10
THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH. SUNDAY, MARCH - 23, 1890.
.1
him that lie fell back and left her. But it
was true, and she knew that it was true. If
Geoffrey hail given her a sixpence with a
hole in it f-lie would have valued it more
than all the diamonds on earth. Oh ! hat
a position was hers. And it was wrong, too.
She had no right to love the husband of an
other woman. But, right or wrong, the fact
remained, the did love him.
And the worst of it was that, sooner or
later, all this about Mr. Davies, as she well
knew, must come to the ea:s of her lather
and then what would happen? One thing
was certain. In his present poverty-stricken
condition he would move heaven and earth
to bring about her marriage to this rich
man. Her father never had been very scru
pulous where money was concerned, and the
pinch of want was not likely to make him
more so.
Nor, we may be sure, did all this escape
the jealous eyes of Elizabeth. Things
looted black for her, but she did not intend
to throw up the cards on that account. Only
it was time to lead trumps. In othcrwords,
Beatrice must be fatally compromised in
the eves of Owen Davies, if by any means
this could be brought about. So far things
had gone well for Her schemes. Beatrice
and Geoffrey loved each other, ot that Eliza
beth was certain. But the existence of this
secret, underhand affection, would avail
her naught unless it could be con
strued into acts. Everybody is free to
indulge in secret predilections, but if once
they give them way, if once a woman's
character is compromised, then the world
avails itself of its opporlunities and de
stroys her. What man, thought Elizabeth,
would marry a compromised woman? If
Beatrice could be compromised Owen Davies
would not take her to wife therefore this
must be brought about.
Elizabeth was a very remorseless person;
she was more she was a woman actuated by
passion and by greed, the two strongest mo
tives known to the human heart. But with
her remorselcssness she united a considera
ble decree of intelligence, or rather of intel
lect. Had she been a savage she might have
removed her sister from her path by 3 more
expeditious way; being what she was, she
merely strove to effect the same end by a
method not punishable by law; in short, by
murdering her reputation. Would she be
responsible if her sister went wrong, and
was thus utterly discredited in the eyes of
this man who wished to marry her and whom
Elizabeth wished to many? Of course not;
that was Beatriee's affair. But she could
give her every chance of fallinginto temp
tation, and this it was her fixed design to do.
(Jircumstanccs soon gave her an opportu
nity. The need of money became very
pressing at the vicarage. They had literally
no longer the wherewithal "to live. The
tithe payers absolutely refused to fulfil their
obligations. As it happened, Jones, the
man who had murdered the auctioneer, was
never brought to trial. He died shortly
after his arrest in a fit of delirium tremens
ana nervous prostration, brought on by the
sudden cessation of a supply of stimulants,
and an example was lost that, had he been
duly hanged, might have been made of the
results of defying the law. Mr. Granger
was now too poor to institute any further
proceedings, which, in the state of public
leeliug in Wales, might or might not suc
ceed; he could only submit, and submission
meant beggary. Indeed he was already a
beggar. In this state of affairs he took
counsel with Elizabeth, pointing out that
they must either get money or starve, if ow,
the only possible way to get money was by
borrowing, and Mr. Granger's suggestion
was that he should apply to Owen Davies,
who had plenty. Indeed, he would have
done so long ago, but that the squire had
the reputation ol being an exceedingly close
fisted man.
But this proposition did not at all suit
Elizabeth's book. Her great object had
been to conceal Sir. Davies' desires as re
gards Beatrice from her father, and her
daily dread was that he might become ac
quainted with them from some outside
source. She knew very well that if her
father went np to the castle to borrow
money it would be lent, or rather given,
freely enough; but she also knew that the
lender would almost certainly take the op
portunity, the very favorable opportunity,
to unfold his wishes as regards the bor
rower's daughter. The one thing would
naturally lead to the other the promise of
her father's support of Owen's suit would be
the consideration for the money received.
How glad that support would be given was
also obvious to her, and with her lather
rushing Beatrice on the one side and Owen
Davies pushing her on the other, how could
Eliztbeth be sure that she would not yield?
Beatrice would be the very person to be car
ried away by an idea of duty. Their father
would tell her that he had got the money on
. this understanding, and it was quite pos
sible that her pride might bring her to fulfill
a bond thus given, however distasteful the
deed might be to her personally. No; her
father must at all hazards be prevented
from seeking assistance from 0ren Davies.
And yet the money must be had from some
where or they would be ruined.
Ah, she had it Geoffrey Bingham should
lend the money! He could well afiord it
now, and she shrewdly guessed that he
would not grudge the coat off his back if he
thought that by giving it he might directly
or indirectly help Beatrice. Her father
must go up to town to see him, she would
have no letter writing; one never knows
how a letter may be read. He must see Mr.
Bingham, and if possible bring him down
to Bryngelly. In a moment every detail of
the plot became clear to Elizabeth's mind,
and then she spoke.
"You mnst not go to Mr. Davies, father,"
she said: "he is a hard man and would only
refuse and put you in a lalse position; vou
must go to Mr. Bingham. Listen; he is rich
now, and he is very fond of you and of
Beatrice. He will lend you 100 at once.
You must go to London by an early train
to-morrow, and drive straight to his cham
bers and see him. It will cost you 2 to "et
there and back, but -that cannot be helped:
it is safer than writing, and I am sure that
you will not go for nothing. And see here,
lather, bring Mr. Bingham back with vou
for a few days if you can. It will be a little
return for his kindness, and I know that he
is not well. Beatrice had a letter from him,
in which he said he was so overworked that
he thought he must take a little rest soon.
Bring him back for Whit Sunday."
Mr. Granger hesitated, demurred nnrl
finally yielded. The weak, querulous old
farmer clergyman, worn out with many
daily cares, and quite unsupported bv men
tal resources, was but a tool in Elizabeth's
able hands. He did not, indeed, leel anv
humiliation at the idea of trying to borrow
the cash, for his nature was not finely
strung, and money troubles had made him
callous to the verge of unscruDulousness;
but he did not like the idea of a journey to
London, where he had not been for more
than 20 years, and the expenditure that
it entailed. Still he acted as Elizabeth
bade him, even to keeping the expedition
secret from Beatrice. Beatrice, as her sis
ter explained to him, was proud as Luci er
and might rjise objections if she knew that
he was going to London to borrow monev of
Mr. Bingham. This, indeed, she would
certainly have done.
On the following afternoon it was the
Eriday beore Whitsunday, and the lastday
of the Easter sittings Geoffrey sat in his
chambers,in the worst possible spirits, thor
oughly stale and worn out with work.
There" was a consultation going on. and his
client, a pig-headed Norfolk farmer, who
was bent npon proceeding to trial with 6ome
extraordinary action for trespass against
his own landlord, was present with his so
licitor. Geoffrey in a few short, clear words
had explained the absurdity ol the whole
thing, and strongly advised him to settle,
for the client had insisted on seeing him,
refusing to be put off with a written opin-
ion. But ihe farmer was not satisfied, and
the solicitor was now endeavoring to let the
pure light of law into the darkness of his
injured soul.
Geoffrey threw himself back in his chair,
pushed tbedark hair from his brow and pre
tended to listen. But in a minute bis mind
was lar away. Heavens, how tired he was?
Well, there would be rest for a few days
till Tuesday, when he had a matter that
mnst be attended to the House had risen
and so had the courts. What should he do
with himself? Honoria wished to go and
stay with her brother, Lord Garsington, and,
for a wonder, to take Effie with her. He
Hid not lilrf it. hnt h unnnnmnA !. J.-.
should have to consent One thing was, he I
would not go. He could not er.duie
G-us ton, Uuustnn Mnd nil their
set. ijoulil he run down to Bryngelly?
The temptation was very grent; that
wouid be happiness indeed, but his com
mon sense prevailed against it. No, it
was better that he should not go there. He
would leave Bryngelly alone. If Beatrice
wished him to come she would have said so,
and she had never even hinted at such a
thing, and if she had he did not think that
he would have gone. But he lacked the
heart to go anywhere else. He would stop
in town, rest, and read a novel, for Geoffrey,
when he found time, was not above this
frivolous occupation. Possibly, under cer
tain circumstances, he might even have been
capable of writing one. At that moment his
clerk entered, and handed him a slip of
paper with something written on it. He
opened it idly and read:
"Eev. Mr. Granger to see you. Told him
yon were engaged, but he said he would
wait."
Geoffrey started violently, so violently
that both" the solicitor and the obstinate
farmer looked up.
"Tell the gentleman I will see him in a
minute, he said to the retreating clerk, and
then, addressing the farmer, "Well, sir, I
have to say all that I have to say. I cannot
advise you to continue this action. Indeed,
if you wish to do so, you must really direct
your solicitor to retain some other counsel,
as I will not be a party to what can only
mean a waste of money. Good afternoon,"
and he rose.
The farmer was conveyed out grumbling.
In another moment Mr. Granger entered,
dressed in a somewhat threadbare suit of
black, and his thin white hair hanging as
usual over his eyes. Geoffrey glanced at him
with apprehension, and as he did so noticed
that he had aged greatly during the last
seven months. Had he come to tell him
some ill news of Beatrice that she was ill,
or dead, or going to be married ?
"How do you do. Mr Granger?" he
said, as he stretched out his hand, and con
trolling his voice as well as he could. "How
are vou? This is a most unexpected pleas
ure."
"How do you do Mr. Bingham?" an
swered the old man, while he seated himself
nervously in the chair, placing bis hat with
a trembling hand upon the floor beside him.
"Yes, thank you, I am prettv well, not very
grand worn out with trouble as the sparks
fly upward," he added, with a vague auto
matic recollection of the scriptural quota
tion. "I hope that Miss Elizabeth and Be that
your daughters are well also," said Geoffrey,
unable to restrain his anxiety.
"Yes, yes.thankyouMr. Bingham. Eliza
beth isn't very grand either; complains of a
pain in her chest, a little bilious, perhaps
she always is biliou3 in the spring."
"And Miss Beatrice?"
"Oh, I think she's well very quiet, you
know, and a little pale perhaps; but she is
always quiet a strange woman, Beatrice,
Mr. Bingham, a very strange woman, quite
beyond me! I do not understand her, and
don't try to. Not like other women at all;
takes no pleasure in things seemingly; curi
ous, with her good looks very curious. But
nobody understands Beatrice."
Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. "And
how are tithes being paid, Mr. Granger?
Not very grandly, I fear. I saw that scoun
drel Jones died in prison."
Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he
had been talking almost at random; the sub
ject of his daughters did not greatly inter
est him. What did interest him was this
money question. Nor was it very wonder
ful; the poor, narrow-minded old "man had
thought about money till he could scarcely
find room for anything else; indeed nothing
else really touched him closely. He broke
into a long story of his wrongs, and. drawing
a paper from his breastpocket, with shaking
finger pointed out to Geoffrey how that his
clerical income for the last six months had
been at the rate of only 40 a year, upon
which sum even a Welsh clergyuan could
not consider himself passing rich. Geoffrey
listened and sympathized; then came a
pause.
"That's how we've been getting on at
Bryngelly, Mr. Bingham," Mr. Granger
said pleasantly, "starving, pretty well
starving. It's only you who have been
making money; we've been sitting on the
same dockleat, while you have become a
great man. If it bad not been forBcatrice's
salary she's behaved very well about the
salary, has Beatrice I am sure I don't un
derstand how the poor girl clothes herself on
what she keeps; I know that she had to go
without a warm cloak this winter, because
she got a cough from it we should have
been in the workhouse, and that's where we
shall be yet," and he rubbed the back of his
withered hand across his eyes.
Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely
enough means to clothe herself Beatrice
shivering and becoming ill from the want of
a cloak while he lived in luxury! It made
him sick to think of it. Eor a moment he
could say nothing.
"I have couie here I've come," went on
the old man in a broken voice, broken not
so much by shame at having to make the re
quest as from fear lest it should be refused,
"to ask you if yon could lend me a little
money. I don't know where to turn, I
don't indeed, or I would not do it, Mr.
Bingham. I have spent my last pound to
get uere. xr you could lend me 100, I'd
give you my note of hand 'for it, and try to
pay it back little by little; we might take
20 a year from Beatrice's salary "
"Don't please do not talk of such a
thing," ejaculated the horrified Geoffrey.
"Where the devil is my cheque book? Oh,
I know, I Jeft it in Bolton street. Here,
this will do as well," and he took up a dratt
made out to his order, and, rapidly signing
his name on the back of it, handed it to Mr.
Granger. It was in payment of the fees in
the great case of Parsons and Douse and
some other matters. Mr. Granger took the
draft and, holding it close to his eyes,
glanced at the amount; it was 200.
"But this is double what I asked for," he
said doubtfully. "Am I to return von
100?"
"No, no," answered Geoffrey. "I daresay
that you have some debts to pay. Thank
Heaven, I can geton very well and earn
more money than I want. Not enough
clothing it is shocking to think of!" he
added, more to himself than to his listener.
The old man rose, his eyes full of tears.
"God bless vou," he said, "God bless vou.
1 I do not know how to thank you I don't,
indeed." and he caught Geoffrey's hand be
tween his trembling palms and pressed it.
"Please do not say any more, Mr. Gran
ger; it really is only amatterof mutaal obli
gation. No, no. I don't want any note of
hand. If I were to die it might be used
against you. You can pay me whenever it
is convenient."
"You are too good, Mr. Bingham," said
the old clergyman. "Where could another
man be found who would lend me 200
without security?" (where, indeed?) "By
the way," he added, "I forgot; my mind is
in such a whirl. Will you" come back with
me for a few days to Bryngellv? We shall
all be so pleased if you can. Do come, Mr.
Bingham, you look as though you want a
change, you do indeed."
Geoffrey dropped his hand heavily on the
desk. But halt an hour before he had made
up his mind not to go to Bryngelly. And
now
The vision of Beatrice rose before his
eves. Beatrice who had gone cold all the
winter and never told him one word of their
biting poverty the longing tor the sight of
Beatrice came into his heart and like a hur
ricane swept the de enses of his reason to
the level ground. Temptation overwhelmed
him; he no longer struggled against it. He
n.ust see ber, if only to say goodby.
"Thank you," he said quietly, lifting his
bowed head. "Yes, I have nothing particu
lar to do for the next day or two. I think
that I will come. When do you go back?"
"Well, I thought of taking the night
mail, but I feel so tired. I really don't
knoir. I think I shall go by the nine
o'clock train to-morrow."
"That will suit me very well," said Geof
frey; "and now what are you going to do
to-night? You had better come and dine
and sleep at my house. No dress clothes?
Oh. never mind; there are some people
coming, but they won't care; a clergyman
is always dressed. Come along and I will
get that draft cashed. The bank is shut,
but I can manage it."
I To be continued next Sunday.
TIIE I0UNTAIN CITY.
Life in a South American Capital
That Sits Anions: the Clouds.
SAFE RIDING UPON HUMAN BACKS.
Change in. the Monetary System
Which Banks Are Profiting.
ij
CULTURE OP THE C0YTD 0ECHID.
rconiiESPo::DENCE or the dispatch.i
Bogota, Colombia, February C As
this queer old city has not a single hotel,
the stranger coming here should, if possible,
secure letters of introduction to one or more
of its residents. He may be provided with
villainous meals, at high prices, in a few
low-class fondas, or restaurants, but could
not find lodging therein. There is also a
tolerable boarding house, as such institu
tions go, kept by a New Hampshire
widow, whose late husband was for many
years engaged in business here; but her
house is generally crowded to its utmost
capacity. The good citizens of Bogota,
however, are very hospitably inclined, and
gladly welcome to their homes the stranger
guest who comes with any sort of a rec
commendatioo, serving him with the best
the country affords, as long as he can be
persuaded to remain.
The colony of exiles from the land of the
Stars and Stripes is extremely small in
Colombia, the foreign element being mostly
German, with a sprinkling ot French, En
glish and Italian. The military college, or
West Point, of the Republic, where were
educated most of the famous Generals who
SABANA OF
afterward became President', is in charge
of a former officer of the United States
Army. By the way, it is a significant fact
that more than half the rulers of Colombia,
from Bolivar, the first, down to the present
incumbent, were previously Generals in
the armv.
Dr. Rafael Nunez, the thirty-third occu
pant of the Executive chair, is not a mili
tary man, but his popularity may be in
ferred from his tenure of office, this being
his third term.
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS.
An important institution of Bogota is the
"Seminario," a large public school under
direct control of the Catholic Church, for
the education of boys who design entering
the priesthood or the various learned pro
fessions. There is another university, supported by
the Government, which has branches for the
study of jurisprudence, divinity and mate
ria medica; also a fine national library, con
taining more than 1,000 volumes. The
museum, in which are kept the curiosities
and historical relics of the coun
try, is well worth a visit.
Besides these it contains the
usual curiosities of museums, birds, mam
mals, mummies, fossils, Indian relics, coins
and minerals. One of the most interesting
things in the whole collection is an old
wooden sun dial that was made for Mutis,
and used by Baron von Humboldt and Cal
dis, the naturalist. The most curious piece
of Indian work is a large and elaborate
blanket, worn by the Cbibcbas, in which
feathers of the most brilljaut colors are in
wrought, graphically representing birds,
beasts, flowers and trees.
The constitution, laws and government of
Colombia were modeled after" those of the
United States; their financial policies after
England's; their fashions, manners and cus
toms after the French; their literature, ver
bosity and suavity after the Spaniards.
Patriotic eloquence is their ideal, and well
it is realized in most of their orators. Every
transaction here requires many formalities;
even the account books of the merchant must
receive the legal rubric, as nearly every trial
is decided upon the written evidence only,
pleading at the bar being almost entirely
unknown. Almost everybody in Colombia
is a. writer or a poet. Editors, as a rule,
have other business, and take this post in
addition as a recreation. Some text books
are subsidized by the Government, and all
authors are protected by a copyright law.
The church and State are entirely separate.
There are no more nuns, but sisters of
charityact as educators to the poor and
nurses in the hospitals. Protestant minis
ters are gaining a foothold but very slowly.
THE BANES THBIVE.
.Recently, banks and bankers have multi
plied to a great extent. Paper money,
heretofore almost unknown, is fast sup
planting the coin of the country. This places
a great power in the hands ol the bankers.
They are allowed to issue bills far above
their specie reserve, charging from to
1U per cent a month lor loans. The profits,
therefore, are verv large, some banks pay
ing dividends as high as SO per cent per
annum. The wholesale and commission
merchants comprise a large class. They
buy Irom the lowest selling market, giving
the largest credits, and sell to the small
tradesmen of their individual sections, often
supplying them with goods in advance of
the comjng crop. This gives them control
of the produce a long time ahead. Lotteries
and raffles find many devotees.
The Colombians are musicians, and spend
a great amount of time and money in gain
ing the accomplishment. The German piano
is louud in almost every house, and many
young people earn their living teaching
music, while extravagant figures are paid to
foreign professors. There are few actors
and actresses, although the taste of the
people is favorable to the growth of this art,
and when a really good- performer passes
Br. Rafael JXunez, President
through the country, he or she reaps a rich
harvest.
The police do duty only at night, leaving
the citizens to take care ot themselves by
day. Four policemen are stationed at the
four corners of each plaza. Every IS min
utes a bell rings, which causes the guardians,
of the city to blow their whistles and change
places. By this system it is impossible for
them to sleep on their beats. Beside a
short, stout bayonet, the policeman is often
armed with a lasso, and by the dextrous use
of this formidable weapon the prowling
thief is easily pinioned, when trying to
escape. B
ON HUMAN BACKS.
Travelers are sometimes carried over the
mountain passes in sillas upon the backs of
( natives. A silla is nothing more than a
bamboo chair, fastened to the back of the
carrier by two belts worn crosswise over the
chest, and a third passing over the forehead.
On a level road the men have a gentle trot
that does not jolt the rider much, keeping a
pace of four miles an hour for half a day.
Even when climbing in the mountains they
seldom slip or fall, and very few accidents
ever occur, unless they happen to get too
much rum. But it requires a good deal of
time and patience to accustom one's self to
human back riding, though many of the
natives prefer the silla to the saddle.
Though the lower classes work indiscrimi
nately, the women do the heaviest share of
it, carrying burdens over the mountains
equal to the men, and one or two children
besides.
A little wav out of Bogota, on the road
that leads to Zipaquira, is the cemetery for
foreigners, wherein are buried all Ameri
cans, whether Catholic or Protestant. The
little "God's acre" was planned and laid
out about 60 years ago by Hon. AVilliam
Turner, a former minister from England.
Its high adobe walls are washed a vivid yel
low, in which a wide archway forms the
portal for double wooden doors. Having
obtained the key from a neighboring cot
tage and unlocked these massive gates you
follow a pathway between massive rose
bushes whose trunks are like those of trees,
BOGOTA.
bordered by pansies and forget-me-nots, a
passion vine clambering overhead and an
occasional orchid shoiring among the pur
ple flowers; until a second wooden gate is
reached, through which you pass into the
last resting place of numbers of our coun
trymen. Among scores ot unmarked graves
of the forgotten dead are several handsome
tombs and monuments, conspicuous among
the latter being that erected to Dr. Cheyne,
whose name is well known in the United
States.
CESIETEBY FOB LOWER CLASSES.
Not far from this cemetery is another and
a much larger one, sacred to Catholic Colom
bians. While the lower classes are carried
thereto in borrowed coffins, from which they
are taken out and laid directly in the dirt
in graves rented lor stated periods of from
one to three years, what remains being shov
eled out and burned after the time expire?,
those whose friends can afford so much
luxury for their "dear departed" are more
securely housed in narrow niches within the
walls. The little square door of everyniche,
beside being well cemented in, is further
protected by an iron grating and
a padlock to prevent thieves from
stealing the coffin to sell again and
stripping the cadaver of its clothes and
valuables. That sort of robbery became so
common a while ago that now the fashion
prevails of dressing the corpse in all the
finery and jewels the family can command
while it remains on show in the house, but
taking off every ornament and wrapping it
in plainest garments just before burial.
Both cemeteries are partially shaded by
ragged eucalyptus and willow trees, through
which the winds that come sweeping down
from the bleak hills beyond make mournful
sighing.
In the vicinity of Bogota are several
quintas (small farms) which are devoted en
tirely to the raising of orchids. These
lovely parasites grow "wild all over Colom
bia, in infinite variety of form and color.
The growers send natives out into the woods
and hills to collect them, paying from 1 cent
to 30 cents lor each plant and selling the
same in Europe at prices ranging all the
way between $50 and 5500. I visited an or
chid ranch where a young Englishman is
doing a profitable business. He has a
thousand small wooden boxes and into each
box is nailed a stick, the latter wrapped
with sphagmum moss, among which the
plant is tied.
OTHEB CUBIOUS INDUSTBIES.
Another curious industry practiced here
abouts is the gathering of Cinch Tancifolia
or chincona bark A few years ago such
quantities were exported irom Colombia as
seriously to affect the European market;
but now the supply is practically exhausted
except in the remote interior districts.
The collection of tauun, or vegetable
ivory, is also carriec on to some extent,
though no longer a profitable article of ex
port, since the markets have become over
stocked. This peculiar species of palm
flourishes at its best along the river Magda
lena. It grows about 12 feet high, bearing
nuts in a cluster at the base. Each tree
averages a dozen nuts, enclosed in a rough
brown shell. The natives value them most
in the form of sweetmeats, after boiling
them in sugar.
It is near the close of the rainy season and
one's perambulationsmust be circumscribed,
or rorreuis are sure io ian every aiternoon,
beginning generally between 2 and 3 o'clock
and keeping it up through most of the
night. Though there is no weather
bureau in South Americi, one has little dif
ficulty in calculating what is coming. First
white mists begin to creep slowly up the
stupendous gorge between Guadalupe and
Serrate, tne twin mountains behind the
town, making their bold, dark cliffs appear
yet more rugged by contrast with patches of
sunlight here and there and the pale ad
vancing vapors. Slowly the mists creep
higher and higher, until both peaks are
completely shrouded; and then suddenly
the floods descend, as ii the very windows of
heaven were opened, deluging everything in
a moment and turning the gutters into
brawling rivers. Fannie B. Wabd.
A Kannni Man' Statement.
I bought a 50-cent bottle of Chamberlain's
Pain Balm and applied it to my limbs, that
had been afflicted with rheumatism at inter
vals for one year. At the time I bought the
Pain Bairn i was unable to wait. I can
truthfully say, "that Pain Balm has com
pletely cured me." B. H. Farr, Holywood,
Kansas. Fifty cent bottles for sale bv:
E. G. Stucky, 1701 and 2401 Penn a've., E.
G. Stucky & Co., cor. Wylie ave. and Ful
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Carl Hartwig, 4016 Butler Bt.; John C.
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PEOYINGJtf PHILIP.
The Lesson in the Feeding of the
Multitude Across Galilee.
A PRACTICAL APOSTLE'S ANSWER.
In His Self-Snfficiency He Never Thought
of a Higher Power.
HIS COUNTERPARTS IN THIS DAT
IWBITTEX FOB TUB DISFATCH.l
There does not seem to have been any
thing extraordinary about the Apostle
Philip. He was a plain man, like the rest
ol us. Indeed, all the apostles were plain
men, about whom nothing is perhaps more
notable than the fact that they were not
notable at all. Christ passed over the more
conspicuous men of His day and chose these
12 out o." the people, 12 plain men. So much
the better examples they are for us.
There was not a single uncommon man
among them. They were not even uncom
monly good, but had their defects, and their
littlenesses, and their shortcomings, and
their sins, just as we have. jVe put a title
before their names, and call them Saint
Peter, and Saint Philip, and Saint John;
but that is only to distinguish them Irom
any other Peter, and Philip, and John, so
that everybody may know whom we mean.
We must not let that title decoive us into
thinking that they were really different from
us. They were plain people, just as we
arc.
And Christ chose these 12 men, who were
no scholars and who had no money to speak
of, and were none of them particularly dis
tinguished citizens of the towns in which
they lived Christ chose these men, who
were no better than we are, to be His com
panions and to take up and carry on His
work. These plain men turned the world
upside down. So can anybody who loves
Christ as they did, and believes a supreme
truth with theunspeakable confidence which
they had, and is dead in earnest as they
were. Indeed, nobody who lacks these
qualities can do any great service lor Christ
in this world, while whoever possesses
them cannot help helping. I sometimes
think that the man to-day who is most like
one oi these 12 in his manner, and look, and
character aud work, is Mr. Moody.
THE CHABACTEB OF PHILIP.
My subject this morning is the Proving of
Philip.and I want to emphasize this fact that
Philip was the same sort of man that we
are, so that we will realize how closely this
proving of Philip touches us. The charac
ter ot Philip is indicated pretty clearly in
the gospel history. He was the man who
being called by Christ, and coming to know
Christ, straightway went and found some
body else. "Philip findeth Nathaniel."
But when Nathaniel has an objection to
make tn Philip's claim for his Master, all
that Philip can say is "Come and see." He
was not good at arguing. It was Philip
also to whom in Holy Week came certain
Greets, attracted very likely by his Greek
name, saying, "Sir, we would "see Jesus."
But Philip hesitates to bring them into the
.waster s presence, ne is not quite sure
what he ought to do. He consults Andrew.
And the two together bring the request to
Jesus.
There were two kinds of people to whom
Philip found it hard to speak. To the
objector, to the inquirer, he knew not what
to say. Of course the time came when
Philip's whole life was taken up with
meeting objectors aud inquirers. Whoever
asked "Can any good thing come out of
Nazareth?" Whoever came saying, "Sir,
we would see Jesus," that was the very
person whom Philip wanted to get by the
hand. But here we find him hesitating,
not knowing what to say, behaving exactly
as nine-tenths, perhaps, of the Christian
people whom we know would behave under
similar conditions.
PHILIP'S P.EMAKKABLE BEQUEST.
It was Philip also who upon one occasion
asked a remarkable question, and upon an
other occasion made a remarkable answer.
"Lord," he said, "show us the Father and
it sufficeth us." Could any request be more
extraordinary and astonishing! "Show us
the Father." What did he think would
happen? Would the roof open, and the sky
part above it, and the invisible be made
visible? Would the little company fall
into a trance, and be transported into the
third heaven, there to behold sights inde
scribable? What was Philip thinking of?
And yet, was the wish so very far out of
the common? Is it impossible that you or I
could have uttered a request so unheard of,
so preposterous, so astounding? Why, some
ol us are wishing Philip's wish every day.
If we could but see God with our eyes, and
touch Him with our hands, and Hear His
voice speaking to us in the English tongue,
we could believe. How many people there
are who have a thought like that, deep in
their hearts. "Show us the Father," they
are saying to religion, "and it sufficeth us."
The remarkable answer which Philip
made, and to which I alluded, brings us to
the incident in his life which I have chosen
for onr special study this morning. After
a season of unusually wearying work, Christ
aud the apostles had gone by boat across the
Lake of Galilee, seeking a place of rest. It
was a desert country across the lake, and is
a desert countrv still to-day. No villages
clustered along the shore, with crowds of
fishing boats putting out into the deep lor a
draught, as on the Western side. It was a
solitude. It was an ideal harbor of rest.
The work of ministering to men's souls and
bodies had so increased upon that little
company of helpers, that they had not time
no, not even to cat. They needed rest.
NO BEST ON THE DESEBT,
But a great company of people, who felt
the need of help just as much as Christ and
the apostles felt the need of rest, had gone
gone by land around the head of the lake,
and taken sudden possession of it. And when
Christ came there were thousands of them.
The solitude was crowded. Best was not to
be thought of. Then it was that Christ
asked the question to which Philip returned
his remarkable answer. For it is written,
'When Jesus then lilted up his eyes and
saw a great company come unto Him, He
saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy
bread, that they may eat? And this He said
to prove him, for He Himself knew what
He would do. Philip answered him, 200
pennyworth ol bread is not sufficient for
them, that every one of them may take a
little."
That was an eminently practical answer.
Philip, evidently. was a practical man. He
was acquainted with the cost of things. He
knew how much money the apostolic
brotherhood had in their scanty treasury.
He d cides at once that this generous
thought of Christ's cannot be executed. It
will take too much money. Philip was a
man who had some idea of money. What
he would have said to St. Theresa's project,
who started out, you remember, to build a
hospital, having- two hall-pence in her
pocket, and saying: "Two half-pence, with
God, can build a city" what Philip would
have said to that sort of financiering we
cannot say. At any rate there is uo men
tion of Gnd here. The bread will cost so
much money. We have not in our treasury
that amount of money. The plan cannot
be carried out.
HIS COUNTERPABTS tVITH US.
Now, before we go any further, let us also
do a sum in addition. Let us add up what
we know about Philip. We found before
that he was a good man who had but little
to say on the subject, of religion. And we
find now in his remarkable question and
again in his remarkable answer, that he was
a man who took the world very practically.
He wanted to see what he was expected to
believe, and when it was a question of feed
ing hungry people, his mind turned far
more naturally to money than it did to
miracle.
Altogether, Philip, of Bethsaida, was a
man whom we all recognize as having his
counterparts among us. The apostle who
stood beside the shore of the Lake of Galilee
would not have found himself in a strange
world with which he could have had no
sympathy, if he could have been trans
ported 1,900 years into the future and more
than 1,900 miles into the West, and have
been set down upon the banks of either the
Allegheny or Monongahela rivers.
This man Christ proved. Christ is forever
proving that is, testing men. Christ
does not need to prove men for His sake.
That is,, ol course, evident. "He Himself
knew what He would do." And He knew
also just as surely what Philip would do.
The proving was for Philip's sake. The
proving is tor our sake. We are all ignorant
about ourselves. As the years go by we
grow wiser about ourselves; we get to realize
some of the unknown possibilities of good
and of bad that are in US'. And these
lessons we learn by God's proving us. God
teaches us what we are bv putting us to the
test. We start out, mostot us, with the idea
that we can accomplish anything. Youth
sees no barriers. Step by step, this hard task
presenting itself, this temptation meeting
ui, this opportunity opening for us if we are
strong enough to take it, this and that load
to lilt, this and that battle to fight these
disclose us to ourselves. We le.trn where
the limits are. This is God's proving.
WELCOME THE TAILINGS.
And the man who is wise and in earnest
and has had the courage to set a high ideal
be'ore him welcomes even the failures which
follow these testings of God, because they
show him what he needs. Here he must be
on his guard, there he must increase bis dil
igence. Every honest man ought to des"ire
to know the truth about himself. That is
the only path to any kind of worthy success.
And along this path God guides us by His
provings.
Philip, no doubt, discovered more about
himself, by his answer to Christ's proving
question, than he had learned from all the
sermons he had ever heard. But what was
the defect in Philip's answer? It was a
perfectly true answer; it was eminently rea
sonable, matter-of-fact and practical. It
was the answer which a sensible man, ac
quainted with the cost of bread and the
value of money, might naturally give to
such a question. And yet Philip of Beth
saida failed. That is the evident teaching
of the record. Philip failed. But why, and
where? What was the defect in Philip's
answer?
I would say that one defect in Philip's
answer was that it wa3 a hasty answer. He
spoke at once, taking no time for thought.
Perhaps if he had considered a little he
might have answered differently. Certainly
if be could have known, as we who read the
story know, that Christ was saying that to
prove him, he would have bethought him
self and met the test a little better. It would
be well if we could all remember what
Philip failed to remember that Christ is
all the time proving us. The consciousness
of being tested puts us on our mettle.
THE TESTS THAT COME.
Here is a hard load to carry. Now we
shall see how strong you are. Here is a hard
provocation straightin your face. Now we
shall see what command you have over your
temper. Here is one coming to you, as the
Greeks came to Philip, saying after some
fashion, "Sir, we would see Jesus." Now,
we shall see what sort of sight of Jesus you
have yourself. For no man can give to an
other what he has not himself. Here is an
other, objecting to you as Nathaniel objected
to Philip, "Can any good thing come out of
Nazareth? Is your religion which you offer
to me true? Can we not say this and that
about it? Now we shall see what kind of
Christian you are. What will vou answer?
Here is a call to duty, and on the other side
summoning in an opposite direction is a call
to pleasure or to rest. Now we shall see
what spirit you are of."
In a thousand ways we are being forever
put to the proof; and if we could remember
that, and not forget it as Philip forgot, and
not speak hastily as Philip spoke, it would
be the better for us. The conscious of the
proofing would strengthen us to stand it
Philip ought to have known better than
to have made that quick decision that the
whole matter was impossible. Whatever
Christ proposes is forever possible. When
we look out over the needs of men, as Philip
looked, and become aware, as Philip was, of
Christ's good purpose for their help and
betterment, we have no right to prononnce a
verdict of impossibility. All that is best is
possible because God is behind it.
ALL THE APOSTLES FAILED.
But Philip, even after taking time, still
made a failure of it. It seems to have been
early in the day that this conversation took
place. By and by the hour came when
something must be done. The people must
be fed or not. In the meantime the apostles
had been talking the matter over. Philip
had gone to the others and repeated the
Master's question and his own answer, and
the whole companyhad deliberately decided
that that was the best answer that could be
given.
For it is written: "And when the day
was now far spent His disciples came unto
Him and said, This is a desert place and
now the time is far passed; send them away
that they may go into the country round
about, and into the villages, and buy them
selves bread, for they have nothing
to eat. He answered and said
unto them, Give ye them to
eat. And they say unto Him, Shall
we go and buy 200 penny worth of bread,
and give them to eat?"
That was the carefully considered conclu
sion of the united wisdom of the Twelve
Apostles. There was accordingly another de
lect in Philip's answer. Itwasaself-sufficient
answer. 1'hilip ought to have said, when
Christ proposed that generous plan, and he
could see no way of carrying it out he
ought to have turned to Christ and an
swered, "Lord, Thou knowest." Instead of
that he tried to puzzle the matter out him
self. And afterward the whole 12 en
deavored the same foolish experiment.
They tried to figure out the problem, and
when they failed to get an answer they con
tentedly considered the thing settled. They
could find no answer; therefore answer there
was none, except a negative, and that they
fixed upon.
HOW THE PBOTING COMES.
It was as if a party of people should dis
pute and wrangle for an hour as to whether
Ceylon is an island or a peninsula, with
a geography lying unopened on the table.
It does not seem to have occurred to Philip
and the others to ask the Master. Christ's
proving question comes sometime to-day in
the shape of some difficulty about the faith.
and there are not lacking good, practical,
matter-of-tact men, lite Philip, who return
the same foolishly self-sufficient answer.
There are plenty of difficulties in these
days. No young man can work a week in
an office with a dozen other intelligent
young fellows without encountering theo
logical difficulties; no thoughtful young
woman can read the literature of the day
without discerning some questioning of the
creeds.
Now here comes the difficulty.
How will you meet it? Will you
listen, like Philip, and say hastily and
in the spirit of self-sufficiencv. there is no
answer? Or, triilyou consult some master?
The dilemma is your proving. It would
seem to me that there is but one way to deal
with a difficulty wbich we cannot answer,
and that is to take the difficulty to some
body who can answer it. The Christian re
ligion, it is quite likely, may have some
thing to say lor itself. There is an answer,
it is possible, which one who has made but a
superficial study ot Christian theology may
be ignorant of. It would be well to learn
that before deciding that the difficulty must
stand and the faith fall. The fact is that the
faith has been standing and the difficulties
have been falling for now these nineteen
centuries.
Above all masters is the Master. We
have no time, the most of us, to study the
theologies; we have not the trained minds, a
good many,of us, to reason hard matter
out. Christ will answer all questions.
Christ is the Master in the realm of the
spiritual. To him we can go, trusting his
infinite spiritual kn'owledge. What He
says is true, we may take His word for it.
That word shall settle all disputes, as a
geography would settle a question about
the island of Ceylon. Christ, for all Chris
tians, must be forever the final and supreme
authority. Geoboe Hodqes.
Highest prices paid for ladies' or gent's
cast-off clothing at De Haan's Big 6, Wylie
ave. Call or send by mail. wsa
HOW TO SAY THINGS.
Emma Y. Sheridan's Hints for Girls
Who Wish to Learn to Talk.
THE TONGUE ONLY DOES A PART.
Thoughts May Flow Out of Silence or
Dance Prom the Finger Tip3.
DISTRACTING TEA1TS OF THE MEN
rwBiTTiK roa TUB DISPATCH.!
Girls talk too much and much too rapid
ly. Go watch the delivery of any good ac
tress. Words as words have their value;
the word is not only a symbol ol a thought,
but when it is Spoken its sound -should con
vey a suggestion of the thought. "A rose
by any other name," of course still, sup
pose you say, "I have tried." The simple
saying conveys the idea of course, yet you
can do more you can suggest months or a
lifetime of patient, hopeless struggle in the
word "tried." It does not suffice to say a
girl is "beautiful," unless yov.r word "beau
tiful" is given value enough to make the
listener at once impressed by your belief in
the quality.
Pauses are of more value in conversation
than what you say. Not the dead, flat,
hopeless pause that settles down when two
people, who long ago ran out of ideas,
finally ran out of words; not the distressful
gap in talk, avoided if possible, and when
taking place ignored as something which
should never have occurred in successful
talking; not the pause that makes the girl
berate herself for failing to entertain and
the man wish himself dead but an inten
tional pause. Those unfortunate failures in
dribble of conversation are very different
from the pauses that come to give value to
what has been said or to what you are
going to say.
WITHOUT AND WITH A PAUSE.
If a man asks you a question "Why do
you wear violets?" it is mere folly to" an
swer "because I like them." A pause while
your eyes rest on the flowers yon wear a
lift of your glance to him, a little smile
then "Because I like them," and you
have made a remark that means something.
You may not be very clear about what it
means yourself. One often isn't but it
certainly conveys suggestion enough to start
a conversation. If your opinion is asked
and you say "I thintc" and then do some
thing or take enough time to do so and
finally say what you are supposed to have
thought in the time you took, your opinion
goes lor something.
Of course all these points will not help
you unless you remember always to study
the person with vou. A woman should be
able to arouse interest by half a dozen sen
tences; I don't mean sentimental interest,
particularly, but she should suggest a per
sonality, the better knowing of which or the
study of which seems to the person to whom
she speaks a matter of interest. She should
be able to flavor an acquaintanceship, a
companionship, or a flirtation with those
little bits of golden time when nothing is
said, but much felt. This can only be ac
complished by learning the value of a pause,
of a look, of a movement with one word or
two whose meaning shall be made clear for
the person to whom it i3 said, by the tone
that voices it. I am not advising hypocrisy
or affectation. In these times women must
be able to entertain. The days are past
when to be fairly good looking and a good
housewife were enough to secure a husband,
and when the securing of that prize was the
important thing in life.
BEAINS NECESSABT NOW.
To be a fair housewife or an expert one,
even, may be a recommendation, and may
in some emergencies prove a graceful
weapon of attractiveness; but the average
girl now mnst depend upon her ballroom
skill and her summer tact. Moreover, the
aim is not so directly a husband nowadays.
A girl must make a successful season, she
must receive the proper amount of attention,
she must even count a respectable number
of proposals. To accomplish this she needs
brains, and a lot of them. She must be
equal to any emergency, mistress of herself
and of the situation always; she must be
able at will to arouse anyone's interest in
her, and to keep that interest at just the
comfortable conventional point that she
desires. She must be able to make each
man feel that he is of special value to her,
and yet not incur the reproach of leading
men on or of insincerity.
To be a chatterbox, to laugh a great deal,
to convey by jerks and vivaciousness an
impression of being very young, very
thoughtless, aud very full of fun, seems to
be the average girl's method. It is very
wearing on her, and alter the enthusiasm of
the beginning of the season is over, it all
begins to ring false, and the girl's manner
gets strained, hrr eyes restless and anxious,
and her voice horribly artificial. Avoid
this. Study people always, and turn to
them that side of your nature wbich their
taste will approve. Meet them on their own
ground first, it will then be easy enough to
lead them, if you wish, to your ground. The
most dignified man in the world will dash
upstairs three steps at a time to get a girl's
shawl or carry a message for her, if the girl
wishes it and has managed him skillfully.
She need not be misleading him either. She
is simply securing for herself that outward
and visible sign of success wbich homage is
to a society girl.
NO MATTEB THE MAN.
It is no excuse that the man you are try
ing to entertain is a coxcomb and half a
goose. Many men are. A little serious
contemplation of his ideas, such as they are,
a bit of gentle appreciation of his vagaries,
and he is your slave, or else so muddled np
as to what you are and what you
think of him that, if you are not
carelul, he will bore you to death by trying
to find ont. It is no excuse that the man to
whom you are talking is a confirmed flirt
and unable to say two consecutive sentences
uninterlarded with idiotic compliments.
Take him either philosophically or dead in
earnest and you will startle him into some
thing like common sense as well as a large
sized regard for yourself, expressed by "By
Jove! A. great girll
You begin to see that is rather a science
this business of being attractive especially
to women who have no other business. The
girl who is hard at work at something,
whose Hie throws her in contact with many
men and women, who learns a good deal of
life yet keeps her heart warm and ber wit3
ready, is by all this equipped as the average
society girl cannot be. The society girl
must think it out and study these other
women. On the stage is the safest place to
do so, for on the stage no movements are
made that do not mean something, eitner a
demonstration of character, an expression of
individuality, or an accompaniment of
speech which, is as intelligible as are the
words. On the stage, no matter how ex
citing the scene, how genuinely played, the
trained actress is always aided by her train
tq look graceful. On the stage words get
their full value, and voice modulation gives
meaning to speech.
FEW DISTBACTIONS BESIDES MEN.
TJn'ortunately life offers the average girl
few distractions besides men, who certainly
are distracting. Men can go out in the
world, fight in wars, build bridges, find the
North.Pole or make for themselves king
doms. Women must stay at home, fight in
parlors, build flirtations, find what is harder
to find than the North Pole, their own heart
and take chances on queendoms. Love is
the poorest plaything lite gives to a woman
with which to amhse herself. As human
beings of contrasted tastes and abilities,
men and women interest each other,
and afford to each other in
spiration. As human beings of con
trasted sex men and women intox
icate each other aud drive each other
mad. Love always brings more than it
takes. Friendship gives; love bargains,
and if it is a man's lave it wants the best of
the bargain.
It is almost impoaifllerto classify lovers.
It is fatal to toke one as a type of a class.
The man who is devoted, patient and inter
esting as a lriend, is exacting, cranky and
tiresome as a lover. A friend can exchange
ideas with you in every direction. A lover
has only two ideas himself and you, and
that is no exchange. If yon don't cara
about him disenssion of himself is a bore.
For yourself, having lived with yourself all
your-lite, you look for no news of yourself
from him.
WnEN LOVE IS A BOBE.
Of course a woman cannot love all the
men who love her. Also, there i.i nothing
so tiresome to her as a man who cares more
for her than she wishes, unless it be a man
who cares for hernot at all. ,The existence
of a regard which she does not reciprocate
may be flattering, yet the demonstration ot
such regard is a bore. "I love you" comes
like music from lips we care for, no matter
where or how often they say it. But its
reiteration from the wrong man is mo
notonous, maddening and very wearing.
Think of getting it in the cars with the
old lady opposite closely attentive; at the
theater when you wish to attend to the play;
in a carriage, when it is a case of get out
and walk or hear it; or through soup, fish,
game and ice at dinner! To sit down with
a good appetite and a clear conscience to
discuss a succulent chop, and have him lean
Ter tosay it.in a deep and husky whisper!
Even if your appetite is not taken away,
decency forbids you eating any more.
CAN'T SIAKE A EULE.
Setting rules for management is hopeless.
What settles one man upsets another. The
stony air of disapproval that freezes one fires
the next. Passive endurance that disheart
ens one encourages another to new efforts.
The bombshell delivery that suggests that
you mean your "No" inspires the next with
an idea that you mean "Yes." The gentle
ness that in one case wins consideration and
respect fires another man to go further and
say more. Exactions and caprices that
weary one develop in another untiring meek
ness and patient devotion. Invective that
shoots one off in a rage reduces another to a
palpitating pulp of passivity, against which
no woman of any heart can exert herself.
All you can be sure oi is that the man who
loves you to-day is probably a bore, the one
who loved you yesterday is a bother, and the
one who is "likely to love you to-morrow will
be both.
Moral-Go to work and find some more
satisfactory interest and amusement than
men. EaiaiA T. Sheetdan.
THEEB ABKAHAM I1KC0LNS.
One- Killed by Indiana, One Aunjslnuted, tho
Third Died Under the Knife.
Abraham Lincoln.
The above is a likeness of the grandfather
of President Lincoln. He took up a farm
in Kentucky, and one morning in 1786,
while at work clearing with his three sons,
was killed by a shot from the bush. A fer
moments later the Indian murderer wa3
killed by one of the sons.
Abraham Lincoln.
Two generations later the second Abra
ham Lincoln became President, and the
story oi his assassination is familiar in the
households of the land.
Abraham Lincoln.
Four generations removed from the man
who fell victim to the Indian in Kentucky,
was the third Abraham Lincoln, son of
Eobert T. Lincoln. Minister to England.
He died recently under the knife, aged 17
years. The surgeons were operating for the
removal of an abcess. The operation is not
considered dangerous, but the boy's weak
ness made it fatal.
HE LEARNED SOMETHING.
The Kallrond Didn't Care io Much Aboat
Him as He Thought.
Detroit Free Press.
"I came down here," said a man to Officer
Button at the Third street depot, the other
day; "I came down here to see if I could
get a pass to Buffalo."
"On what ground?" asked the officer.
"On the grounds that my sister is dead."
"You could no more get a pass on that ex
cuse than crowbars can fly."
"I couldn't?"
"Why, no. What is your sister to this
railroad?"
That's so. The thought had not occurred
to me before. It is nothing to this railroad
whether she lives or dies."
"Nothing."
"I might have six dying sisters and the
company conldn't help it."
"Of course, not."
"I see it clearly now. It is nothing to
the company whether I get to Buffalo or
not?"
"No, sir."
"Whether I live or die?"
"No, sir."
"I see. I see, I thank yon kindly for
opening my eyis to these facts, and allow
me to bid you good day."
Alllann'a Prondeit Achievement.
New York Press.
Someone asked Senator Allison, of Iowa,
the otherday what he regarded as the proud
est act of his life. "Counting the votes for
Abraham Lincoln's nomination as Presi
dent," was his reply. "I was one of the
secretaries of the Bepublican National Con
vention that year, and it was my duty to
count the votes. I shall be proud of it to
the last Hay of my life'
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