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VOLUME VIII. LAKE PROVIDENCE, EAST CARROLL PARISH, LA.,-SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1895. 1 .. . .. . .M M il M M HM 11 I m agg agggmm a MS(MEM Ig g~ gh a IMBlillM MI A .. .. NOW. Phller what shirks an' is lazy Ain't no use llvin', I vow; t But I tell yer who Is the daisy- a The teller thet does things nsosw He's never preorastinattn' n An' telln' ye "why" sa' "Bw.," a When the dolen' on 'a what ho's hatln'; He Jest goes and does it now. d El the cordwood calls for a tussle C Thet'll bring the sweat to his brow, o Be lsts out his saw with a hustle, Tn' tack:es the Job right snow. The chap that talks of ter-morret a Is crooked somewherea, I 'ow; d In Dayla' what he may horrer. He sever gits reuad ter now. But the feller thet starts on the minute- The erows don't roost on his plow Ef 't rains he ain't workin' out In it, s S'Onue he glit his hay in now. I Ef rer lookln' fer wbat'll suit yer, b Yer kin take off yer hat an' bow e Ter the chap thet's short on the future V An' ekerly long on now. -Frank Hoe Batchelder. in Life. r c A LOCAL COLOR TRAGEDY. BY EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER. IHEN Violet Lin gard announced she was going in for literature ° thene were those tiono tS who oteodot. Violet I / . was so alarming- f ly pretty, one would never sus- c pect her of pos a messing brains. She was one of those girls with alluring faces-the sort of "beaute-d-diable of which Ouida is al ways writing, eyes of most unholy t blue and lips which could smile a man's soul away. A fascinating minx with n the most graceful and winning man nett, a being of moods, tender, repel- I larI , kindly and icy by turns, she had ° <teatrd havoc and strewn devastation wvli'rever hr dainty feet had trod. I Suddenly she wearied of the endless round of gayety and fashion to which from her teens she had been accus tomed and amazed her coterie by de claring her intention of writing real istic novels. Of course eve-yone said " It was merely a fad and would soon n blow over. But it didn't, that was the Iastounding part of it. Her first novel attracted more than passing notice. She was commended a for her original and audacious style, her clever plot and a certain dainty a feminine touch. She was written c about, ,nterviewed, her beauty and 'talent were praised by the paragraph ers and all the details of her luxurious life were brandished about the coun try. From being merely a typical so ciety girl, a young woman of elegance and fashion, she suddenly became a somebody to be pointed out and stared at and raved about. I This spasmodic adulation pleased Violet. She had always feasted upon flattery but now she reveled in it. She threw herself into a life of feverish emotion, bocame cynical, disdainful, and thought of nothing but her miser able ambition. Locnl coloring came to be an abso lute mania with her. She was al ways prating of "atmosphere" and "realism." One can stand a lot of in fernal nonsense from a pretty woman, but really poor Violet often grew ac tuall' tiresome with her endless rhap sojsa about "the divinity of realism." I It was just after publishing her sec ond novel, a combination of ingenuity and wickedness, a smartish, brackish h story you wouldn't have liked your p sister to write, that the girl decided to u go to the far west in search of "local p color" for the next attempt h "Yes," she drawled, with the fine ti lady air of disdain she had assumed since her success, "yes, I am going in search of local color and a hero. I li may take a cowboy for the latter- d who knows? They tell me those fel- e lows are delightfully original and as o breezy as the winds from the Rockies." t She made up her mind she had not a been misinformed when, a month 1 later, she met Jack Wceatherby. Westherby was a child of the plains. a Me had never been east of the Mi~sis sippi and had an influite contempt for h the land of the rising sun. HIe had j hunted for a living; he had been a cowboy and raised as much of a rum plau in mining camps as the next fel -ow. Now he owned his own ranch l d IF vra Usao or THE NEXT fOVIEL and herds; had settled down some what and had begun to think he would , like • wife and home lse was a handsome fellow, as fiery , .as the eastang he rode and as tender hearted as a woman---some women. Eler~nch lay in the shadow of the Seagrade Christo range, neat to that i ofte 1he:rta ons, where the New York a -ir| Wt*as tepplig. Its acrs stretched a to the shadowy toot hills and over , then roond the sleek, well-tedwcea- 4 •t gea wlskih he was so proud. I It rws two days after her arrival i th ~le ew her Arat Be had sddep , oesp to se 'oam Atherton, fhe- al i ggagahr jaglEshman, who -was hi pylcthr crony, and ha4 eas down 4 .bagsas neIqiiip i ·a Esai letting out a yell which could hea been heard in Denver. And there by the side of pretty Mrs. Atherton, sat a strangef, a vision, an angel The as- Ohr tonished ranchman blushed and stam mered like a school boy as he bowed awkwardly an. apologised for his Apache-like descent. Who was thi 'the divinity in palest pink. this tfdiant creature with hair like gold and eyes of heaven's own blue? "My friend, Miss Lingard, from New York," Mrs, Atherton had said. Pshaw! She was Re a celestial being straight from Para- tion dise. tveel I have always pitied Weatherby. tain, Never for one moment eoutld I blame rTh e him. Ile was a primitive man with v.. t. savage instincts lurking in his breast. TI Brave, loyal, straightforward himself; histe how could he dream of the treedhetous The eruel blows bne little soft white hand ligh * wa.s eapable bf dealing? Beti Violet found this sturdy, brawny tion ranchero a delightful study, and de- finge cided he should be the hero of her next chro novel. His quaint wit and poetic fan- five cies born of the tnas and the moun- Chri tains, his fofcible and often ungram- time matical speech were faithfully noted; mus n. his emotions were played upon, his scut :ed heart was probed. And he never of li n dreamed he was being experimented the on. lte lovcd this exquisite creature, all c o this dainty, soft, purring beauty, as he orat ho loved his life. lie coveted her and Tl let longed to shut her close to his big, twel faithful, honest heart. coln] ne At last came the night when Violet and us- carried her passion for "atmosphere" Ome al and "local coloring" to its climax, the ,se They had gone for their customary even- eith< of ing stroll, and had climbed up a lofty letts al- butte to a broad ledge of rocks. At Alpl oly their feet yawned the canyon, tre- and n's menuous, awful, black, save where the W ith moonlight touched the opposite wall whi, an- with ghostly finders. Back of them eth el- loomed the range like the battlements after Lad of a phantom city. Through the pines Him ion in the canyon the wind came sighing Chri in mournful cadence. While far, far and ess below sounded the faint rushing of touc ich water-the river tumbling and foam- mon us- ing along over its rocky bed. mon de- "What a weird place," cried Violet mon al- with. a pretty little shudder, "and the aid what a ghost-like night. Why did we they Lon never come up here before, Jack? and he What a scene!" scab Weatherby was lying at her feet not an where he had thrown himself to rest con; Led after their climb. Ile turned his face, gian le white in the moonlight, toward her, apos ty and fixing his dusky, unfathomable Ang en eyes upon her, said: "I kept this place sera nd for this hour. I meant to bring you gian of Cl O ' 0unit out: I- Solo Lo- Clhii ied Mý F' apres ed on 1 on '" - . coup he / 't9j~ clerl ih l wha ul, on t r could y th poinis n a- n don ad shrou n few i hrn ythin m ,'* / 'cour 3C ( !justi of ~ sh here when I got my courage to the d ur point where I could say all that is in Not to my heart. Many a time down there," al pointing to the ranch lying below, " opli all ne time I would bring you to tell you how the ed I love you." igh in For one instant Violet felt a queer ighe I little thrill The simple dignity of his ao r- declaration almost moved the worldly, el- cold-blooded girL Then she thought ofa as of her local coloring. "What a situa- the t." tion for my novel," she said to her. our lot self; then aloud, gently: "So you real- our ith ly love me, Jack?" oint "Love you?" he echoed, passionely. , ns. as he rose and sat down beside her. d s- "Violet, look," taking her hand, "my th for heart lies here in this dear little hand." ad Then throwing all reserve to thes a winds, he seized her and kissed her, Po m- madly, tempestuously. n el- She struggled to free herself and at an ch length succeeded. "How dare you?" wr she demanded; "how dar--" v "lHow dare I?" he cried. "Why, Ch dearest, I love you-I love you, do you ti hear? And you, you love me a little, n do you not?" HIe was approaching her Of again, when she said, contemptuously: "No; not a bit. I have simply been won studying you." He stool as if turned to stone. "Studying me," he said, in a queer che voice, "studying-why-wh-why?" be sav- tuti agely demanded, as he caught her larg wrist and held it in an iron grip. "You were so different," she fal- se tered, a bit frightened at his sudden he ferocity. "I wanted a new type for Sha my book, you know. I suppose Tom san told you I write books--" An absolutely murderous look swept over Weatherby's face. "No," he Rnt said, "no one told me that. So you thoe write books? And you wanted to put me in it-was that it? Answer me, answer me." "Yes," she murmured, faintly. ne- "And that was all? You never loved d me-never meant to marry me?" "Why, no, how could I? I am to be ry married in the fall to a man in New Cr York-" A snarl like that of an infuriated thebeast interrupted her. Livid with rage, P a he sprang toward her. Once again he qO: ak cruashed her, shrinking and trembling, to his breast, then dragged her to the r very ed' o of the canyon, gapig like the bottomless pit to receive them. il And as her sq'onised screams piareed Vi the soft summer night, Wesnherbyeat Sstill holding her against his outraged #heart, stepped off his -* wu They found them next day in the il k* bottom of the canyon. Vlolet'a lovely let the tees wee rest reecgPltloa, bat oe *We mdA WIesthbev)4" I .ge'red a amile ot es* ,mis '4~ ~i 1rupuobtr,' T 'IALMAGEI'S SERMON. a Ohrist "Chiefeet Amoun Ton Thou Iand~ a1"rho iulbt t'on pleela s thbaracter of i e. it ory-The Pardon of All Wia snd the Correclon of All Evil -Chief In Heaven. w Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage made selee i* tion of a sermon for publication this week on the subject of "The Chief . tain," basing it upon the text: i The chiefest among ten thousanf--Chattcles 1 h v 10. I. The most Conspicuotus character of fi history steps out upon the platform. I is The finger which, diamonded with d light, pointed down to him from the Bethlehem sky, was only a ratifica y tion of the nger of prophecy, the s^ finger of genealogy, the finger of t chronology, the finger of events-all 1 1- five fingers pointing in one direction. I 1 Christ is the overtopping figure of all 1 time. He is the "vox humans" in all 1 1; music, the gracefulest line il all is sculpture, the most e.squlstte mingling 1' of lights and shades in all paintings, d the acme of all climaxes, the dome of 5, all cathedraled grandeur, and the per e oration of all language. .d The Greek alphabet is made up of f, twenty-four letters, and when Christ compared himself to the first letter t and the last letter, the Alpha and the I" Omega, he appropriated to himself all G the splendors that you can spell out n- either with those two letters or all the 7 letters between them: "I am tile Lt Alpha and the Omega, the beginning e- and the end." 1e What does that Scripture mean 11 which says of Christ: "He that com m eth from Above is above all?" It means ts after you have piled up all Alpine and s Iimalayan altitudes, the glory of g Christ would have to spread its wings ir and descend a thousand leagues to f touch those summits. Pelion, a high t- mountain of Thessaly; Ossa, a high mountain, and Olympus, a high et mountain; but mythology tells when d the giants warred against the gods c they piled up these three mountains, c? and from the top of them proposed to. scale the heavens; but the height was ,t not great enough, and there was a it complete failure. And after all the e, giants-Isaiah and Paul, prophetic and r, apostolic giants; Raphael and Michael le Angelo, artistic giants; cherubim and to seraphim and archangel, celestial u giants-have failed to climb to the top of Christ's glory, they might all well unite in the words of Paul and cry out: "Above all!" "Above all:" But Solomon in my text prefers to call Christ "The Chieftain," and so to-day I hail Ilim. First Christ must be chief in our preaching. There are so many books on homiletics scattered through the country that all laymen, as well as all clergymen, have made up their minds what sermons ought to be. That ser mon is the most effectual which most pointedly puts fort h Christ as the par don of all sin and the correction of all evil-individual, social, political, na tional. There is no reason why we should ring the endless changes on a few phrases. There are those who think that if an exhortation or a dis course have frequent mention of justlfication, sanctification, covenant of works and covenant of grace, therefore it must be profoundly evan gelical, while they are suspicious of a discourse which presents the same n truth, but under different phraseology. INow, I say there is nothing in all the opulent realm of anglo-Saxonism, of all the word treasures that we inher ited from the Latin and the Greek and the Indo-European, but we have a right to marshal it in religious discus sion. Christ sets the example. His illustrations were from the grass, the it flowers, the barnyard fowl, the crystals of salt, as well as from the seas and Sthe stars; hnd we do not propose in our Sunday-school teaching and in our pulpit address to be put on the limits. ' I know that there is a great deal Ssaid in our day against words, as Sthough they were nothing. They may be misused, but they have an imperial Spower. They are the bridge between soul and soul, between Almighty God and the human race. What did God .,, write upon the tables of stone? Words. What did Christ utter oal Mount Olivet? Words. Out of what did SChrist strike the spark for the illumi nation of the universe? Out of words. " Let there be light," and light was. Of course, thought is the cargo, and words are only the ship; but how fast would your cargo get on without the 4. ship? What you need, my friends, r in all your work, in your Sabbath Sschool class, in your reformatory insti tutions, and what we all need is to en large our vocabulary when we come to speak about God and Christ and Heav en. We ride a few old words to death, when there is such illimitable resource. Shakespeare employed fifteen thou sand different words for dramatic pur poses; Milton employed eight thousand Sdifferent words for poetic purposes; Rufus Choate employed over eleven thousand different words for legal par poses: but the most of us have less Sthan a thousand words that we can managre, and that makes usoa so stupid. d When we come to set forth the love of Christ we are going to take the tenderest phraseology wherever we fad it, and if it has never been used in that direction before all the more ashall we use it When we come to speak of the glory of Christ the Con e queror we are going to draw our similes from triumphal arch and ora torio nd everything grand and stu penadoes. The French navy have eighteen lag by which they give adAnall, brt those eighteen lags they dsn p1t into sixtybix thomand dii~ter eat ecombinations And I hve to tell you that these standards of the eros. Say be lifted into eembinations in m hsit. and varieties .vertiag. And y Jt -me say to these yoyaag een Who ai etOla t th okeogal seuiarsie ri a.to,,v icew'a amsd"ptf'trawisUle. .- L.,, ". limited resource. You only have to I present Christ in your own way. 1 Brighter thatn the light, fresher than 1 the fountains, deeper than the seas, jI sa-n all these (tspel themes Song h1g I ho melody, fldwets ho sweetness, stan set sky no color olmnpared With these I glorious themes. These harvests of grace spring ilp quicker than 2e can I sickle them. Kindling pulpits with 1 their fire, and producing revolutions with their glory, they are the sweet est thought for the poet, and they are is the most thrilling illustration for the 4 f- orator, and they offer the most intense scene for the artist, and they are to es the ethbassador of the sky all en- i thusiasm. Complete pardon for of direst guilt. Sweetest comfort 2 m. for ghastliest agony. Bright- I th est hope for grimmest death.I he Grandest resurrection for darkest :a- sepulcher. Oh. what a Gospel to he preach! Christ the Chief. His birth, of His suffering, His miracles, His para- 1 ill bles, His sweat, His tears, His blood, gn. His atonement, Ilis intercession-what I ill glorious themncsl Do we exercise 111 faith? Christ is its object. Do we ill have love? It fastens on Jesus. Have ag we a fondness for the church? It is ,s, because Christ died for it. Have we a of hope of Heaven? It is because Jesus I :r- went there, the herald and the fore runner. The royal robe of Demetrius of was so costly, so beautiful, that after 1st he had put it off no one ever dared to er put it on; but the robe of Christ, he richer than that, the poorest and the all weakest and the worst may wear. ut "Where sin abounded, grace may much le more abound." he "*Oh, my sins, my sins;" said Martin ng Luther to Staupitz, "my sins, my sins!" The fact is that the brawny German an student had found a Latin Bible that m- made him quake; and when he found 1s how, through Christ, he was pardoned md and saved, he wrote to a friend, say of ing: "Come over and join us great and gs awful sinners saved by the grace of to God. You seem to be only a slender 1 gh sinner, and you don't much extol the I Kh mercy of God; but we that have been gh such very awful sinners praise HIls en grace the more now that you are so ls desperately egostistical that you feel is, yourself in first-rate spiritual trim, to. and that from the root of as the hair to the tip of the toe a you are scarless and immaculate? he What you need is a looking-glass, and nd here it is in the Bible. Poor and bel wretched and miserable and blind and ad naked from the crown of the head to ial the sole of the foot, full of wounds oP and putrifying sores. No health in us. Ill And then take the fact that Christ ry gathered up all the notes against us ut and paid them, and then offered us the all receipt! And how much we need Him ay in our sorrows! We are independent of circumstances if we have His ur grace. Why, lie made Paul sing in the ks dungeon, and under that grace St. he John from desolate Patmos heard the all blast of the apocalytic trumpets. Af ds ter all other candles have been snuffed er- out, this is the light that gets brighter )st and brighter unto the perfect day; and ar- after, under the hard hoofs of ca all lamity, all the pools of worldly enjoy la- ment have been trampled into deep ive mire, at the foot of the eternal rock Sa the Christian, from cups of granite ho lily-rimmed, puts out the thirst of his Is- soul. of Again I remark, that Christ is chief *nt in dying alleviations. I have not any x, sympathy with the morbidity abroad ºn- about our demise. The emperor of fa Constanstinople arranged that on the me day of his coronation the stonemason , should come and consult him about he the tombstone that after awhile he of would need. And there are men who er- are monomaniacal on the subject of nd departure from this life by death, and a the more they think of it the less they is- are prepared to go. This i an un lis manliness not worthy of you, not he worthy of me. ls Saladin, the greatest conqueror of ad his day, while dying, ordered that the in tunic he had on him be carried after in his death on his spear at the head of he his army, and that then the soldier, ever and anon, should stop and say: "al "Behold all that is left of Saladin, the as emperor and conqueror! Of all the ay states he conquered, of all the wealth ial he accumulated, nothing did he retain en but this shroud." I have no sympathy od with such behavior, or such absurd od demonstration, or with much that we ds. hear uttered in regard to departure mt from this life to the next. There is ida commonsensleal idea on this sub ni- ject that you need to consider cs. there are only two styles of de as parture. A thousand feet under gd ground, by light of torch, toiling in a st miner's shaft, a ledge of rock may fall he upon us, and we may die a miner's da, death. Far out at sea, falling from th- the slippery ratlines and broken on ti- the halliards, we may die a sailor's in- death. On mission of mercy in hos to pital, amid broken bones and reeking lR- leprosies and burning fevers, we may th, die a philanthropist's deatlh. On the ce. field of battle, serving God and our ou- country, slugs through the heart, the ur- gun cartridge may roll over us, and nd we may die a patriot's death. But, es; after all, there are only two styles of 'en departure-the death of the righteous or- and the death of the wicked-and we as all want to die the former. an God grant that when that hour Id. comes you may be at home- You want ve the hand of your kindred in your Lhe hand. You want your children to sur we round you. You want the light on in your pillow from eyes that have long ore re8flected ybur love. You want your to room still You do not want any cur on- ons strangers standing around watch inr ing you. You want your kindred from ra- afar to hear your last prayer. I think to- that is the wish of all of us. But is ve that all? Can earthly friends hold us lye up when the billows of death come aey up to the girdle? Can human vote r- charm open Hverea's gate? Can lU human hand pilot ms through us the narrows of death into tIB-eaven's hrbor? Can any earthly ad friensdhlp shield as from the arrows rho of death and ha the hour when Satan ies shall pemties tpe e his ilaferaM l 11*, sthet No, a ae lo Alaul poor it 1it it -1. Ailettoe dli. h the p' ige w , sohna eesrn se'wa4 o from fountain, alone, vuttures *erellg through the air waiting for our body. , unknown to men, and to have no 1, burial, if only Christ could say through * the solitudes: "I will never leave thee, - I will deter forsake thee." From that ;e pillow of stone a ladder would soar ,f Heavenward, angels coming and go n ing; and across the solitude and the h barrenness would come the sweet notes a of heavenly minstrelsy. t- What did the dying Janeway say? e "I can as easily die as close my eyes e or turn my head in sleep. Before a e few hours have passed I shall stand on o Mount Zion with the one hundred and :. forty and four thousand, and with the or just men made perfect, and we shall "t ascribe riches, and honor, and glory, t- and majesty, and dominion unto God i. and the Lamb." Dr. Taylor, con it demned to burn at the state, on his ,o way thither broke away from the 1, guardsmen, and went bounding, s. and leaping, and jumping toward I, the fire, glad to go to Jesus, ,t and to die for lipl. Sir Charles Hare, e in his last moments, had such raptur e ous vision that he cried: "Upward, e upward, upwardl" And so great was La the peace of one of Christ's disciples, a that he put his finger upon the pulse is in his wrist and counted it and ob e. served it; and so great was his placid Is tty that after awhile he said: sr "Stoppedl" and his life had ended here ;o to begin in Heaven. But grander than t, that was the testimony of the wornout , first missionary,when,in the Mamertine r. dungeon, he cried: "I am now ready to h be offered, and the time of my depar ture is at hand; I have fought the good n fight, I have finished my eourse, Ihave "* kept the faith; henceforth there is laid n up for me a crown of righteousness, ,t which the Lord, the righteous Judge, d will give me in that day, and not to me d only, but to them that love Hisappear .. ing!" Do you not: ase that Christ is d Chief in dying alleviations? )f Toward the last hour of our earthly r residence we are speeding. When I 0 see the sunset, I say: "One day less to n live." When I see the spring blossoms is scattered I say: "Another season gone ,o forever." When I close the Bible on !l Sabbath night, I say: "Another Sab i, bath departed." When I bury a friend of I say: "Another earthly attraction )e gone forever." What nimble feet the :? years have! The roebucks and the id lightnings run not so fast From de (d cade to decade, from sky to sky, they go Id at a bound. There is a place for us, towhether marked or not, where you is and I will sleep the last sleep, and the a men are now living who will, with st solemn tread, carry us to our resting is place. Aye, it is known in Heaven 1e whether our departure will be a cor in onation or a banishment. Brighter at than a banqueting hall through which is the light feet of the dancers go up and re down to the sound of trumpeters will t. be the Eepulchere through which rifts :e the holy light of Heaven streameth. f- God will watch you. lie will send His sd angels to guard your slumbering dust, er until, at Christ's behest, they shall id roll away the stone. a- So, aoso, Christ 'a chief in Heaven. y- The Bible distinctly says that Christ ýp is the chief theme of the celestial Ik ascription, all the thrones facing His to throne, all the palms waved before His is face, all the crowns down at His feet Cherubim to cherubim, seraphim to ef seraphim, redeemed spirit to redeemed by spirit, shall recite the Saviour's earth id ly sacrifice. of Stand on some high hill of Heaven, he and in all the radiant sweep the most >n glorious object will be Jesus. Myriads at gazing on the scars of His suffering, in ie silence first, afterward breaking fcrth io into acclamation. The martys, all the of purer for the flame through which id they passed, will say: "This is the :y Jesus for whom we died." The apos n- ties, all the happier for the shipwreek ot and scourging through which they went, will say: 'This is the of Jesus whom we preached at Corinth, lIe and at Cappadocia, and at Antioch, er and at Jerusalem. Little children of clad in white will say: "This is the , Jesus who took us in His arms and : blessed us, and when the storms of he tihe world were too cold and loud, h brought us into this beautiful place." th The multitude of the bereft will say: in "This is the Jesus who comforted as ly when our heart broke." Many rd who wandered clear of from Ge God and plunged into vaga re bondism, but were saved by is grace, will say: This is the Jesus b- who pardoned us. Wewerelostonthe Smountains, and He brought us home. e. We were guilty, and He has made us r- white as snow." Mercy boundless, a grace unparalleled. And then, 'after 1 each one has recited his peculiar delia .'s erances and peculiar mercies, recited m them as by solo, all the voices will , come together into a greal choruas, r's which will make the arches echo and ,- re-echo with the eternal reverbration Sof triumnph. sy Edward I. was so anxious to go to be the Holy Land that when he was about ur to expire he bequeathed one hundred ie and sixty thousand dollars to have his ad heart, after his decease, taken to the it, Holy Land, in Asia Minor, and his re of quest was complied with. But there us are hundreds to-day whose hearts ye are already in the holy land of Heaven. Where your treasures are. ur there are your hearts al so. Quaiont at John Bunyan caught a glimpse of ur that place, and in his quaint way ar- he said: "And I heard in my dea.m, on and, lo! the bells of the city rang ag again for joy; and as they opened the ur gates to let in the men I lOoked in ri- after them, and, lo! the city shone like h- the asun, and there were streste of im gold, and men walked on them, harps ak in their hands, to rlng praises withal; is and after that they shut up the gates, as which when I had seen I wished my no self among them!" ee ph There are many fumes of lyingl to There s the open, held,' evgar ife, the ly buslnesma's lhi, the Ie bylamSidua s tion-the meet dngerooi-reta i an the hypoeritiesi tls. wbem a ass ps at feeue to as-re God whit the lpe, ig A POET'S GEM OF A 'IRL.. n ie Nserty Lea Her b h en so whaeo ou s a a Ive d e h New Jersey is proud of aspoet who: i e has a house in that statesand p'ablabd at iNew York, and the pout himneit -t t ar proud of a gin of a servant. Heeasme near losingi her the other day. This i he particular girl came from an old wlal us ing town in Maine three years aO, and she has been in the poet's baue hold ever sip.e. She made no aequain es tance among the neighbors' girls, san she had no steady omipany. In other a respects she was worthy of the pot'$ rd commendations. Daring the thtesvears he that she has worked for Mr. Poet she il has never asked for a vacation to visit 7' her old home. "I never think of the place," said n- Mary, "for if I did I am afraid that I it would get homesick." he It was through the poet's own care g, lessness last week that he nearly lost rd Mary. There is a thrifty bed of oess in front of the poet's house thtdis his i 'e' fad and pride. Destructive bugs and ir worms, whichever they might have a ' been, swooped down on that bed a as week ago and threatened to destroy it . ' The poet took advice and, as a eonss ,se quence, invested in whale oil that was b- warranted to kill bugs at long range. id' As he sprinkled the bushes with the Ids whale oil a light breeze carried the re odor of it back to the kitchen, where an Mary was working. Both Mr. and ut Mrs. Poet noticed that Mary's mind no seemed to be wool gathering while she was serving them at luncheon. She "" mixed the orders that were given to ld er, and she made Mrs. Poet unhappy. ve Before dinner was served Mary rapped t Lid at Mrs. Poet's door. 'a "Come in. Mary," said her mistrss t re, "Are you illT'?" t ne "No, marm," said Mary, ill at ease, t ar- "and I don't know why it is, bat--bt I is -but-" "Well, but what?" 7Y "Why, warm. I-I'm homesiek. I've I been thinking of Maine all day. There 1 to seemed to be something in the air that I ms suggested home. If I don't get over it < ue to-morrow I shall have to go home. on It's in the air to-day." Ltb Mrs. Poet summoned her husband nd from his study and told him of the on calamity that threatened the house- I he hold. he "Dear, dear: that's too. bad. How can we spare Mary? Homesick, eh, ; go poor girl? Strange, too, for she has us, been here contentedly for three years. on Said it was in the air? Wait a minute. he By Jovel I have it. She was right. I ith It was in the air. It's that whale oil ag on the rose bushes." en Mr. Poet played the garden hose on or- the rose bushes for an hour after din ter ner, and Mrs. Poet scattered lime near ich the kitchen. Mary's homesicknesawas jid gone the next day. Pill "It was just something in the air," s she said, and I'm sorry, marm, that I th. troubled you." His Half of the Poet's rose bushes are a stripped of leaves, but Mary remained. all -N. Y. Sun. en. RUNNING-FOR BOYS. rist bial =very Boy Can Become a Runner If Eo Hisa Trfe. His Every American boy should learn to let. run. In Greece, in the days when men to and women took better care of their led bodies than they ever have since, every 'th- boy, and girl too, was taught to run, just as the American girl is taught to en, read. And as far as we can judge by ost the statues they have left behind ads them, there were very few hollow ,in chested, spindle-legged boys among rth the Greeks. The Persian boy- was the taught to speak the truth, run, ride ich and shoot the bows. the The English boy is encouraged to me- run. In fact, at some of the great eck English public schools, boys of thir eev teen and fourteen years of age, like the Tom Brown and East at Rugby, can ,th, cover six and eight miles cross-oun eh, try in the great hare-and-hound runs. ran Every boy is turned out twice a week. the out of doors, and made to rn, and fll and himself full of pure freshb air and sun-a of shine, and gain more strength an, life ad, than any amount of weight-pulling or :e" dumb bell work in stufaty gymnasiums ay: would give him. See the result-the us English boys, as a whole, are a my strbnger set than we American boys., cm Erery English school-boy is to soese ex ga- tent an athlete. And that is what by American boys should be. Not be sas cause football, baseball and tennis arme the valuable in themselves, but for the mu good they do in strengthening boys' us bodies. Cs By playing ball every day for hours 'ter in the open air; by exercising klarms. Liv- back and leg muscles in throwing, bat td ting, runing and alidinag; by going to sill bed early and giving up all bad habits us lin preparation for the games, a boy nd stores up strength, which he can draw ion on all his life long-fAtc is why every' boy should be an athlete But not to every boy can play football or baser* out balL He may not be heavy or strong red enough; he may never be able to ac his quire the knack of catching or batting the the ball. Erery boy ean become a run eaner.--. Scoville, Jr., in St., Nicholas. s Wasted Dead to Se, Tea of "Father says that if I am a goodboy are. he will take me to ee the eirces," said int Johnny. of 'That is what he told me,"replied his ray mother. am, "Well, you can keep your eye on me aug and see if I ain't the pride of the neigh the borhood. Father's Iea ms a good in many favors, he has, and I'd bate tsr ike ribly to be the menas eo making blyn Smis that show."-P-ttsbsrgh 3uletnta nal;w the TreMe ssm i "I wouldn't wear blesemss foar ny y thingl," said the thin gid "Neiter would I I wlor yer " ie plied the plaump gir And that's why they doaep , aow.-Clsago Pst. 'na* -Mlr. Whbte-"AAa4 .d t be. weas he' out g4 a la k4.4 etu9#pttag qt 1 PERSONAL A1D L r Y -Richard La Gailastne, t :'u " eat of the. Loadak poctsu lnti visit this country neat w fint Conan Doyle is cemogi"i "': tie during the ynr fee'r g- i Colorado, rot, heweverb to ; ,' he found teetering hesut -Deseires' works haey to be p -* lished ti- a omplete aIitit fLe the first rtime'am of theearh, m. " nshoatrsc aided It r .he:. Ito Printing wilt beit amex]rt ye" d is hoped, will the oishd 0T l tit committee asks f nora aslp p: 'opies of letters ta iud mriUe5 * v '°- A served in p hlc-lir re st and . :" -IwA ecolectlons. -Among the trteahres in Ord Bo.t bery's house are a m ynalnpelSo wh ol. Rubes' boels, the tesaielisrs ** ' the Doges' palaee san tapestslee a belonged to Cardinal Msuma., fThhe. were Rothschild trseaur r, sed aen death of olare Mayer do RthitMMs in 1874, they Came into the rpopqe i of Hanash de BothschIld, Lord Bkes0 bery''s wife. . ' -The expression in the prs r t bts "kindly fruits of the earth." uhas lI most persons no denalit meantieg aecowntof the difereuseein isgal~Se now artached to the word kindly ke that used when the expresads was first written. The word kindly 1athe " connection meant as nearly as possib "of its kind," and the exprerIdo "kindly fruits of the earth" meant "the fruits of the earth each after Ifs kind . -Mmae. Poisi, whose stage old women were beloved by all who awe them, has oncluded her life in Mew York by the gift of all her atage o tarmes to "Abat Louisa" REldtidge. In the forty-five years she has been on the stage in this country she has played many roles, and the contests of her wardrobe ranged from the robe of the grande dame to the cheap frodk o 'f the village matron. When Mae. Ponisi began her career she oewnt tlie ty-8+e miles on foot to seee her -s5t engagement This ups in Eagiand, and it was nothing unusual in tohose days for her to walk from towh to 'own to keep her ensgegaen.ts In ime she won fame, an she has sup ported Macready, Forrest, Charlotte Cushman, Lester Wallack, and others. She expects to end her days in Wasi Ington, at the home of a step-daugh ter. -All Cromwell's descendants t " direct male line are extinct, but ihat i the lineal ancestor thoragh feass te of a numerous progeny. Aaog the - peers who descend from Croawell are ILords Ripon, Chichester, Clarstedis, Cowper, Morley, 7Jtt@a, Was tSlght4 and Ampthill; and among the eest. sons of peers who so deseead a"hn --rd Courtaenay (heisr to the " 4eti . Devon), Lord Stanley (heir t4 the eitI dom of Derby) and Lord Ci ifon (heir to the earldom of Dariley)ý Lady Devon, Lady Derby, Lady Dartn'ty, Lady athurst, Lady Raselln, Lady Lytton. Lead Lathon, Lady laabiia Whitbread, Lady Andphill sad Lady. Borthwiok are likewise his dessd ants. So are Sir John Labbock sad half a dozen other burom-et,4 r . Chs. - Villiers, the father of the 'bo lit of comaons, and Mr. Montage VPillers, t the vicar of St. Paul's Xnightsbridge. HUMOROUS. -"Hi Jimmy, wot's de-n aUttr? "Back's blistered." "Swimsia' r i lickin'?" "Both."--Chicago Record. -'-"They say- lamsby is gener s to a fault." "Yes,'he is, it thappes to be one of his own fseLta. "-M~-i - . press -In a Bad Bot.--So De Lanad a a taken to navigaioa" "Ihaveu'theard. of it." "Yes; he's baeen sires for sailing under w falus oerPe*l . Free Press. --Jack-"I think my lnotier is a* awful cross fellow." .Mther--"Do-'t you think you're a little to blames4 t times, Jack?" Jaek-"No; beCs-s he. cas't help it-it's the W in his "am-e makes the ill WiIL"-Hrger'sr ]Be- Table. - oelleSfold-"I W nderetefa that Mrs. poiins claI se to bs a adit-ed woman." ByoomSold-"ICt fiaon'Sf i true.a My wifhe h seen lear e-i t fianishring touch-pout bowli eroam L plexion."-Plttebnirgh Chremt i"7jhe Sgraph. rwas the hbest man alt Miss Pamppe weddingt" Giggles-"We al thoeg..t that her father was ntil twe f a,on - e that his wedding gfteod a se-h dred-theossnaddollsr ehee wen sip a -, -"What excnse have you to Oisr s for your behavior, JSckI Cosue-speas ~ up." "I haven't, taybtiug to smy unt I see my mother," asid the boy. "We have a rule i. our school that sen cases are good vlesse written lby oa . of a boy's parents, and I aln't a-golt to break it"-Harper's Basa. -Mother-"Where have you ben, i Johnny? Your hair is dripping wet . and your stockings are full of sand. B Surely you haven't bee in betha i ba when I told yos you mstn't?" eboasy "That'. just lik e a womasn always y trying to Lnd out how a msn spends d his time when sway from th besent" -Boston Traseippt is -The stout nse wiped of his l'Pa heas. "Yes, I was a good deal rub ue down before I got a biepele," bhekd; x- "but now," he added. datmratfedty d gripping the handles quit takitg aM r- at as old lady creaslg the staet "ItS. a I the other seop1l who are tbsL way." u.The old lady was piled isdp lthenb' g ter.-N. T. Reordir. . -irtrdtous Isertion.-"hea'ath rightl" The advertsin lesepd org ther*ostatt ' boaster dhomin ha h; n sid~ebel