St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 21, Number 15, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 2 November 1895 — Page 7

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CHAPTER Mil.—(Continued.) The little group about Aube’s chair made way at once for the ladies, who were now all smiles, and after a while Aube's court dispersed, leaving the trio alone. “My darling, you look quite weary,” Baid Madame Saintone, taking Aube's hand. “Yes.” echoed Antoinette, eagerly. '“Aube, dear, have some tea or lemonade.” “No, no,” she said, smiling gratefully; “I only want to be quiet and look at the beautiful sunset. 1 ought not to mind, but talking so much tires me. It is ungrateful. for everyone is so kind.” “Os course,” said Madame Saintone, ’“and these fashionable young men chatter so much nonsense—so full of flattery. It is wearisome at times. 1 know poor '^oinette is glad to get away from it all.” svuded at the gj r j nlld w j s h P( i j n her heart üb! Hke her hett and that she did w^,,, think thm . waß a something m her WIUVWAIII whi( . h re . polled her as much as the vn nKVVV < CIS . derness of her mother. “We shall soon be there now, shall we\ not?" said Aube, after a silence, during which she sat back, gazing wistfully at the sea. “Yes, to-morrow morning: and then we shall be at home." “And it is very beautiful, is it not, Madame Saintone?" “Beautiful beyond description, my dear. Very different to Paris. A land of sunshine and flowers and fruit. No cold, gray, chilly skies there.” “Yes, it must be very, very lovely.” sighed Aube: and then to herself, "a fit home for the dear mother who is waiting to take me to her hear : ." And then words rose to her lips. These people had seen and known her mother slightly, they had said, and she wanted to question them about her—to ask what she was likeabout the home to which she was going—a hundred things. But there was something about Madame Saintone which kept her from making her the depositary of

the burning thoughts which agitated her, and the days had glided by during the peaceful voyage till now. when it was nearly at an end, she was as ignorant of her mother and her surroundings as ever. “Yes, my dear, it is beautiful: ami. Aube, don't think me vain. You will be ■delighted with my home. You know I adore flowers, and my home is a perfect bower. Ah, my darling. 1 am so glad that we met as wo did. I can never be thankful enough to the Consul for giving me so delightful n charge.” “I ought to be grateful, too. Madame Saintone,” said Aube, coloring. “You and Antoinette here have been most kind to me.” “Oh. nonsense!” said 'Toinette. “Who could help being kind to you?” “Ah, who indeed? Aube, my dear, you must make our place your home as much as you can. Our society may be a little ■ dull, but the welcome will be sincere. | You and 'Toinette must play and practice ■ together.” She fixed her eyes on her daughter us she spoke, for the girl was biting her ! lips viciously. “Is mamma gone mad?" she thought ; to herself. “You are too kind to me." said Aube, who felt oppressed by al. this. "Os ; •course. I shall come to see you. but after I all this long parting, my mother xv ill hard- ; ly like me to leave her side." “At first, of course." said Madame Sain ! tone. “Ah. look!” she said, "you are having a glorious welcome home. It is as if heaven were smiling upon your return.” “Yes," said Aube, softly, as she gazed with a strange feeling of awe nt t' glories of the western sky. "I ' anything so grand as thi ' viu "No, my dear, I11)W j ook here j k* take uj»n myself to give you ; of advice. To-morrow morning you | will meet your mamma. Now I should ; say you ought to look your best and put ■on your richest dress." “Richest dress?” said Aube, wondering- j Jy. “I have only that white cashmere." “Oh, my darling, that will hardly do. ■

I know. I have it. Yon and 'Toinette are just of a size. She shall lend you her gold-colored brocade: it would go admirably with your dark complexion." Antoinette’s jaw dropped. and there was a look of horrified astonishment in tier eyes: but her mother stave her so tierce a Hash of the eyes that she forced a smile, and then as the eyes still fastened her as if commanding her to speak, she said, hastily: “Oh, yes. mamma, it would look charming upon her.” “You are both very good me,” said Aube, gravely; “but I cannot do that. I would rather my mother should see me as I am—just as I have been all these years at the convent.” “But. my dear," said Matlame Saintone, “it is a woman’s duty to make the best ■of herself.” “Yes; so I have been told. I think it was you who said so, Antoinette; but you will excuse me and not think me ungrateful.” “Oh, no, my dear." said Madame Saintone, trying to hide her disappointment; “and perhaps you are right. That simple cashmere does become you so well. What, going?” The light had died out in the west, and the rapid tropic night was coming on as Aube rose. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to be alone to think about to-morrow. I will say good-night now." “Oh, no, no, my dear," cried Madame Saintone, taking the extended hand. “I shall come to your cabin last thing as I always do. A nice mother’s part I should be playing to you if I neglected you on the last night of the voyage. Why, my dear, your cheeks are flushed, and

your hands are cold. You are not going , to be ill?” “Oh. no!” said Aube, smiling. lam a little excited, that is all; is it not natural just ns I am about to meet the mother I feel that I have hardly ever seen i ’ She kissed Madame Saintone, who embraced her affectionately, and then turned to Antoinette, who kissed her lovingly on either cheek. “Do have the dress, dear, she said, I _ should be so glad to lend it to you.” Aube shook her head, and tv ent to her cabin without another word. “Nearly new, and I could never have worn it again,” said Antoinette in an angry whisper. “It would have been contamination. Mother, you must be mad. What do you mean?” “Wait and see, my dear,” said Madame Saintone, mockingly, “wait and see." CHAPTER IX. The French mail steamer did not reach Port an Prince at daybreak next morning, for there was a screw loose in the machinery, with the customary result on • board a French vessel. Everybody, from j captain downwards, flew into a state i ot the moHt intense excitement, behaving as if it was bounden duty to hinder everybody else, so ttmt a slight mishap that ought to have been rectified in a couple of hours took five times that time, and it was again evening when they went slowly in. Fortunately the weather had been glorious. and the delay had been the only ; trouble with which the passengers had ' ■ to contend, a delay which told heavily I ! upon Aube, who felt a strange constrie ; ; tion at the heart, and as if the hour of ; meeting would never come. As the afternoon eaiuc slowly on she ! had stood beneath the awning watching ; intently the high ground of the interior j of the island gradually assuming form. I and looking less like clouds resting on , the sea: then forests and valleys began ; to grow distinct, and beneath the dazi zling sunshine in a glowing haze she had ■ realized fully that the place was indeed ;

an Eden set in that wonderfully blue sea. ' As of old. during the voyage, she had been surrounded by an eager little throng; but she was so abstracted, so rapt in the i sight of her future home, that, one by ' one, impressed by her silence and the look of excited agony in her face, they had all dropped away. Hence it was that Aube was standing alone beneath the awning, when, some few miles still from the port, whose houses were now distinct ly visible, a yacht-like vessel with white sail came skimming alongside, and catch j ing the rope thrown, one <>f her enav i climbed cleverly on board, to be followed by her passenger, a gentleman clothed in white, who after saluting the captain, to whom he seemed well known, went quick ly to where the passengers were gathered, and was clasped in Madame Sainfoin > ■ arms. “Etienne, my dear boy. once m> re। | she cried, tragically. "Have yon got ; i wet ?” “(Inly a splash or two." said th • young I । man carelessly. “Well, Tonic." he eon- ! ' tinned, kissing that young lady with a ; I kind of peck which was coolly received ■ ! on one cheek, "Paris hasn't done yo” ' I much good: you look skinnier and yellow i er than ever." "And you." retorted the gill with an . | angry flash of her ey es, "you look Pah! , ■ comtemptible!" "Hush!" said Madame Saintone, | ly. "Etienne, here. Teineite, g.. . ■ that everything in the cabin '• ■ >"• going ashore.” The girl gav« । ■ 11 ■ look, a c.-irobn b came easy to her. and .i oway. while her mother took the newcomer by' the arm. "No, no.” she said, in a quick, eager whisper. “Don't smoke now. I want to i ; talk business to you." "Business, eh?” he retorted. "That I moans money. Well, it is as scarce as ■ ever.” "Because of your extravagance, sir." i said Madame Saintone, bitterly . “No.” he replied with a laugh. “Mad • nine's Paris society fashions. That's the ■ way the money melts, dearest mother." "I oolish boy. ' she said. "Enough of

> that. Look here, Etienne, fate has been - very kind to me.” “Indeed!” he said, contemptuously. “Picked up a rich French husband?” “What would you say if I had brought you back a rich wife?” “Bless you. But no. thank you. my dearest of scheming mothers, I know what rich wives are old. thin, sour and pinched.” "No,” sho whispered. “Young and rich, beautiful as a houri, innocent as a babe. Fresh from a convent, my son—a girl who has never hardly heard the name of love.” “That will do," he said merrily. “Where is she—in one of your trunks?” "Hush! be sensible!" “But are you in earnest, eh. mother?” “Earnest? Yes. It is a young lady I have had under my charge to bring home. She is really beautiful as her name.” “Eh? What is it?” “Aube.” “The dawn! Come, that’s romantic. And rich?” Iler mother’s heiress.” "And her mother -whore is she? Jamaica—Cuba?” “Here, at Fort an Prince.” “Some one I know?” “Yes,” she whispered, taking her son’s hand. “I will introduce you directly.” “Let it be directly then. Don’t keep me ’ on thorns; I’m desperately in love already. Who is she—who is the mother?” ] “Venousie —Madame Dulau.” ( “What!” cried the young man with a burst of laughter. “Oh, absurd!" “Etienne, don’t be a fool. I tell you < the girl is an angel. We want money ‘ horribly, and she is rich.” “But, mother! Oh, I see! For shame, s wicked old woman, to tempt you.’’ son. 1 You mean—” l

“T mean her to be your wife, boy," said Madame Saintone, sternly. “My wife —Mahme’s child?” “The child of your father’s old friend and companion. Do you hear me? She । has been from a mere infant at a French convent pension, and she is now all that is graceful ami beautiful.” “Yes, and her mother is ” “The woman who has been waiting for her all those years, and amassing money, that her daughter might be a lady. Etienne, my son, if you are not blind you will see that here's a prize that will restore us.” “Oh, yes; but the mother!" “Bah! What is the mother to us.’ What will she be to such a girl? Can you not see a few yards beyond join nose?” "Yes, but ” “Foolish boy! I can manage all that. Trust me.” , , “Oh yes- but I should be laughed at by every one I know. Just, too, as I am trying hard to come to the front. Moth-

er, 1 am almost certain to be elected as a deputy." , ~ ~ . "And some day you may be I resident, my boy. But you want more money—to live well, to entertain your friends, dinners, carriages, wines, Etienne. “Yes, but ” “You have not seen the lady, hoy. What is birth to us out here? Mho among us could bear an examination. . "Well, at all events wejMlvc veins,” said the young man. hotly. “Indeed!” said his mother, with an imperceptible sneer. “But, really, mother ” “You foolish fellow! We are getting close in to the port, and I want to make an impression on her before she meets her mother. 1 tell you she is heart whole, and so innocent that you, with your handsome face and winning ways, backed up by me. are safe to conquer. Come, now, and I’ll introduce' yon." “Ah, well,” said Saintone, flushing a little with this tiring of his natural vanity, “I can see her of course, but I’m not goir< to bind myself to anything, and so I tell you.” "Come," said his mother, with her eyes half closed ami a peculiar look about her thin lips. “Come. Etienne." she said again as sin- took his arm. “I know your nature better than you know it yourself. I Imve not been blind to all your follies," she whispered. “What do you mean?” "Oh. nothing." she said with a laugh: "perhaps I os thinking of Lity and Euphrosym . and half-a-dozen others. . ending with swarthy Eugenie. But 1 I hoard rumors of some one else." i "< th. nonsense!" he said consciously, as ho let his mother lead him toward the auning where one figure draped in soft white stood alone gazing wildly at the port with its crowd of boats and wellthronged wharf. The figure of the young girl seemed to stand out in a wonderfully statuesque fashion in the glow east bv the sun through the awning. Iler back was to- ! ward them, and Etienne Saintone could . only see the soft outlines of a graceful

figure, and the great coils of black hair whoso wealth of profusion was clustered beneath si light straw hat: hut the mother smiled slightly as she saw a flash of eagerness in the young man's eyes, mid as she said, quietly, "Aube, my darling, let me introduce you to my son," she drew ba<-k to watch the result. Aube turned round dreamily, and met Saintone's eyes, raising her hand to him mechnni< ally . The efTect was aII Madame Saintone could have desired, for her won enught • the extended hand in his ami held it. "IMBighted.” he exelnimod. “Very glad to meet you. ('emo home, have you not - from Paris?" "Yes." said Aube, quietly, as she looked at the speaker in n half dreamy way. hardly seeing him. hardly realizing his , presence. "1 have come back home." "Yes. Etienne, and she is w atching f >r i Madame Dulau There. let us go now. Aube is comitu to sc us soon, and you (two can talk then as long as you like.” Aube darted a crab 10l giam'e : t the speaker, smiling pleasantly, ind then • turned, witli the smile stii! lighting up i her features, to the man. "Yes,” she said: "I am waiting for : mamma” the tears sprung to her eyes then " and yon will not think me rude * if I do not sp, ak to you two "But h t tm- find Io i . I ’ me hi ip you." i said Saint. ■ ■ ■ ’-n> b • ••N । my b y." s; d Madame Sninr. ■ c. as she took her sm A arm; “1 want your services for your sister ami mvself.” "But I can see to you too." he said. "Yes, but for dear Aube's sake. Etienne. my boy. They have not met for years. Such an encounter should be sacred to them, and our presence here , would be cruel. Come!" “(th. Madame Saintone.” cried Aube, impetuously. as she tool; a step forward and kissed her: "thank you for that. You have been so kind to me. 1 never knew you till now." “Bless yon. my darling." said the scheming woman. e shall be near at hand if we can help you. If not, dearest, an revoir. Come, my son." (To be continued.)

4 Once Owned St. Paul. Pierre Bottineau, who lies dying at Red I.ake Falls, has an interesting biography. one in which the early history of Minnesota is interwoven. He is a native of Dakota, born about rwelvo

miles west of Grand Forks. He is the son of Charles and Margaret <clea,r Sky) Bottineau. About the time of his birth Lord Selkirk formed a colony of Swedes and Scotchmen near Feit Garry, and after the death of Lord Selkirk they e.mnnenced an exodus. Although Pierr* Bottineau was yet a boy. he was well skilled as a guide;, and ho acted as such to a groat many families. In a great many early expeditions he was employed as a scout and guide by the Government, as, for instance, in the noted Sibley expedition across the plains. He is well acquainted with all Dakota. Minnesota and Montana, and his services as guide were invaluable. In IS 11 he took a claim where St. Paul now stands, but later sold it for a horse ;md cow. He then bought a claim whore St. Anthony falls is located, and by the dishonesty of purchasers lost it. These properties are worth to-day many millions. He has had twenty-three children, of whom eight have died.—Minneapolis Journal. There is only one explanation of the action of the bankrupt congress of Servia in voting a pension of $75,000 per annum to ex-King Milan, and that Is that the premier hopes to win It all back at poker.

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PUFFED up, not by vanity of woman, but by a long reach after the j n aesthetic, the prevailing big ;tv Heeves on women s gowns have found at and strenuos indorsement. There v re millions in them; locally a million diQp least, from the mercenary point of s: B eW ‘ this milion must Ite set unto -’rneath that other million of feminine naTX Misfactiou in the wearing, ami added sU . U ’, thus mak ‘ng two millions. Then di 2k* " itb ,he enlarged and pathological „.^ar ove - Xt ls 11 dream and a reality; a O,> ’Modern dressmaking art 1,1 Snoods market: ■ a million-of dollars added to tn., H ‘ llTgOodß ’Merchants, .IMP tluy are the persons who tire S .Hr j lup their unqualified indorsement the fashion which prescribes the has materially modified the ;W^ ra n<’e of nearly every woman un--r tlie sun. U ' e COSt of ^“larged sleeves Tr» Ch mago at $1,000,000, savs the ® “^Herald. there is Included anothw J™; a “ tnshion, which is like- ? Utlfnl but expensive-the fashtlf “ of S p »7’Us skirts, as generous as n J It thrift ‘he grandmothers, though 21 ^thrust out with hoops or crinoline.

' A CUARTET OF NEW YORK LADY B.'CYCUSra Iwll

to mletihitioiis have been reduced to P^per by a leader in the Chicago dryP tKxl^ trade. He has included in his <>f 'la. 10 ~nt silk goods. The ‘ !l * n ’* u> consumption of other goods necessitated by the fashion Mg sleeves and spreading skirts "®»ld add an indefinite number of dolhMp to the following t able. The dry gjK>ds man figures that there are 2.ta00. poop],, in I'hb ago: of that number are women grown. Allow each ofA^tcm one new silk dress a year. It is trgtb that many have none, but many <d Imrs have from seven to twentv. A pa ir of sleeves now requires for its m iking three yards more and a skirt so nr yards more of goods than was de m mded In the old style ot dressmaking 1 Hs is a total ot seven yards increase in the garment, in .qiin.ooo gowns such i ' at । increase amounts to ” IdO.oott yards, w lieh. a. -si cents a yard (minimum p! ice on -.. st. cos sS 1 ip HM > Here it is tabulated; '] It crease in Ao ihhi pair sleeves ! ” Sl - ,n SiriO.fHMi ' Ifcrease m 3<M».tMMt skirts at $2 I lotal j; J i |j ()) , M l\nd now. since the puff sleeve is not native to Chicago or confined within the city's limit-., its effect upon the! dress goods market of the entire country is more widespread than the above j modest figures indh .He. One of Our Worn n. Mrs, Zerelda W tillace, whose ftime as j an apostle of temi>erance reform ami woman sufi'ragr has made her name a household word, almost as familiar all over the country as that of her stepson. ! General Lew Wallace, the author of Bell Hui. is quietly SJietlding the evening of her life on ('ataract farm, a country seat neat tlreem-astle. Ind., so thick- a ly overspread with beautiful hills and valleys, tangled woods and waterfalls, ;

that it seems in the heart of a mountain range. In this retreat of Alpine beauty the lovely old lady, whose tender hands retrod the great novelist from child

WwL MRS. ZKRELDA WALLACE. hood, and who. for thirty years, fought to save the youth of the Nation, is enjoying the well earned happiness of perfect peace and rest. At 7S years of age, her mind is as brilliant and vigorous as when she thrilled thousands of hearers twenty years ago, and to-day she can hold an audience spellbound for two hours with as great ease ns when in the midst of her great fight, nearly three decades in the pass. But she now seldom appears in public Her days are

spent with her family, her friends, and her books, and she enjoys to the utmost the beautiful scenery that can be seen in every direction from her room. Pineapples for Dyspepsia. The Times has before touched upon the use of food as medicine, but did not include the pineapple among its list of medicinal fruits. According to a correspondent, with the coming of the pineapple season, the word is renewed that the fruit is of especial value to the dyspeptic. In countries where the fruit is indigenous its hygenic qualities are well known, but the broad statement that pineapple everywhere and all con<it ions ot pineapple are wholesome Hine 1 m?i keU ; Vhh a llUle judgment, under frult ’ not over-ripe nor culenr ” ’ sweet and sue w d p ™ bab, - v one of the most wholesome foods that comes to our tables. It is easy, however, to have thespconditions infringed upon. Tough stungy. hard pines, as so often offered.’ are not wholesome, and are bard to digest 11 the fruit is found to be not n perfect condition, cutting it twelve hours beforehand ami pouring a wineglass of rum over it will add to its wholesomeness. Sugar freely an hour before serving, with good powdered sugar Emphasis is laid upon the good quality Os the sugar, as in powdered

sugar it is possible to buy abominablv adulterated sorts.-New York Times. ‘ M otherhood. Thou shalt have grace where ghuv is f or . got; • hy love all luminous in the world's last night; Thy children’s arms shall be thv ncklaee bright. And all Love's roses clamber to thy cot. ~ And it a storm one steadfast star shou d blot Brom thy pure heaven. God's angt’s shall relight 1 he lamps for thee, and make the darkness w hite; The lilies of His love shall be thy lot! Ho shall give all His angels charge of thee; Iby coming and thy going shall be : known. I heir steps shall shine before thee r-di antly. Lest thou diodd-t d ish thy too .-gainst a stone. Ihe cross still stands. Who -hall that love condemn Whoso mother-lips kissed Christ at Bethlehem ? 1 hicago Times Ilerald. i asr p. ■

Warm poppy reds are gaining early ’ prestige. Fichus with deep shoulder frills will be worn quite a little. Flaid braids, in two colors or as many shades as wanted, are found on all

sides. 1 lie very short sleeves for evening dresses have revived the fancy for bracelets. Black will hold just as strong a place as ever, although the tendency is for i very bright colors. The new Scotch tweeds show a mixI ture of color, having a dark shade prej dominating. There is nothing with a I decided check, stripe or figure, but i just a mixture. Laced street shoes are ar least three inches higher tha-n the cut last year, । the shoe for usual wear really approximating the height of the wheel or pe- ! destrian shoe. A charming reception frock, trimmed | ' with a fragile, applique, ivory-colored i Bretagne lace, is of chameleon-hued silk, with a sleeveless Eton jacket of dahlia velvet. A short fichu of ivory I mousseline de sole, edged with two i deep lace rutiles, covers the shoulders, ! ending in front under the sharp revers of the jacket. A ruffle of lace edges the I jacket at the waist, standing out from : its fullness and apparently tying in front with two long lace scarf ends. ' j There is also an ivory-colored chemisette and diamond buttons for the ! jacket. <

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE LESSON. Reflections of an Elevating Character -Wholesome Food for ThoughtStudying the Scriptural Lesson Intelligently and Profitably. Lesson for Nov. 3. Golden Text.—“ Hitherto hath the Lord helped us.”—l. Sam., 7:12. The lesson this week is found in I. Samuel. 7:5-15. A prophet in Israel, at last! We need one to-day. Family altars stilled, deserted churches through the country places half-empty churches in most of our popular neighborhoods, some times, alas, the pulpit half empty or wholly empty as regards the unction and power of the Holy One. The people look up and seo no glow divine, they listen to hear no voice speaking with authority. Too often it is so. Where is God’s prophet? Speak! Mrs. Browning safig to God's glory, yet mournfully: “Gods of IL lias, gods of Hellas ( an ye listen in your silence? Can your mystic voices tell us t xv-« r ° hWe - 1,1 floating islands J- W ith a wind that evermore ■ Keeps you out of sight of shore?-. Dan, Pan is dead. Yes Pm is dead, but ir-tTTo'd' Where is God s prophet: Let him speak And Samuel said. “Gather all Israel to - izjk n. Ihe prophet as organizer Samm- found Israel despised and disorganized atm consequently discouragednith a fine judgment of civil affairs he welded together the scattered parts and brought Israel to know herself again - a people, separate, distinct and, Hie prophet for a while f.’i , man. Who indeed und better the '"I wiH*;'^" ‘" r you Pefore tLe Lord.” \ cl<'."" -'’fognition of Israel’s King. His , t: .uxetion among the nations was a the-

ocracy. God was her governor and guide. .This was the main intent of Samuel in all his efforts for Israel, to train and teach the people of their spiritual leadership. It is what the prophet stands pre-emi-nently for in all time, to keep before the people the thought of God. There had been a marked preparation tor this went. The people did put away Baalim Ashtaroth. and “served the I>e«d only.” Consee'-ation. Are we looking tor a revival of religion? It will come by the same course as the old time awakening at Mizpeh. Turning from our idol* ind our easily besetting sins, calling heartily upon the Lord, we will find him gracious unto us. “Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortem d. that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy that it cannot hear; but your iniquities, your iniquities!” "Ami Samuel judged the children of Israel in Mizpeh. ' It is here at Mizneh

that the mat? of God finds his crown. At Mizpeh. ’he place of confession and contrition. Samuei is judge. Does your pastor or spiritual leader seem wanting in dignity and power? Give him a chance. "<'ome Holy Spirit, heavenly dove, M ith all thy quickening powers. Come shed abroad a Savior's love And that shall kindle ours.” But let the peoide of God once gathei thus with thei.' ordained leaders to the place or pcniteuce irrrd prayer! ami Ihe world -s mightily disturbed. The people could assemble at feast and festival, perhaps, w.thout serious offense to Satan, but the altar of consecration was a grave menace to the interests of the kingdoms of this world. It was when Israel was gathered together at Mizpeh that “the Philistines went up against Israel.” It is always so. "If God be for us,” says Paul, “who against us!” Not “who can be” against us. Just because we are for God and God is for us the world will be against us. But who is he that is against us? At God's side, what care we for the world? “In Judah is God known: his name is great in Israel. Ln Salem also is his tabernacle, and his dwelling place in Zion. There break ho the arrows of the bow-, the shield, and the sword, and the battle." Never fear! Here was Israel, close about God. in fasting and prayer. And there came Philistines against Israel. No, they were coming against God. And what took place? God simply “thundered” out of the midst of Israel, where he deigned to dwell, and, like the leaves before the tempest the insolent Philistines went whirling, in discomfiture and confusion, back to their coswts. Kbenezcr. God is our rock. Keep close to twnv. 1 rations. The mission of the vvophet—what is it? Have we need of such a vowe to-dav ' The prophet stands in the midst level-looking world, pointing upward. Calf him other worldly, if you like. He is the best friend this old world has. The only way to keep things under our nether laws of moral gravitation, from running down, is to keep picking them up. No lines run

straightly horizontal unless there be strong, staunch vertieles lifted here and there. The sag and slant of our telegraph lines tell us this much. We cannot get along without the appoint and uplift of God’s pr >tir. Alas for the community whose prophets look merely level with the world's thinking. and pull parallel with the world’s drifting. The thought that helps, the influence ihat elevates is always at an angle: it may be a right angle, more likely . a tangent, but it is at least departure from present tendency and trend; it speaks of better things. A suspension bridge that throws no lines upward, for I guiding and sustaining, will simply make I a vast dip net of itself. The slope of our I roofs is for something else than water shed. There is a tug and a lift at the gables, the whe-d at the side of the wagon goes not with a level pull, but with a distinct draught upward along with the circuit of the tire. It is the heave-ho that teips. And this applies also to purely re, ligious thought and life. Next Lesson —“Saul Chosen King.”—l. Sam.. 10. 17-27. The Life of Faith. The life of faith follows the life of obedience; it is a step within and a step higher towards the celestial state. It is characterized by the recognized presence of the Lord in all that one thinks and feels and does. To describe it, therefore, is not. so much to describe certain acts either done or not done in the outer life as to describe an interior state which comes from the recognition of the Lord’s presence. This is the life, of faith.