and workingout great lesigns. Presently he will return. What he said then he says to his church still—'Watch!” “And pray.” This also for us. Bee the lame and limping disciples when the soldiery enme upon them. Only Christ was ready; only he had prayed. Prayer is a wonderful revealer of character. When trouble comes, and it comes upon nil alike, you can tell Christ's own by the cry of prayer that springs to the lips. Thank God, then, for trouble, too, if only it bring us to deeper prayer. For remember this, the leaves of the thicket hide * lod's angels, unawares. Hints and Illustrations. We have our Gethsemanes, all of us. “They came to a place which was named Gethsemane.” Have you reached it yet? Gethsemanes there are of grief, of loss, of struggle, of bereavement, and you have the record within a record both of loss and gain. We ought to get blessing and help out of our Gethsemanes, Christ did. Shall not we? i Gethsemane means suffering. It means ■ also solitude in suffering, and particularly’ ( and pre-eminently was this the case with , Jesus who trod the wine press alone, and of the people there was none with him. This is true also in a degree of all suffer1 ing. We can go to a certain distance 1 with those who tire in grief or pain. Oar brotherly sympathy keeps company a bit ' of the way, but presently we reach a limit, we can go no farther, and the soul in j affliction or bereavement goes on alone, we standing afar as it were with our signals of solicitude and love. In this sense, "the heart knoweth its own bitterness.” But God knows it, too, and the heart is not alone since Jesus has trodden this way of the olives before us; aye, he treads it with us. “And the feeble hands and helpless, Groping blindly in the darkness, Touch God’s right hand in that darkness. And are lifted up and strengthened.” And strength out of suffering. There seems a new majesty ami power in that calm face on the edge of the thicket as Christ says to his slayers. “Whom seek ye?” Indeed he is the only one who is unperturbed and self-possessed. While his disciples were sleeping he has been watching. Have you not seen it so, the strength and beauty’ of character that has been developed after long days of sickness, sickness that has been taken aright? Could Charles Spurgeon speak great comfort and especially in his later years? He was a great sufferer and he knew Gethsemane. Pain make^ sinners worse sinners perhaps, but it also makes saints more verily saints. Therefore we are fain to keep on singing it. Whatever our place allotted to us by Providence, that for us is the post of honor and duty. God estimates us not by the position we are in, but by the way in which we fill it. —Tryon Edwards. The elephant is commonly supposed to be a slow, clumsy animal, but when excited or frightened can attain a speed of twenty miles an hour and keep it up for half a day. The tail of a comet is far more trans, parent than the earth's atmosphere.