The Syracuse Journal, Volume 23, Number 4, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 22 May 1930 — Page 3

Tie Mutiny of the Albatross

Abduction and kidnaping for ransom, seizure and looting, crimes-once common to the hiKh seas, are now practically confined to the land. Why ahould It be so? Desperate characters •till take to ships. The opportunity for successful pursuit would seem to be less on the ocean than on the land. Occurences of modern piracy are rare, but It la not illogical to expect 'them now and then. In this tale pf deviltry at sea, the author has pictured a series of adventures that are well within the realm of probability and are about as pulse•tlrrlng as any of those glamorous episodes celebrated in buccaneering lore. There Is high romance too, riofnny the less pleasing because it is placed in the Twentieth century and not In a distant past. Just picture' a millionaire aboard hts . •taunch and luxuriously appointed ocean yacht, awakening to the realization that, by a skilfully engineered plot, most of his honest crew have been, replaced by a selected band of escaped convicts—all killers—men who have followed the sea and are desperate to take any chance. Picture these outlaws. Inflamed by money lu?t and under the diabolic guidance of a master mind. Imagine the things that may happen and the rare sort of pirate • tpry that will evolve. The skipper was dependable and there Were others brave and trustworthy, but It was soon' obvious to Elgar Radway that he and his guests were under a' dire menace; It was th* menace, of criminality backed by brains. The steward was no ordinary functionary of the type. In him you •will Arid' a mystifying 'personality, an arch-criminal new to the pages of adventure Action. CHAPTER I — I—— Mr. Unwin Makes a Call The flounder, sitting alone In his remote and splendid, library; looked up with a scowl at the apologetic secretary who came. softly in. "But;" ttie^. secretary was reiterating, "he says lie Is a very old friend. I’tiwin Is the name. Tubby Unwin, sir. He said you would remember him by that.’* He could see that tils employer remembered.- Something .of the hardness fell from the face, (ribbons hud gone back in that moment of recollection njmost twenty years. Os course, he remembered “Tubfiyf' Unwin. And with Tubby there swam hack into memory that other one of the three, Howard Bettington. They were Inseparables at Cambridge in the old days. Every year they swore to have a reunion; and in the elghtee'n -years that had gone by he had not seen them once! . “Tell him I'm too bust to see anyone for three days. Then ask him to dinner.” Gibbons thought a moment. •‘Find out from him if Betty—Howard Bettington—is. in New York, if he Is. ask him to dinner and let me know . when they are coming." The secretary, assuming' an Intimate 1 of ,his employer's must i»e of the fa- i voted classes over whom kind mon**- "J tary angels hover, gave Unwin' the ' message ami supposed he was telephoning from another tine residence. | Floyd Unwin's home was not of the kind to awaken envy even tn a Gib-, tons se<-r< tary. It was a small Hpnrtfnent on the fourth !l> or of a str’' ire now dwarfed by light absorbing nrrd • scornful buildings.jw lii< h hem.' ■’ In. Unwin's daughter. ary; used to gay it looked as though it wanted torun away and hide, but dare not. If the place h:ui no beauty it 1 was h<*me to the Unwins; and there was a 'oof ■ garden , which endeared the commonplace flat to -’h*em. It was to this retreat that Floyd Unwin took his way «ui the receipt of Gibbons' message. His - wife,' who Spent most of her-invalid hours on a • couch, looked up with a smile. She was one of those really good women who accept bodily- ills God's judgments; she felt. her. long illness was eent fn some mysterious way to prepare her for eternal life. "I’m to go there to dinner next Wednesday." Unwin said, "and I'm to > ask Howard Bettington. Gibbons is a very big man. They say. In ten years’ time he will be the gieatest capitalist in :he country." Unwin mused a moment. Tie was always Inclined to be harxl and masterful. . . . And yet. to think that but f< r me and my coaching, he would never •lave got his A. B." Unwin fell Intomood of depression. At college 1 e had been esteemed brilliant, and Giblins had been accounted dull. And Gibbons was a multi millionaire. Am) Floyd Unwin solicited advertisements for a trade journal and was its associate editor’ Then he thought of Howard Bettington, who bad'made Some success’ us a painter of seascapes. Bettington was the best of the three. He was better looking, better bred and could, have attained eminence in anything he set his mind upon. And he had chosen to adventure Into far corners of the earth and seas and every now and then exhibit his unusual canvases to the appreciative few who admired but did not buy. “Did you close that contract?” fee beard his wife ask. The contract had been talked over a great'deal. The commission would have removed the steady 5 * calling of an Intolerant individual who <. concerned himself with payments of-ffurniture on the instalment plan.l Unwin removed a dead leaf from a plant He d/d not want to meet his wife's The ®de was not ripe," he said, • Little weakly. “Next month, perhaps." His wife said nothing.- To her it was an evidence that God desired her to be yet more strengthened and purified by suffering. "Do you think Mr. Gibbons willt’ •he asked presently. "Yes," Unwin answered. “Why shouldn't he? It’s a solemn moral obligation and Tm not sure it isn't a legal one also. Gibbons was always a man of bls word, I know be has the name for being bard in bls dealings, but this Is lifferenL” He paused as he heard footsteps. “But not a word to the children. I don’t want to raise their hopes and then have to disappoint them.” It was Mary, eighteen and sweet, and now hopeful. She held In her hand a packet of the literature that Smith college sends out to those who

By WYNDHAM MARTYN copyright in the U. 8, WNU Servle*

seek to know her charms and terms. Mary was more than anxious to enroll. And during the last week her father had been letting fall sly hints that Northampton might not seem so far away as she thought “Did you close the contract?" she asked, when she had kissed them. “Money is tight," said Unwin, again plucking leaves. “I shall try them in a month's time." He saw Mary droop a little. He knew the disappointment. It nerved him to give her uncalled-for encouragement. “I’ve something up my sleeve better than that old contract. On Thursday morning ask me what 1 mean. It may mean Smith tor you and Tech, for Bob." "It /seems too good to be true," the girl said. "Daddy, I'm so tired of tjeing Mr. Radway's stenographer. I’m hi a constant-atmosphere of fear and it's bad for me.. Every one in the office trembles when be comes in. If it weren't that he pays more than I'm Worth I'd leave tomorrow." When she had gone down to prepare the evening meal Unwin .looked at his wife anxiously. “Mary, in a very beautiful girl," be said. “I wonder if undesirable men try to force themselves on her." He walked about the roof garden aimlessly. That was his chief defect, his uncertainty of aim. Bob, the seventeen-yeur-old son. with the mechanical turn <>t mind, came in. Unwin turned to greet him with a cheerful smile. He anticipated the unasked question. "1 didn't get it,” he said; “money was tight. 1 went In at a bad time. Next month, perhaps. I'm sorry. Bob.” The boy was taller than his father. In. a sense be was a more resolute and reliable man. He put his arms about the eider with a protective gesture. “I know you did your best," he said simply. • . And all through the dinner poor Unwin was haunjed by tbe certainty that he had not done bis best. • • • • • • • When the pour for dinner drew near Gibbons was inclined to blame the pale secretary that men like Bettington and Unwin, with whom he had now no common ground of intercourse, should be his guests.' outside the house Floyd Unwin was waiting . for Howard Beltington. He needed moral support. He had come, so he told himself, upon a task that hardly promised success, lie cursed himself for his perpetual enthusiasms. It had looked jo simple, so probable, so assured. He had been losing courage ever since he had donned his ancient evening dress. He had not seen Bettington for almost ten years, but t.'iere was ho inistaking the tail form that came toward film out of the gloom. ■ Together they knocked at the bronze doors. In the few moments that »lapsed before a footman* opened to them. Bettington found himself ashamed that the old friendship had meant so little. He Was conscious, vividly, of the good, dreaming student days, when Unwin bad been so close a friend. He had forgotten Unwin after the first few years. Unwin had narried while jit Cambridge. Then came the girl and the boy. Bettington bad once sent his old friend ai. painting. That was all. AS to Gibbons, that was different. The financier. wjas so constantly spoken of that he was-fresh In the mind. But nil these •ears Howard Bettington had. (Fiot \m< e tried to'meet him. - He had. hetird him speak at v public banquet and bad seen that the man he used to like was dead, In his place bad come the grasping, unscrupulous capitalist who was to carve his way to power. The. footman, when he had ushered the guests into a hall, where the butler stood commandingly, looked curiousiy at. them, lie knew they were not habitues of the Gibbons home, or, indeed, of any of those great homes where such as be were content to serve. At Bettington the lackey looked with faiiit approval, Rettington wore, as was his custom, a black vel vet dinner coat- But it was well cut and the man moved as though these magnificent halls Were tils Usual haunts. It was at Unwin, poor Floyd Unwin, scholar and failure, that- the menservants looked with scorn. Such garments were not now worn. Bettlngtpn saw that Unwin was l< sing what - confidence he possessed. He patted the shorter man almost affecU.onately on the shoulder and simulated approval. “You look splendid." he murmured, “I suppose I ought to have worn full dress, .too." Unwin trotted by his side vastly gratified. Gibbons was standing with that faint sneer on his face which had become habitual. The financier was pre;»ared to be thoroughly bored. He judged man by his ability to make money; and with these standards he had only contempt for the small, nervous man w ho peered through thick tenses at-him. He looked with deeper Interest at the nainter. “It doesn’t seem possible we are all of ap age," be said, vhen they were seated. “Tubby looks fifty, I look forty, and I’m d—d if Betty doesn’t look ten years less. How do you do it?" Bettington resented the sneering manner in which the successful nmn of affairs regarded Unwin. * “To me you look the elder," he said sua.-ely. “Tubby may have put on weight, but there's age In your face. Three Brass Balls, and wrinkles a balf-lnch deep." Gibbons flushed. He bad not forgotten the old nickname given him in jest, for his ability to make small gains in loan and barter. He looked across the silver-laden table at Bettington. Tbe painter had a clear eye and a clear skin. There was a youthful poise of body and • litheness wbicb had long since left Gibbons. He glanced sourly at tbe other man. Even there be felt beaten. Unwin's gaze Ws serene and untroubled. There was

a certain simplicity and directness about him which seemed childish. “I’ve worked," Gibbons snapped; “that gives one lines and w’rinkles.” “You’ve -hated.” Eettington answered ; “your face is a chart of uncharitable emotions. Your sort of success stamps its‘Victim. Tubby and I have worked, tooj remember.” "Indeed, I have," Tubby sighed and thought of his non-success as a solicitor of advertising. Gibbons looked about him. His guests, following his glances, saw what be meanU There was superb luxury everywhere. Did not these two men realize that they were being sumptu- . ously entertained ih magnificent rooms by one who had no greater opportunities in youth than they? Less opportunities. Unwin was always a student to whom academic tasks were easy, bettington had a small property ■ B ,z i i InV\ Uh fl HR i'' i Outside, Floyd Unwin Was Waiting for Howard Bettington, when Gibbons had but an allowance from a distant relative. From the pale secretary Gibbpns had learned that Bettington had; passed his life mainly in travelling and painting the sea in her sterner mopds. His pictures were not such as tol attract the dealer, although his fellows revered him for his art. Economically he was a failure. And .vet Gibbons could not rid himself of the feeling i that they wore not impressed by hfis position. There was something stinjging and irritating in it. And he was annoyed to J find that these two quiet guests were re-estab-lishing that sense of unassorted superiority’ they had exercised in college. There Lad been a time when these two more to him than any other men. And when success came to him be forgot them. Gibbons grew a little ashamed ; but the feeling lasted only a few moments. His arrogance banished it. He had succeeded; they had failed. He was even a little gratifie* .when the pale secretary bowed hD way in with two cables which' demanded immediate attention. "M:i'le a million or sd?" Bettlngtoh asked quizzically, when the secretary had taken down the answers and gone, out. “Or lost one?" “Rhdway is the loser," Gibbons smiled. “I have just taken a railroad from him lin’d he's too drunk to know about it tijl totpurrow." Tubby URwin made an unexpected remark, “That will be the Memphis and Toledo road.” lie said. "It is'Radway's pet lamb." "How the h—l do you know that?” Gibbons snapped. Unwin’ came to himself with a start. He realized that he had repeated something Mary bad told him In confi dence- He made a gesture as though to say, financial secrets were not hidden from him entirely. “Well, as you know so much about Radway, you'll be astonished to learn I’ve got him on the run. There isn’t room In New York for Radway and me." He told them something of his detestation for Iladway; of how these five years he had been setting snares for him. “I never forgive or forget." Gibbons boasted. "I see that ail marked on the chart which is your face," Bettington answered. “Anything else you see?" Gibbons sn<*ered. Bettington gazed at him steadily. The painter s good looks and splendid features forced themselves on the capitalist. "I see what all charts mark. Rocks, quicksands, reefs. You're headed for them. Gibbons." There was something dominating about Bettington. Gibbons felt it even In his magnificent home In a moment of financial triumph. “The unsuccessful,” be said acidly, "always feel have the right to criticize. It's ammt the only thing they can do; and they do that badly." “So you call me unsuccessful?” Bettlngton demanded. Then he smiled a little. “You are wrong. I've accomplished what I set out to do. And I have what you will never have—contentment. The difference between us is we measure success by different standards." “I’m tbe unsuccessful one," Unwin declared. “I have not done what 1 set out to do ” “You don’t have to advertise the fact.” Gibbons said, stUl a little irritated. “I can see it” Bettington felt the protective instinct calling him to defend the small, shy friend of other days. “It amazes me to think yon troubled to give so elaborate a feast for two unsuccessful men. Why?" “Ask Unwin," the uost returned. “He told my secretary he had important business with me, and as 1 was busy ail day and every evening but this I suggested a dinner.’ Thinking of Tubby brought yon to my mind, and I asked you, too.* I’m waiting to

THE SYRACUSE JOURNAL.

know just how important this business it." Unwin drew from bis pocket a halfsheet of paper and passed it across the table to Gibbons. The dinner was now at the coffee and liquor stage, and nienservants had withdrawn from earshot. Gibbons took it with a frown and read It through. “We, the undersigned,” he read, “being about to separate, do hereby swear that if one of us attains fortune and the others do not. the lucky one shall aid the unsuccessful cheerfully and unasked in any way he is called upon to do. "HOWARD BETTINGTON (‘Betty’). “FLOYD UNWIN (‘Tubby’). “ALFRED GIBBONS (‘3 Brass Balls’)." Gibbons handed it back to Unwin. “It’s interesting," he admitted, “but not legal. It would have no value in a court of law. I tore my copy up years ago.” Bettington reached for it and scanned the, document. “I’d forgotten all about It,” he said. “Had you?" Gibbons said with a sneer. “It may not be legAL" he heard Unwin saying nervously, “but in a matter of old friendship the spirit founts, not the letter." “Which shows you to be as foolish at forty as you were at twenty," said the financier. Bettington was conscious more fully than ever of Unwin’s dejection. The hope which , had sustained him Seamed now to have left him dull, broken and speechless. Bettingfon put his arm about the bowed shoulders. “Oh, Tubby,” he cried, “are you so poor a judge of human nature as to come to Gibbons for help? If 1 had known you were In need you might not have” had this humiliation. Within this very week I’ve bougift a camp and paid for It. 1 could have deferred payment ejasily enough. ' What do you need it for?” “It’s my children," said Unwl'n quietly. "They are crying, not for food, but for education. It's another si* ' s of starvation I if Gibbons would advance enough money to them where they want to be. I’d pay It off little by little. I see I was wrong. He is not the man we knew.” Gibbons moved a little uneasily. The years he had almost forgotten awoke In his mind with a peculiar distinctness. He did not like to remember that he was ttie author of the document and executed it with the feeling that he was a beneficiary under its terms. He had thought nothing could stay Howard Bettington in his fight for fortune. Even Tubby Unwin, -distinguished scholar, seemed far more likely to .make a name than the undistinguished Gibbons. Changes. Changes. “How old is tbe girl?" he demanded. "Eighteen," said Unwin. "She wants to go to Smith.” “What about the boy?" “He’s a year younger. They tell me he’s a genius mechanically. He yearns to enter tbe Massachusetts Institute of Technology." “Nothing to it," said Gibbons scornfully. "If be had a yearning for business I might help, f.et him think it over. What's the girl doing?” "She is one of Radway’s stenographers, She has, great opportunities there, but her. heti-t isn't in tbe work.” "Radway Gibbons snapped-. “That’s a good way to recommend her to me. Radway is my opefi and avowed enemy.” He'frowned as he thought of it. Then lie' smiled almost amiably. "Private stenographer?" he asked. “Or just one of the bunch in the office?” "Private” Unwin answered. “You see, she knows French and Spanish perfectly. Even Railway approves of her.” "She knows a lot about his private affairs, 1 suppose. I wondered how you learnt of the Memphis and Toledo road. You got it from her. Look here. Tubby. Tell her the chances of bright women in business are enormous; they far, exceed any j *bs colleges offer. I may make a place for her in my organization if she Is as bright as you say. Send her to see me tomorrow. If she’s bright she'll make more money than her father.” "This is one of the times I wish I had taken to commerce instead of art,” Bettington commented. He bad every sympathy with a girl who wanted more education; apparently Gibbons had none. "You’d have failed at it," Gibbons retorted. "Men of your kifld always seem to think any fooi can make a success of business and get where I am. I'm the sort who wins. Where would you be in a situation where supreme courage and resolution were required? I'll answer. You’d be found wanting. You’ve lived a remote life. haven't liked a place or a climate you've gone somewhere else, looked for something easier.” Bettington smiled a tittle. “I don’t know,” he said. “Fve been in some tight places in far corners of the earth and 1 have Jat always lost. After all. Gibbons, what do you know of me or Unwin?” “I know,” said the capitalist hotly, “that one seeks the security of a trumpery job and tbe comfort of a pitiful pay envelope, and tbe other gets out of the fight by daubing canvases." tils manner became less bellicose. “Don’t forget to send the girl around. I’ll see that she is sent right into nyr private office and that's a privilege some would pay high for.” His guests understood that the audience was over. Alfred Gibbons had no more interest in them. In a sense, they were dismissed. (TO BE CONTINUED) The Winner He was tn the habit of lunching regularly at the same restaurant One day he called the waiter to him and said: “John, Instead of tipping you every day I'm going to give you a lump sum at tbe end of every month. It will be more convenient for me.” “Thank you, sir.” answered the waiter. “But I wonder if you’d mind paying me in advance for this month?" “Well, that’s a strange request However, here’s $5. I suppose you are rather hard up." “Oh, no, sir!” smiled John, slipping tbe money into his pocket “Only I'm leaving here today."

Legume Silage Is Dairy Farm Help Sweet Clover May Prove Valuable as Winter Ration for Cows. (Prepared by the United States Department of Agriculture.) Sweet clover silage may prove valuable as a wintering ration for dry cbws and heifers under dry-land conditions during years when other feed crops fail, says the federal bureau of dairy industry. Sweet clover can be placed in an inexpensive silo, such as a trench, and can provide the principal feed for the dry stock through I the winter. This is indicated by tests ' at the United States Department of field station at Ardmore, • South Dakota. Prefer Corn Silage. Cows, however, did not relish the sweet clover silage as they did corn silage or grass silage. In a feeding experiment In .which cows were fed sweet clover silage without a grain or hay ration, ' production dropped greatly. A clover crop usually produces -.<conl»m?rable vegetation, even in years when drought takes the corn crop, but in the vicinity of Ardmore many cows refuse to graze the sweet clover because of a bitter taste that is more noticeable in that vicinity than at other field stations of the department. Experience with sweet clover silage at Ardmore showed that ensiling causes the bitterness to disappear. Molasses Added. At the Huntley, Mont., station cows preferred corn silage to alfalfa silage made by adding 1 part of beet-sugar molasses to 20 quarts of first cutting alfalfa. , “An interesting feature of the le-gume-silage feeding." says J. R; Dawson of the bureau’ of dairy industry, “was the inability of. the animals, when receiving silage as the only feed, to maintain an appetite for quantities. Many of the cows consumed large quantities for a few days, but invariably the -consumption declined after a short time.” ; New Type of Asphaltic Coating for thg Silo Asphalt is one of the best coatings ■for stopping leaks in silos and water tanks, but this has been handicapped by the fact that the walls must be dry and fairly warm if the asphalt is to make a good bond. There is now on the market an asphalt coating which can be applied to a wet surface, so that the silo can be coated on the inside a few feet at a time as the silo is filled. Apparently, the bond is just as strong as with the ordinary asphalt applied to a dry surface. This property of adhering tightly to a damp surface -is also important in stopping leaks in tanks and cisterns, as is the fact that this type of asphalt does not make the water taste or smell. Beetles Are Greatest Enemies of Cucumber The striped cucumber beetle and the spotted cucumber beetle are the greatest insect enemies to the cucumber. If only a few plants are Included in the garden, make small frames and cover with cheesecloth to protect the plants from the beetles. A solution made by mixing -arsenate of lead and a small quantity of bordeaux mixture will repel attacks from the beetle and prevent injury to the foliage. Protecting the plants from the beetles aids in keeping, the plants free from disease. If wilt, anthracnose, and downy mildew appear, spray with bordeaux mixture. Fertile Soil Needed Most vegetable crops require a, fertile soil. For all around purposes there is no substitute for barnyard manure as a fertilizer. It should be well decomposed and not too coarse. Dry straw and other undecayed material in the soil Interferes with the preparation of the, seedbed and the cultural operations. Manure should be applied in the fall to allow the fertilizing, elements to leach into the soil during the winter months.

Agricultural Hints *-x--x--x-**-x-**-x-**************** Uncomfortable live stock can never be profitable live stock. > Good silage can be made without tramping it in the silo. • • * Don't put fresh feed into dirty or sour troughs! Cool, moist storage Is best for beets, carrots, turnips, rutabagas, parsnips, salsify, winter radishes and celery. • • • When transplanting do not let the roots of plants lie open to the hot sun or to the drying influence of the wind. • • • It costs on the average S 3 less to sell a truck load of produce at a market than to furnish containers for rail shipment • • • Removing a crop of alfalfa late In the season will make the plants more susceptible to winter injury and may cause the destruction of the stand. Seed potatoes that were not treated last fall before storage should be given a treatment before planting. Large losses from Rhlzoctonla occurred last year because some growers failed to dip the seed. For lightning protection it Is well to ground to earth every electric entrance to any farm building on the outside even though the system is connected to a water pipe on the Inside. The turkey crop last year showed an increase of about nine per cent over the year before. The most of this Increase was in the western states where the greater part of the stock is put on the market as meat.

Improved Uniform International Sunday School ' Lesson ’ (By REV. P. B. FITZWATER, D.D., Member of Faculty, Moody Bible Instltuto of Chicago.) (©. 19S0. Western Newspaper Union.) Lesson for May 25 JESUS DESCRIBES THE FUTURE OF THE KINGDOM LESSON I'EXT—Matthew 24:1-25:18 (Print 25:1-13). GOLDEN TEXT—Take ye heed, watch and pray; for ye know not when the time is. PRIMARY TOPlC—Being Ready to Help. I JUNIOR TOPlC—Being Ready, j INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOP- | IC—Being Ready. YOUNG °EOPLE AND ADULT TOPlC—Christian Preparedness. : 1. The Prophetic View of the Course of Time from Christ’s Crucifixion to His Second Coming. (24:1-51). The order of events in this time are in general as follows: j 1. The moral condition of the world ; during Christ's absence, (vv. 1-14). This is the period covered by the ! parables of chapter 13. 2. The appearance of the Antichrist (vv. 15-26). 3. The great advent (vv. 27-31). j In connection with this advent there ; will be mighty convulsions of nature. ' I the mourning of the tribes of the i earth, and the gathering of the elect. ' 4. Warnings to God's people in ' view of the great advent (vv. 32-51). j I The time of this advent is unknown . and on the part of many unexpected, i 15. Instruction to believers in view :of the unexpectedness of Christ’s ; i coming (25:1-30). 11. Behavior of Believers in View of the Coming of the Lord (25:1-13) The teaching in the parable of the ten virgins has continuous application j in the present time (I Tliess. 16:18; i Titus 2:11-13), 1. The equipment of the virgins (vv. 1-5). (1) The foolish virgins took lamps, ! j but no oil with them (v. 3). Lamps : ! signify Christian profession . (Matt. ; 5:16) and oil the Holy Spirit (Zech, j I 14). Having lamps hut no oil shows ; | that they were professors of religion,! without possessing its reality. The] Christihn life is sustained by the Holy ; . Spirit. As soon as a man is regen- ' j erated, the Holy. Spirit takes up His ' ] abode with him. The Spirit's *?n---i dwelling therefore, is an advance ’ I work upon regeneration. The proof i that one is a child of God is that he I has the Holy Spirit dwelling within j him. .(Rom. 8:9). The foolish virgins were professors, but not possessors. ! (2). The wise virgins possessed both ■ lamps and oil (v. 4). They backed their profession with a real life of righteousness. Both the wise.and the ; foolish- virgins slumbered and slept, i Their eyes had grown heavy and they ; ! fell under the spell of sleep (v. 5). | This sfiow's that as the present age ! lengthens, the real and the'professing ; ; church will cease looking for the com- I ' Ing of the Lord. It is unspeakably sad ] that so many, even of God's chosen —i the wise virgins—should give up the expectancy of the return' of. the Lord. | 2. The coming of . the bridegroom (vv, 6-12). (1) The midnight cry (v. 6). ,In the midst of the night when all the ■ virgins were asleep the cry was heard, i "Behold the.bridegroom cometh.” Whp ■ knows but that the time of this cry ; is now close upfm us? (2) Activity of the virgins (v. 7). They nil arose and trimmed their lamps. There will : be great activity when the Lord comes j on the part of both bejievers and I those who.only niake a profession. It I i wllj be a day When the reality es ] faith will be tested. (3) The foolish i i virgins’ request of the vytse to share i !their oil (w. 8,9). The revelation of l Christ will make manifest the gen- j uineness of our faith and expose the folly of mere profession. When the Lord comes, it will be too late to mend dne's ways. (4) The wise en-j ter to the marriage (v.JO). While the foolish were seeking to amend their ways—trying to buy oil —the bridegroom came, and those who were i ready were admitted to the marriage. (5) The pitiful petition of the foolish j virgins (v. ID. They begged the Lord to open the door that they might enter to the marriage feast. (6). The awful judgment (v. 12). The Lord declared, “I know yon not.” 3. The solemn obligation (v. 13). "Watch, for ye know not the day ] nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.” Two solemn facts should engage the attention of every one. (1) Entering with Christ to the marriage depends upon faithfulness to the end. If oil and light be warning when I (Christ comes, no admittance will be granted to the heavenly banquet (2) Borrowed religion will not avail at that day. Despite the value of godly companions and associates, they can render no service in the day of Jesus i Christ- Personal contact with the Lord Jesus through faith in His blood is the absolute essential. No Gap Between Between the Here and the Hereafter there is no gap nor chasm nor gulf, but continuity of progress and perfect sequence. There is no end to life. Life changes Its form, its embodiment, the location of Its residence; but life is the breath of God, and when once breathed into the universe, and it has taken form and made for Itself expression, who may annihilate it? Who may strike it out of existence? No, there is no end to life. Death is an enlightenment and a discovery.— Rev. W. H. H. Murray. The Mezzage of the Crocs The cross speaks of tbe love of God. God’s love for the world Is revealed In Hts word, in His temporal gifts, and In His corrective discipline. But the clearest revelation of His love is found in the cross. If we are ever tempted to question the love of God, we should stand under the shadow of the ross. Surely we can trust ourselves with full assurance to such a love—Dr. J. P. Marion.

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