An Old Maid's Tragedy - By A. SC. JOHN ADCOCK. HAVING had the whole day In which to reflect and prepare herself, Miss Gurney had got her feelings to well under control that she Vas able to hand the photograph to Hester across the tea table and say without a tremor In her voice, "I picked this tip on the floor, Hester, after you were gone tills morning." The girl took it from her eagerly; she had been In trouble about It all day, wondering where she had lost It, oiid, In a flutter of relief and embar rassment, slipped It Into her pocket now without a word; but Miss Gur ney noticed that her cheeks Mushed, and then a rosier red surged back and overflowed them. The silence between them became too strained not to be broken. "You did not tell me, Hester, that you know " Miss Gurney hesi tated. "Is he a friend ot yours, dear?" "Yes, aunt." "How long have you known him?" "Not very long. Not mow than three months." This explained to Miss Gurney the change it had puzzled her to observe in HeBter lately; her placid, aubdued habit of mind had seemed altogether disturbed, so that sometimes she sang for very happiness, with a strange, new light in her eyes, and sometimes she was saddened and pre occupied with pensive dreamlngs. "I hope, Hester," Miss Gurney forced herself to say In her prim, de cisive fashion, "there has been no no talk of love betwixt you and this gentleman." Hester flashed an answering glance on her and looked down, without speaking, but the answer was so clear to Mis9 Gurney as if It had been put Into actual words. "My dear," she went on, striving against her Increasing agitation, "I am very, very sorry. I wish It had been any other man ." "But, aunt," Hester Interrupted, astonished, "you do not know him!" "I know," Miss Gurney faltered "I knew a man so like him so ex actly like him, that the moment I saw his photograph I was afraid for you, dear. It is impossible for that man to bring you anything but misery. Hard, and false, and cruel ." "Oh, but, aunt," cried Hester, tear fully Indignant, "he is not! If you knew him you could never say that again." ' "But why have you never told me about him?" . "I have boen wanting to." Hes ter flushed again with a pretty shy ness that appealed IrrealBtlbly to all the tenderness and affection of the gentle, little old lady's nature. "I meant to, aunt, but I I did not quite know how to. I meant to show you his photograph he only gave It to me yesterday and tell you then." "And of course" Miss Gurney as sumed a severity of manner she found it difficult to maintain "he tells you that he loves you?" "He has asked me to marry him, aunt." "And you fancy that you love him?" With this question and her earnest, passionate reply, Hester broke down utterly. She flung herself on her kneeB, and, covering her face with her hands, laid It in Miss Gurney's iap, and sobbed all her heart out thus, as she had done years ago when it had been laden with more chlldiBh griefs. Miss Gurney herself was scarcely less agitated. "There, dearie, you mustn't cry so. I did 'not mean to be unkind," she said, her eyes dimmed and her thin hands shaking as she passed them caressingly over the fair, bowed head. "But I have Been more of the world than you have, dear, and I have never told you yet the man I loved spoilt my life, and made me the poor, broken-spirited creature I am; and this portrait is so like what he used to be so exactly like, that ever since I saw it I have been dreading oh, I don't know what! I believe I could kill him, Hester, if I thought he would cause you half the suffering I have endured through his . But there, it is too late for me to say anything now. If you love him know whatever I can say would make no difference." She added presently in tile calm, even tones that were habitual to her: "You have not told me his name, Hester. What Is his name?" She had to wait and ask a second time before Hester had regained ml flcient composure to reply. "Richard Harwood," Miss Gurney repeated mechanically, nodding thoughtfully, as If Bhe had only been confirmed In what she knew already "And where does he live?"- Hester mentioned an address at Kensington. "He is a gentleman and rich? pursued Miss Gurney. "Yes; his father Is rich." "And does he know how poor we are ; "Oh, yes, aunt; he knows I working for my living." am "How was It you first happened to meet him?" " "He Is distantly related to Madame ur. raaaame Faber was the fashionable milliner at whose large vBiBuunuineni in Uxlord Street lies UBU "en engagoa these last twelve months or more. "He came In one day with some message from his sister, I think, and he has called once or twice since, and then he met me as I was coming home, and walked, with me, and " "And he has happened to meet you " Miss Gurney smiled, but became gerlou. again. You should have told me, dear, and have brought him to ,Be me. dldu t you? You were not. ashamed mi lomug wnai a home we lived In?" rmar sort of - "Oh, no, no, aunt!" Hester protest ed. "He would have come I would have brought him, but I wanted to tell you about him first." And she told her about him now, and It was all only that she loved him, and she loved him more than all the world, and she had promised to be his wife, but There was bound to be a "but;" It was what Miss Gurney had been lis tening for. "But It will not be for a long while, because he Is going away " "Going away, child! Why? Where to?" "He has spoken to his father about me," said Hester, her lips quiv ering, "and he refuses to see me, and threatens to turn Richard into the street if he will not give me up." "They are rich, you see, dear," murmured Miss Gurney, bitterly, "and we are poor. Probably his mother " "She has been dead several years." "Then It la his father. He prob ably intends his Bon to marry money, or social influence " "But Richard won't. He says he will never marry any one but me. If I will wait for him. "Why Is he going away?" "His father is sending him to man age a large branch of his business in Ceylon. He Is to be out there three years perhaps longer. His father Is only sending him, he says, so as to separate him from me, and he can't refuse to go without ruining his prospects, and for my sake he does not want to do that. I don't care whether he Is rich or poor, but Rich ard says If his father turns him adrift he would have nothing and so it is best to wait, because he will never change, and I shall never change. And so he is going away at the end of this week. I can't bear him to go. I might never see him again; but if he lives, he will come back to me." She said it half defiantly, half de spairingly, and laid her head on Miss Gurney's lap aagin to hide her tears. For fully ten minutes neither of them spoke; then, rousing herself with a heavy sigh, Miss Gurney said. hesitatingly: I might do something. I don't know what I can do but bring him home with you to-morrow evening, and let me see him, dear. If he Is all you think he 1b but let pie see him for myself. Bring him with you to-morrow evening." II. And the following evening, when Richard Harwood came, Miss Gurney was easily converted to Hester's opin ion of him. His frank, honest eyes, his unaffected simplicity of speech and manner, his diffidence, his shy adoration of Hester, his uOSonceal able love of her all conspired to win Miss Gurney's confidence and ap proval, and won them in Bpite of her self. Again and again, while he was there, and after he was gone, she owned, grudgingly at first, but with growing satisfaction, that he real ized her girlhood's ideal of the man she had loved years ago, and was not, as she had feared, a reincarnation of that man as she saw him now in the light of bitter remembrances cruel, heartless, faithless. She lay awake that night living through again in thought the long past happiness and misery that the sight of Richard Harwood had brought back upon her with renewed intenalty. She had loved, and .was to have married, but seemed predes tined to misfortune. First it was her mother's death that postponed the marriage; then, a year later, her father's; and her father dying bank rupt, the man she loved had ultl mately yielded to the wishes of his family and broken his engagement with her, through her blind love of him, and could leave her to bear alone a shame whose memory was not burled in that little grave in the far off country churchyard, but lived to haunt her yet, and sear her very soul as often as it returned to her. She Had never seen the man since, or written to him; she was too proud to ask anything of his pity, und all the love she had felt for him had died within her. She left her old home and came to earn her living fn London among people who knew nothing of her his- tory. Being clever with her needle, she was soon able to support herself in reasonable comfort, but the hard work and the solitary, loveless life were fast aging and hardening and embittering her, when Hester came with her childish needs and sympu- thles to melt the frost that had gath ered about her heart and reconcile her to humanity and make the world habitable again. HeBter was tae orphaned child ot Miss Gurney'a younger sister, and it was not strange that the two, each left desolate, should grow to be all In all to each other. If Miss Gur ney's love wag the deeper, the more self-sacrificing, that was not strange either. She was no longer young, and had not hoped that her forlorn heart hunger would ever be satisfied, but Hester had come and satisfied It. It was enough for her now that there was one living creature whom she could love and who loved her, and her love fo Hester was such that to Insure her happiness she would gladly have endured rebuffs and humiliations that she would sooner have died than have submit ted to for any advantage to herself. No self-interest could have anni hilated her pride and urged her to such lengths as she went unhesita tingly for Hester's sake. She rose the morning after Rich ard Hai-wood's vlHlt with a great re solve already fixed In her mind. She dared not reflect too much upon It or upon all its fulfillment must mean to lir-r, tcr fear her courage should fall her; but early In the evening she traveled westward, and for the first time, realized her Intention to the utmost, and was alarmed at her own timerlty when she found her self knocking at the door of the state ly house In Kensington. If hei knock had not been heard she felt she would not have dared to repeat It; but It was heard, and a supercilious footman presently opened the door. "Is Mr. Harwood at home?" she asked, shrtnkingly. The man eyed her dubiously; she made a rather shabby, quite insig nificant little figure standing there on the doorstep. "Well yes he's at home. What might you want him for?" His lofty condescension roused her to resentment, and so stiffened her drooping pride and at once restored her self-control. "Will you tell Mr. Harwood, my man, that Miss Gurney wishes to see him? Say Miss Gurney, formerly of Barndene, please." He sullenly obeyed, and after an Interval, roturned to her In the hall with a perplexed expression darken ing his countenance. "Mr. Harwood will see you. This way, please." She followed him Into a spacious, elegantly appointed drawing room, and sat down there, feeling curiously out of place and bewildered. And a minute later a gray, elderly gentleman entered and advanced toward her. Altered as he was she knew him, and was aware that he recognized her as readily. He of fered her his hand with an obvious embarrassment, but she bowed dis tantly without appearing to notice It. "I am pleased to see you. Miss Gurney," he began lamely, and then sat down and looked at her, and seemed waiting for her to speak. But she could not trust herself yet; her heart was fluttering suffo catingly, and she felt that If she at tempted to answer him she was so unnerved she must burst into tears, and the very thought of thus hum bling herself In his presence helped to strengthen her. "It Is a very long while," he m'.de an effort, and resumed Inanely, "since we saw each other, Miss Gurney." "A very long while!" His halting words had an unintentional sting In them, and all at once she had flung her weakness from her. "I would not have troubled you now on my own account " "Please don't say that." She was vaguely conscious of a wistful eager ness in his tone. "If there is any thing I can do for you " "There is nothing you can do for me, she said, with quiet decision. You should know me better than to think I would ask any, even the. smallest, favor of you for myself." He quailed under her Indignant glance, and threw out his hands with a gesture of despair. "Forgive me. I know what you say is true," he returned sadly. "You must not think, Ruth," the name rose Involuntarily to his lips, "that I have forgiven myself, or forgotten, or that have been altogether happy. I know I wronged you terribly and the memory of It has come between me and happiness more and more as I have grown older and had time to think. I have been punished " "And I!" she interposed harshly. But I did not come to talk of what is past mending. You did me a great wrong, and I never dreamt till yes terday of seeing you again, or that there was any way in which I might be brought to forgive you " "And is there? Tell me what it is," he cried. "I would give a great deal to make some reparation for what I have done. I am not the reckless, selfish fool I was in those days." Ho was strongly moved, but not more so than was Miss Gurney her self; It was as much as she could do to steady her voice and keep her emo tion hidden from him. "Your son Is engaged to my niece my dead sister's child. I did not know anything of it until two days ago, Blie Bald, gathering confidence as she proceeded, and speaking with a detached air as if what she dis cussed did not concern herself per sonally, "You have forbidden your son to see her again, and are send ing him away with some idea of part ing them for ever. Sho is everything to me now. I care more for her hap piness than my own. If I had not loved her bo, my pride would never have allowed me to come to you. I came only to save her from such a life as mine has been. I couldn't think, If you knew, that you would break her heart as you have broken mine." She stopped abruptly, and he gazed at her with a sort of terror in his eyes. "I did not know whoshe was," he said huskily. "I came to tell you." He sat looking at her, stricken dumb, for even In his most repentant moments he had not thought the con sequences ot his sin could spread a blight so far. reaching and so irre parable; he sat looking at her, and read in her thin, white hair and in her worn, furrowed features the pit eous story of what her life had been since he had seen her last. He had no words for his shame and his re morse, a,nd In some subtle fashion the poignancy ot his emotion com municated itself to her. She would not trust herself to look -at him or address him again, and though he twice made, as if he would speak, each time his volca broke like a sob in his throat and he fell silent. The tension was becoming so pain ful that It was an Ineffable relief to both of them When a knock sounded on the door, and the footman entered apologetically. "Beg pardon, sir," he said. "Car rier at the gate, sir, for Mr. Rich ard's boxes. They're all corded in his room, but he isn't home yet, and hasn't labelled which he wants for. use during the voyage, and I thought p'h'ps you'd know, sir " "It won't matter, James," cried' Mr. Harwood, himself again Instantly In face of this dignified domestic. "You can tell the carrier there are no boxes to be taken now. Mr. Richard has altered his arrangements he will not be going." The King. RUSSELL SAGE IN STORY. Anecdotes of the Dead Financier'! Peculiarities. Called a loan to Save 3 Cents. His Eccentric Methods ot Business and Close Economy In Matters of Dress, Food and Other Domestic Affairs. ttmmtmmmtmmtmtmtttmuumtmmmmnmttmu The death of Russell Sage brings to light Btorles ot a man who has, per haps, borne the butt ot more uncom- pllmentary stories than any other that ever lived. That Russell Sage was a close man, who hated waste, is a historic fact. The office of Rursell Sage, wrote a well-known Journalist not long ago, is an Interesting place. Many a coun try lawyer has a bigger one. It con sists of several small rooms facing upon a hall, and walled ofl from it by doors and grated windows, like those through which letters are de livered at a postofllce. As I presented my card at ons of these windows to-day, a rosy-faced man with a silver mustache took it and told me that Mr. Sage was not well enough to see mo. A moment later a banker came In with a great bunch ot bonds, and the sllver-mus-tachod man, In return for them, signed a check representing a snug fortune In gold. As the banker left I saw the sllver-nustached clerk raise the door of an Iron chest as big as one of the old-fashioned woodboxes that stand besftie a country stove and dump the bonds Into it. There were other bonds and stocks there already, and, In fact, the box was filled with them. There are two such boxes under that window In Russell Sage's office; and no one 'but the clerks know what they contain. At the different times I have called I have seen great bun dles of Pennsylvania Railroad bonds, Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul bonds, Rock Island Railroad stock and scores ot other securities brought out and passed upon. At one time, I remember, a man came in to extend a loan. As the clerk looked over his bundle, which may have contained half a million dollars' worth of secur ities, the envelope which held them began to tear at the corner. As ho noticed this, the clerk said to the debtor: "I think you had better send me around a new envelope, or Mr. Sage will have to call that loan." Think of that! Asking for a new five-cent envelopo on a transaction that probably brought In Interest at the rate of 125,000 a year! Nevertheless, If I were doing busi ness with Russell Sage I should not hesitate to send in the envelope In a case like that. He has been noted as being an honest man, but also as a very particular one. In onn Inter view which I had with him a lew years ago he told me that the coat he then had on had cost him $8, and It was part of a suit which was then Belling for $S.50. He was not ashamed to wear a suit of that price, although he had bought It, he told me, In order to Illustrate his position on the tarlfT, and to show his friends that low duties made cheap clothing. Cashed a 4-Cent Check. Not long ago Russell Sage cashed a check for four cents, and as he did bo it is said that he remarked: "It was just like finding money, just like picking It up from the sidewalk." The check came in a letter. It was from a theatrical firm, calling his at tention to their new play then run ning at the theatre, and inclosing this chock to pay for the time used in reading the letter. This was the note: "Assuming that your Income Is great In a year, and that you appre ciate the fact that time is money, we Inclose check for four cents In pay ment of two minutes of your time at that rate, to be employed In carefully reading a brief and honest statement of the novel, applause-winning fea tures In our new musical farce." Such letters were sent to many wealthy New Yorkers, but It Is sala that Mr. Sage was about the only one wno cashed the chock. Russell Sage's eagerness to lend money at top rates has been the basis of many an anecdote. As late as last winter, on a day of squeeze In the money market, a New York paper exerted Its comic powers thus: When Russell Sage read this morning that there was a pinch la the money market he got nervous. Uncle Russell lends money. All through breakfast he was rest less, lie hadn't been In Wall Street for months. His doctor had forbid den his going there. He hated to dis obey the doctor, but the awful yearn ing for money in the Street was too fascinating. lie sat in painful silence as long as he could stand It and then, summoning his valet, ordered his hat and coat. Five minutes later Uncle Russell was on his way to Wall Street. The aged financier forgot his nine ty years. He walked with springy step Into hlB office. Mr. Sage's em ployes rubbed their eyes. They hadn't seen him for bo long they had most forgotten him. Mr. Sage found his secretary, Charles W. Osborne, and his brother-in-law. Colonel J. J. Slocum, dishing out money as fast as it could be counted. "Good, glorious, glorious!" ex claimed Uncle Russell, rubbing his hands gleefully. Mr. Sage's Joy was boundless when the rate tor call money soared above 100 to 110 and 125. He sat with glistening eyes and watched the mil lions roll out. From 1 1 until 2, while Mr. Sage remained at the office, his men lent out $6,000,000. Mr. Sage expressed great satisfaction over bis day's work. An Insight Into His Stinginess. An Insight Into Russell Suge'B per sonality is given by a friend who said at the time he retired from the "Street:" While many ot the stories that ar told ot Mr. Sage's miserly habits and eccentricities are fictitious, none of tfrem are exaggerations. It would be almost Impossible for anyone to Im agine a man more economical and stingy than he. Although his In come is reckoned at $5000 a day, at least, and some people think It is twice that amount, he has lived at tho rate of $5000 a year or less, and his personal expenses have not been $100 a year. That, is a very liberal estimate. He had two suits of clothes, one for weekdays and the other for Sunday, and he had worn them as long as anybody can remem ber. He had not bought a new over coat for fifteen or twenty years, and his hat is quite as old as that if not older. A few years ago he sent for a gentleman who had done him favor and in a confidential way said that he was going to reward him with a "tip" that he could work for a profit. Then, to the man't astonishment, Mr. Sage gave him the address of a store on Seventh avenue where he could get Bhoes for $2 a pair. Ate Free Lunch. To Bave time the Western Union Telegraph Company serves a free lunch to lt3 operators, and Mr. Sage appeared every day at a certain hour. A seat was kept for him at a certain table up to the last day he came downtown. He never paid fare on the elevated railroad, because he was a director, and the ticket takers had instructions to let him go by without paying. He invariably helped himself to newspapers from the stand aV Fiftieth street in the morning when on his way downtown, and did the same at Rector street when ho was going home in the afternoon. He had taken his newspapers for a gener ation In the same way, of the same men, and they never dared say a word about it. He had always com pelled the bootblacks on the elevated stations to shine his shoes for noth ing. At first, years ago, they used to remonstrate. He would climb into one ot the chairs and wait until they had served him. If they demanded pay he would threaten to have them put oft the platform. He ha a quiet Mttle country place down on Long. Island, with a good deal of lawn; but he did not keep the turf shaved down like his neighbors. He let the grass grow until it was high enough to make good hay and then would sell it for $3 to a livery, stable keeper in the vicinity. A Defense of the American Press. First of all it must be pointed out that no press of any country attains to that supreme potentiality over popular opinion which has been achieved by the press of America. Were it guilty, as a whole, of animus toward England, the present amica ble relations of the two countries would be impossible of continuance. The idea Intended to be conveyed will perhaps be clearer to those who have visited or lived in America, and have realized with what marvelous celerity and strength the public pulse of that country responds to press suggestion and agitation responds in a way that is apparently quite foreign to English character. The extreme sensitiveness of popular Judgment in the United States has been to many an able, cultured Amer ican a source of deep concern. They have seen grave issues, upon which they believed the future welfare of the country to depend, tossed and bandied by the flippant Influence of certain sections of the press that neither professed nor practiced moral or political principle. Yet to day the majority of those who once wrung their hands at the lack of all sense df moral responsibility exhibit ed by many American papers have come to the conclusion that an evo lution, greater than they dreamed of, has been in process, and that out of evil good has come; for recent history in America shows that, in tho main, public feeling has been In fluenced in the right direction by the methods, however questioned they may be, of the American press, which In Its vast composition Is so hetero geneous as to defy all attempts at analytical generallsms. There are over two thousand dally papers published In the United States, but what I desire particularly, to emphasize is, not so much tkelr numerical strength, as their unusual scope for good or evil. Once this phase is clearly grasped, it becomes obvious that Anglo-American friend ship could not contlne to exist if tho bulk of the new3 sent from England to America were Impregnated or even tainted with Anglophobe spirit. W. A. M. Goode, in the Empire Review. A Motley Crew. With a crew composed of nearly a dozen nationalities, from an Irish man to a reformed cannibal from In dia, and having on board a collection of weird devices used during the re ligious worship of the Bailors, the British tramp steamship Iudra, load ed with 8500 tons of manganese ore, is docked off the Glrard Point wharves. Lascars, wildly beating tom-toms and chanting weird East Indian Btrains; Malays, prostrated about the deck in a circle, listening to the ex hortation of a diminutive, excited, bearded priest, and finally half a dozen Chinamen huddled together In another portion of the deck, softly praying to their gods, are sights which are nightly presented to the officers of the Indra and persons who reside In the vicinity of Glrard Point. Philadelphia Inquirer. A Noii-l'nrtlsan Drum. A story which certainly ought to be true is told by the Irish Independ ent about the Orange celebrations Just concluded. All well informed persons know that drum-beating forms a most Important part of the ceremonies. Now it happened that an Orange lodge in Armagh (where Colonel Saunderson comes from) found Itself drum less on the great day; and no drum, no celebrations. It also happened, however, that there was a Nationalist band in the same town. Sub rosa, the Nationalist drum was borrowed for the occasion. It pounded as loudly as the most loyal Instrument ot percussion in all Armagh. London Dally News. "HACK SIK'IDK" .UKMKIlV. It Lies In the Saving of Infants, Says Dr. C'lialmi'M, In spenklnjr of infant mortality In New York City, an officer of the New York Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor said: "This wholo country will have reason to bo grateful for the aggressive campaign waged by the Department of Health and the press of New York City, not only against preventable infant mor tality, but inbehnlf of general knowl edge as to the cause of that mortal ity. "While a high general death rate may have many meanings, a high baby death rate means Just one thing, neglect; neglect born of Ignor ance, neglect born of indifference on the part of officials, neglect born of greed on the part of dealers, or neg lect Incidental to sanitary conditions that are themselves removable. "There has already been a marked saving of Infant life as compared with last year. In tho crusade to in struct mothers In tho care of their babies, the recently opened Junior Sea Breeze open air camp for ba bies maintained by the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor at East Sixty-fourth street, is doing progressive work. But while Junior Sea Breezo and other fresh air agencies can reach perhaps a few thousand mothers during the sum mer, New York has many thousands who are In all love and good inten tions surely preparing death, or what Is worse, a handicapped life, for their children. Is not this sufficient roa Bon for extending the scope and In creasing the support of the Depart ment of Health?" Extracts from a digest of an ad dress on Infant mortality by Dr. A. K. Chalmers, medicalofllcer of health of Glasgow, made by the committee on physical welfare of school chil dren of the New York Association for Improving the Condition ot the Poor are as follows: While the death rate of babies from three to six months and from six to twelve months varies consider ably from decade to decade the death rate of those under three months has been stable. While a breast-fed baby is more apt to survive than a bottle-fed baby, the difference is not so great as gen erally supposed, thirty-six of the bottle-fed babies being poorly nour ished and fully twenty per cent, of the nursing babies being badly nour ished. There Is yet room for a great deal to be done for the breast-fed baby. That Instead of pre-natal condi tions being a negligible factor, those babies are strongest whose mothers have rest and proper nourishment, be fore birth. In forty-six families whose babies were ill-nourished, eighty-five out of 2 43 children, near ly forty per cent., had already died during Infancy or childhood, indicat ing that Mr. Sparge Is wrong in his assertion that rich and poor are born with equal vitality. The death list Is duo far less to heat than to overloaded clothing, close air and bad milk, all things that intelligent care on the part of moth er3 could do away with. In this con nectlon Dr. Chalmers Insists that the remedy for race suicide is to have more babies saved, and not to have more babies born, which could be done by bettering sanitary conditions in tho worst districts. New York Post. Art In Advertising. Every visitor to London will recall the fact that ono of the great adver tising firms there has quite an exten sive gallery ot famous pictures which have been used in exploiting their particular product. Among tho paint ings are those by some of the best known English artists, including Royal Academicians. It is only with in comparatively recent years that our own advertisers have realized how much value really artistic ar rangement ot their announcements has to do with tho impression of quality upon tho public mlud. A number of tho great American adver tisers have found It wise to avail themselves of tho work of Borne of the most popular among our Ameri can painters and illustrutors, and one or two of them have no doubt already accumulated important individual collections of drawings and paint ings by American urtists. Only occa sionally does tho artist fail to appre ciate the value that goes with bavins, his signature on his work and t'.ms widely put before the general public eye. There seems no reason any lon ger why art and business should not go hand In hand. Scribnor's. Ravages of the "I.n.y Worm." A largo district in the middle ol Porto Rico, with a population ot 100,000, is afflicted with tho "lazy worm," and olllcial efforts are being made to improve the Inhabitants' condition. A hospital has been es tablished at Albonlto, with an en dowment of $15,000, and will do what It can to check the ravages of this minute reptile, of tho existence ot which tho old-time nativo Porto Rlcan never had the slightest notion Last year an American medical offi cer, treated 4500 cases, nnd nearly all ot them were cured. As a result, the population are aroused to much enthusiasm, and the afflicted are ap plying in great numbers for treat iment. Heretofore tho malady has been deemed incurable. New Yo;i: Tribune. - Kditor Borrowed u Gun. Tho editor ot a Kansas country paper has found a way of persuading the delinquent subscriber. U was quite accidental. He had borrowed a rifle recently, and he started up the main street of the town to return the weapon to its owner. The delin quent subscribers got it Into tholr heads that he was on the war path, and every one he met Insisted on paying what he owed him. One man wiped out a debt of ten years' stand ing. On his return to his olflcs he found a loud ot ha, fifteen bushels of corn, ten bushels of potaatoes, a load of wood and a barret of turnips that had been brought in. All the country editors are now tryinr; to borrow Wlnchasters. New York Tribune. EPMTH LEAGUE LESSONS SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 2. Christian Testimony and Conversion Isa. 44 8; Acts 1. 8. Tim efficient co-witness. John 15. 2G, 27. The first, duty of the restored. Mark G, H-20. First fruits of testimony. Joha 1. 41, 42. Let him that hcareth say, "Come." John 1. 45-4'J. A faithful testimony, and Its grac ious fruits. 1 Tim. 1. 13-17. For the sake of them who come af ter. Psa. 115. 4-1 2. The first Christian testimony must be to conversion, for that. Is the basts f the Christian life. The Scripture fdea Is that men are dead "dead la trespasses and sins" and that if they ure to have spiritual llfe they must be born into it as much ns we are born Into natural, physical life. So tho Saviour taught in his Interview; with Nlcodemtis. In general, these are the steps Into new life. Conviction of nln; sorrow for sin; confession of Bin to God; prayer for pardon; the oxerclHo ot faith In Jesus ChrlBt as God's atone ment and remedy for sin. Then wo feel a sense of relief from burden, the forgiveness of our sins, and the real ization that we are the sons and daughters of the Lord God Almighty. There Is often an ecstatic condition of soul In which one clearly recog nizes the Holy Spirit as the sealer of his covenant with God. He, tho Holy Spirit, Is the divine credentlal-glver, whose certification to the new birth, and heirship to heaven, the receiver could no more doubt than he could doubt his existence. That is conver sion, as we use the term. It is a translation from the kingdom of dark ness Into the kingdom of God's dear Son. Not that all have tho same de finlteness of experelence, or that all are fully conscious of every step not ed above; but in every case these Bteps are nil Involved in the passage of the soul from the death of sin over into the life of righteousness. Nor does very one have a positive know ledge as to the exact hour when tho great change took place. With some the change may have come very quietly. Every proposition among men must bo established by evidence. Before every court of every name and char acter this is true. If a point of con scious contact between God and men has been found; If men may realize) their vital connection with God, then the world ought to be Informed ot that fact, anil. If the world shall de mand the evidence, we must supply it. A church that no longer testifies to a conscious Justification and re generation has lost its heavenly com mission, and can no lunger be of any real service to the spiritual kingdom of God. SEPTEMBER SECOND Spiritual Blindness. John 9: 35-41; Acts 26: 12-19. (Consecration Meeting.) Christ Is the Light of tho world only to those that can see something besides themselves. No blindness so hopeless as pride. No vision reaches bo far Into spiritual mysteries as the vision ot humility. Here, as elsewhere, tha last shall be first. All whose eyes are opened to spiri tual glories seo wordly splendors thereafter as dull and cheap In com parison. Every vision is a command, and Its word is, "Follow me!" Suggestions. Those that use their eyes habitual ly on distant objects gain great keen ness of vision; so do those that gaze much on heaven. Tho skilled ustronomer can Bee marks on a planet's disk that would be invisible to ordinary eyes. Tliera is nothing like practice to quicken spiritual vision. Physical blindness, or any other physical misfortune, may actually in crease the soul's power of sight and Insight. One may as well try to see a land scape without the light of the sun as to get a knowledge of any spiritual truth without tho light of Christ. Illustrations. After years of confinement in a dark dungeon, tho prisoner finds light a torture to his eyes, and begs for his cell again. It la so with spiritual darkness. A needle's prick may blind U3 to tho male rial universe, und the small est Bin to the spiritual universe. A blind man's touch nud hearing become so keen as almost to supply the plnco ot eyes; but spiritual blind ness dulls nil other senses. In ancient times a king's eyes would bo put out by his triumphant enemy, to destroy his hopes of ever reigning again. So Satan blasts our spiritual vision and thus dethrones us. Quotations. Bewaro of moral color-blindness! Conscientious wrong-doing Is never safe doing. H. Clay Trumbull. . . There ure some men to whom It is true that there is no God. They cannot see God, because they have only an abortive organ, atro phied by neglect. Heury Drunimond. What tho eye Is to the body, faith is to the soul. You don't dig your eyes out to see If you have the right kind, but you are doing that to your faith. D. L. Moody. SAVED HIS COMPANION'. James Edward Burch, of St. Mary's, Md., twenty years old, and Garfield Adams, fourteen, of tha same place, were rescued from a des perate situation In the waters of the lower Chesapeake, in which they had been for seven hours. Adams had been unconscious for three hours. He was kept afloat by Burch, who desperately clung to a capslied dory, while h held to the boy with tha other hand. The dory and those who were de pendent on It for their lives were bnffetud by high waves that repeated squalls caused to rise. The steamer Washington urrlved Just as Burch'a strength -vas about exhausted. R. 0. Rons, vecoud mate of the steamer, as on watch and heard Burch's cry. .t required hurd work to resuscitate A Jam.
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