| ! | ae Rid er a BR IE EE me * EE Ee i aa LE HE ALWAYS TOLD THE TRUTH. ’ . Anne H. Woodruff. He was not very quick to learn, Nor “promising,” ‘twas said; He was not af a brilliant, turn, Nor ene to *‘go ahead;’ Defects—if they must ba confessed— In plenty had the youth But this one virtue he possessed— He alwyays told the truth. In every way he seemed below The average of boys In intellect, and ¢ “push,” and “go,” And all that youth enjoys; But no one ever doubted him, Because they knew, fors ;00th— Fes, even those who flouted him— He always told the truth. . * Un couth” and * A sio In bus The man unlearned, ‘awkward,” how it hurt When on his ears it fell! Who could the fact not controvert, as sensitive as well. Bi one there was who sympathized, Vho knew right well the ‘Vouth— ¥ v1 fis mother this, great comfort prized—e {e always told the truth. but steady plodder, he, the path of life; ness ever seemed to be Behind-hand in’ the strife; Alc But then he won his fellows’ trust, Chey honored him in sooth— but noble, just, Who always told the truth. —Ram’s Horn. / \o/ \8/\8 NNN SK ANA WNW NNN NL NY ECAOCKEOICICICICIOICIOICIIBIOIIOICIOIOR > TN xX : » Ze 5 the Sake of David. & gk S07 C wakl 0 Vit. $x 3% % > I, \ ef x = 2 a NZ SR By Grace Terry. SR x x INN INL seed SOK WL 2 UNI SNK * RSEGRSCICRKCK TR 3.3 NIN SOCRKCK N DAVID, it strikes me |in the matter. There are many very that you are out a great deal of late. 1 don’t ap- prove of boys of your age being out evenings; it leads to bad compa sand bad company leads to ail kinds ‘of ba@ness. 1 hope you don’t spend your time at the tavern?” “Son David,” a broad-shouldered six- footer, smiled a little, and colored a great deal at these words, which were delivered with a precision and a sol- emnity of look and tone that made them doubly impressive. “There's no occasion for any alarm, father; I keep very good company. And as for the tavern, I haven't set foot in it for six months or more.” About the usual hour, David laid aside his book, and putting on a clean collar and a linen coat, fresh from the hands of Aunt Betsey, sauntered down toward the village. This had been his custom for several weeks past, and the old deacon shook his head with a per- plexed and somewhat troubled air. *I suppose the lad finds it rather dull bere,” Iie mused; “the house is lonely.” And, as he recalled the light of a certain bright eye and a sunny smile, what he had thought of doing “for the sake of David” seemed a not unpleas- ant thing to do for his own. “I think I'll go and consult Parson Dunlow,” thought the deacon, who, like the generality of mankind, having fully made up his mind on the subject, de- termined to seek advice, not for the purpose of gaining any additional light, but to strengthen and confirm his own opinions. The worthy deacon bestowed quite as much time upon his toilet before leav- ing the house as did “Son David.” And if a glimpse of the sprinkling of gray in the hair that he brushed so carefully away from his temples made him some- what doubtfyl as to the result of his mission, it was but for a moment. Ought not any woman to be proud of the honor of becoming Mrs. Deacon Quimby, wife of one of the most wealthy and influential citizens of the place, even though his hair might be a little frosty and his form not so erect as when he departed on the selfsame errand thirty years before. In the weekly prayer meetings, of which he took the lead, the deacon often called himself “the chief of sin- ners,” “an unprofitable servant,” and the like, confessing and bewailing the depravity of his heart. But, like a great many other self-styled “misera- ble sinners,” he had a tolerably good opinion of himself after all, making the above confession with an air that seemed to say: “If I, Deacon Quimby, a pillar of the church, and a shining example to you all, can say this, what must be the condition of the majority of those around me?” . He found Parson Dunlow in his study, hard at work upon his next Sun- day’s discourse. But he was used to interruptions, and had a sincere liking for the worthy deacon, who was his right-hand man in every good work; so, laying down his pen, he shook him warmly by the hand and bade him be seated. But somehow the deacon found it difficult to get out what he came to say—the words seemed to stick in his throat. But at last he minaged to stammer: “I—I have called, parson, to—to see Fou about my son, David, whose con- duct has occasioned me a great deal of uneasiness of late.” “You surprise me, Brother Quimby; I consider him to be an unusually steady and exemplary young man.” “He has been, parson, very steady fndeed—at home every evening, busy with his book or paper. But now he’s out most every night, and sometimes don’t return until quite late.” A faint smile flickered around Parson Punlow’s mouth, but it was unobserved dy the deacon, who resumed: “The fact is, the boy s&other.” “He wants a wife, you mean,” was the parson’s inward comment, but he said nothing, for he hadn’t filled his sacred office a quarter of a century without learning that some things are better thought than spoken “It is a very. important step,” re- sumed Deacon Quimby, after waiting ‘vainly for the parson to speak, “and— and as I think of taking to myself rnother companion for—for the sake of David, I thought I would come and— and consult you about it.” Here the deacon wiped the pers tion from his forehead, betr: much hesitancy and embarr: to quite astonish the“good i to reassure him, said bris “To be sure, Brother Qui wants a : And a very good idea it is, too, for yourself, | David. and, no doubt, for your son And I shall be very iad to assist you ssment as | "son, who, worthy ladies in the church and vicin- ity, so that you cannot fail to be suited. There's the Widow Bean; her sons are now men. grown and quite off her hands. A most excellent and worthy woman is the Widow Bean.” But the deacon did not seem to re- ceive his suggestion with much favor; he shifted one leg uneasily over the other. “As you say, parson, the Widow Bean is a most excellent and worthy, woman; but—but the leadings of Providence don’t seem to be in that direction.” “Well, then there is Miss Mary Ann Pease, a member of the church for many years, and an ornament to her sex and profession. Now that her brother is married again, she is quite at liberty, and will make you a very desirable helpmate.” “True, very true, parson; I have the highest respect for Sister Pease. But— but the leadings of Providence don’t seem to be in that direction, either.” Tlie good parson looked puzzied, but, honestly ns of assisting his vis- itor, he made another effort. “Brother Jones has a number of daughters, and either of the two eldest would be—" “Yes, yes, parson,” interrupted the deacon, rather impatiently, “I know that very well. But I think that—that, for the sake of David, 1 had better marry some one younger and more lively, and who would consequently be more of a—sort of companion for him.” A sudden light broke in upon Parson Dunlow’s mind. “Perhaps you have some onc already in view, Brother Quimby?” “Well, yes, parson, I have sought Divine light, and the leadings of Provi- dence seem to be in the direction of your family; in short, toward your daughter, Miss Emma, whose staid and discreet behavior, I am happy to say, would do honor to more mature years.” It was not the first time, in Parson Dunlow’s pastoral experience, that he had known people to mistake the lead- ing of their own hearts for ‘the lead- ings of Providence,” but if he had any suspicion that this might be the case with the worthy deacon, he prudently kept it to himself. So, without evinc- ing anything of the dismay and con- sternation at his heart, he said: “I cannot fail to realize, Brother Quimby, the high compliment of such a desire. But you remember the words of Rebekah’s parents under like eir- cumstances: ‘We will call the damsel and inquire at her mouth. I don’t know that we can do better than fol- low their example. “Willie,” he added, going to the win- dow, “run and tell Emma that father wants to see her in his study.” “She's dot company,’ said the little fellow; “and is doing to dive me a new ball if I'll stay out in the yard.” “No matter,” said his father, smiling; “you shall not lose the new ball. So run along.” Miss Emma, though very pleasantly engaged, dutifully obeyed her father’s summons. She blushed as her eves fell upon the deacon, to whom she dropped a pretty, deferential courtesy. “My daughter,” said the parson, aravely, “Deacon Quimby informs me that, for the sake of David. he has con- cluded to take to himself another wife, and that his choice has fallen upon you. I have ever left such matters to you, but you cannot fail to realize the value of such an offer, and I trust you will give it the consideration it demands.” Emma opened her brown eyes widely at this announcement, and then the long lashes fell over them, and lay quivering upon the rosy clhecks. Br unexpected as was the position | which she found herself placed, he woman’s wit did not desert her. “I should be very happy to become Deacon Quimby’ wife, papa,” she said, demurely, “if 1 had not already prom- ised, for the sake of David, to do my best to be a daughter to him.” Deacon Quimby was so accustomed to consider his son as a mere boy that it was some minutes before his mind took in the sense of ti words. “Do you mean to say, he said, at last, regard girl with a bewildered air, are going to marry my son?” “that you ? respond- ed Emma, with a e and glance that would have softened a far harder aré than the deacon’s. “I have al- ady obtained that of my father.” acon Quimby turned his 2 Dailow, who had been a quie i r 10 cl but a boy, is a year older than you were ied, deacon,” was the True; so he was. “I dare say it does mot seem possi- ble,” continued the parson. - “I can hardly bring” myself to realize that it is eightsen years ago since my little girl, here, was laid in my arms; but so it is.” te As the good deacon looked at the blooming maiden, and remembered how often he had held her, a smiling babe, in his arms, the conviction was sud- denly forced upon him that that he had been making an old fool of himself. The rather embarrassing silence that followed was pleasantly broken by David's cheery voice and pleasant smile. A “You seem to have quite “a family party,” he said, pushing open the:door. “So this is where you spend your evenings, young man?’ said his father, shaking his finger at him, with an ai of mock displeasure. °‘‘Ah, I see. very plainly that I shall never be able to keep you at home, unless I cam per- suade Miss Emmd to come and’ live with me. What say you, my dear?” “That I will come very willingly,” returned the smiling and blushing girl, “for the sake of David.”—New York Weekly. A Traveling College. The farmers in Illinois, as well as those in other States, last year were taught scientific farming by rail. The train consisted of two cars, arranged to allow speakers to malke their taiks aboard, was a sort of itinerant agricul- tural college, sowing knowledge at every stop. The. project was under the supervision of the University .of Illinois, and was fostered by the Burl- ington on the grounds that the more grain the farmers raise the more there will be to ship over its lines.’ The first stop was at Aurora, where Dean W. A. Henry, of the University of Wisconsin, talked a half hour on the way to tell good seed, and the kind of soil it ought to be planted in. - Ten minutes was used in inspecting sam- ples of earth and seed aboard the cars. Eleven more stops were made, before the train reacb~1 Polo for the nignt The next day Dean Eugene Davenport, of the University of Illinois, was the speaker, and on the day following Dr, F. H. Hall, State Superintendent of the Farmers’ Institute, did the talking. Every town of importance onthe Burl- ington lines in Illinois was visited. The next trip of the “Seed and Soil Special” will be through Missoni, and then it will it’ Iowa, Western Xe- braska and Wyoming.—Chicago Trib- une. me ene Twenty-four Messages on Oue Wire. The invention of new methods for sending a number of messages simul- taneously over the same wire contin- jes, and one of the most recent of these is due to Professor Mercadier of the French High: School for Post and Telegraph. In this method an alternating current is employed whose frequency depends upon a tuning-folk having a certain definite number of vibrations. Tke current of such an interrupted circuit can be broken by an ordinary key, and signals transmitted over the line wire by an inducticn transmitter..’ On the line at the distant station are a num- ber of so-called monotelephones which respond to current of one frequency, and are turned te the forks in the cir- cuits at the sending station. Thus each particular circuit has its own telephone, which is connected by tubes with the ears of the receiving operator, and responds to the signals made at the sending station. In all, twelve transmission circuits are pro- vided, so that twenty-four messages ¢an be sent over the line simultaneous- ly. A double line, or metallic circuit, is required, but otherwise the appara- tus is comparatively simple, and in- volves merely the adjustment of the tuning-forks and suitable condensers and inductance coils.—Week’'s Prog- ress. a Ly Children’s Love. Happiness in marriage is a good daal like happiness in work; it goes far deeper than mere gratification. While gratification fades, happiness remains, and becomes, as it were, a part of one's nature. When my wife and I had passed the youthful period of our love, we knew that we had experienced an intensity of happiness that we could never know again; but the great com- pensation was to know that we had no wish to experience it again, be< cause we had found something stabla and better, a happiness associated vith our most serious interests, with our res sponsibilities toward society and to- ward our children. Moreover, with nearly all intense gratification there ig the accompaniment of pain; but the love of children is, in its very nature, an unalloyed delight. With the com- f our children my wife and I knew ve had been given the greatest in- ‘ve to good living that human being have. If children cannot make paiciis live to lead fine lives, nothing can.—From “The Autobiography of a Married Man,” Everybody's Magazine. The New George. Johnny was worried about Wash- ington’s greatness. He turned to his mother and said: “Washing sa right, but Grant's more like me.” “How is that?’ “Well” (throwing out a diminutive chest), “be could tell'a lie when he hed 10.” But, Johnny, you?’ “Why, mamma, always fiad me © A moment of si “Well, Johnny? *W pen you you ever tel you never tell lies, do v ya know I do. You “Mamma.” were a little girl didn’t Then she an- swered: “I to tell the fruth.” “Well, yous” why don’t they lebrate ‘a test most puzzling to the CHILDREN'S DEPARTMENT: YONDERINGS, I'm oft inclined to wonder if An angleworm, when frozen stiff, Would meet with any luck at all, Supposing thay it tried to crawl. ‘ Then, too, I often wonder whether A man who set about to tether Ten tigers in a field like cows, Could make the striped creatures browse. And then again I wonder which Is stickiest—tar, glue or pitch. Perhaps each, all or either are, But I should say pitch, glue or tar. And, furthermore, I wonder why A normal person such as {an’t walk about upon one hand- Some things we never understand. But most of all, 1 wonder how A man can tell just when is Now, For Now keeps going back to Then, While Scon is straightway Now again. Tis useless, though, to wonder what/ Is meant by this impressive rot. —Life. . THE GAME OF BOB MAJOR. Two of the players sit down, and a cloth, large enough to prevent their seeing anything, is put over their heads. Then two other persons tap them on the head with long rolls of paper, which they have in t r hands, and ask, in feigned voices, *Who boos you?’ If either of those who have been tapped answers correctly, he changes places with the one who has tapped him, THE GAME OF HANDBALL. Handball is the oldest game known. Millions of boys and girls play it the world over, yet never give a grateful thought to its inventor. Most of them will be surprised to learn that so sim- ple a thing nceded “inventing” at all. Herodotus and Homer, two famous writers, have preserved the inventor's name, a it is a femini ine one. Yes, a woman made the first toy ball, and her was Anagalia. She was a noble lac y of Coreg; and she gave it when finished to the littie daughter of the King of Alcinous. No other toy has furnished so much amusement, nor, is there. another so necessary in many games, as is this simple article. It is strange, too, that co few of these games are for girls. Do: not forget that the ball was in- vented by a woman for girls. although béys may be grateful for all the fun they have with it.—Indianapolis News. . HOME-MADE JEWELRY. A handful of beads in every color of the rainbow may be had in gay tarle- ton bags. It is a good idea to pick out the beads that match—say, all the pink ones, all the blue ones and those of any other color that resemble pretty jewels. These may be strung into ‘necklace lengths for dolls. serving as pearls, corals or turquoises, according to color. a This makes most economical jewelry The whole bag of beads costs but fiye cents. These beads also serve in other ways, in addition to the beadwork that is one on frames. $A row of small white beads, with one larger pink or blue one in the centre, dees very well for a bracelet. An eutirely guaint watch fob may be made with a string of smadl, beads an inch in length, with one larger fancy bead or 6ther pendant at the end. If the color be chosen in harmony with dolly’s dress the effect will be pleasing. Lorgnette chains are easily made, too. For these tiny beads are most elegant. A hat for a grown-up doll is of brown silk, with a row of bronze beads around the edge of the brim in the approved style. These beads may be used also to fine advantage in making quaint leather moccasins for dolls out of old kid gloves. A TEA TABLE TRICK. Here is a tea table trick that will astonish every one. You will need two forks, a pitcher and a toothpick. In- terlace the tips of the prongs of the forks, so that they hold firmly together in V shape. Then insert a toothpick through these interlaced prongs just tar enough to secure it firmly. Sowe- times the pressure from one or at most two prongs is sufficient for this. THE FORXS HANGING IN PLACE. The toothpick should be inserted from the inside of the V, like a tongue, be- tween the fork handles. The other end of the toothpick should then lodged in the mouth of a pitcher whic js high enough to allow the h handles of the dependent forks to clear the table. With nothing to hold it, the single toothpick will then support the two forks without tipping or bre spectator and a niosi {ruitful source of speculatien and animated discussion.— New York Evening Mail. THE ANIMALS IN THE FIRE. Walter had been out skating, and the cold wind which swept down over the frozen lake made his toes and fingers «0 that when he got home he hurried to get warm. Kneeling down close in front of the coal fire. which flamed and cr led in the open ire- place, while his brother and sister looked over their portrolio of pictures, he gazed into the glowing coals in the grate. By and by be climbed up into an armchair. The made him sleepy, and he closed his eyes. He opened them in 1t astonishment, a moment later, when he heard a shrill “Cock-adoodle-doo!” which sounded very close to him. IIe knew there were no chickens in the roem, because the chickens were all out on the farm in the country, and he was just be- ginning to tnink that he had been dreaming when he heard the *‘Cock- adoodle-d i i This time it seemed to com in front of him, and he the fireplace, though how a 1doodie-do” could come from the p » fire he did not know. 1 on the fire he gave a hair and stared as hard There, in front piece of coal, 100 jopized , “you are vake that 1 wakened all 1 am the st ‘boy ~to vw, ard 1 Loys in ven and Vaiter, eager- swered the he’ marry ajl Tattered . #1 might wave th ought of that,” “We thought of it,” said another voice. “We were at the wedding.” And a big black-and-white cat crawled out from a hole ir s and stood beside the rooster. “I am the Cat that Caught the Rat.” said he. “Once upon a time I wore boots, and helped my master to marry the Princess.” “Bow-wow-wov, barked a little dog, which came running irom a cor- ner... 3 The cat jumped nimbly to the top bf a big piece of coal, where she put up her back at the deg and made a great hissing noise, . “Oho!” sald Waller. I guess you must be the Dog that Worried the Cat, arep’t you?’ +I thought you would know me,” bs arked the dog. I am the same dog ht along; I never belong to a witch. If a witch came around I would bark at her. Hello! there's the Ugly Duck- ling. . I guess I'll bark at her.” But the wary old duck scampered off. ? “How is it that you all are here?’ asked Walter. “I thought you all were dead a lopg time ago. And I do not see how you can live in the fire.” ‘Oh, the fire does not hurt us,” said the Cock that Crew in the Morn, be- fore any. of -the others could answer. “And we did not die. We never die; and we live in the fire; not always in this fire, for we like to go about from one place to another, but some of us are liere most of the time. You can see us in any fire if you look carefully. The best time to see us is in the even- ing, just before the lights are lit; then we come out to see what is going on.” “And you'll see something going on now,” snapped a red fox, jumping from hind a pile of coals and dashing at the rooster. The rooster dodged to one side and gave a derisive Crow. “Just let that cold rooster alone,” growled a deep voice; and Walter, looking into a corner of the fireplace, saw a great bear. “I am the Big Bear who lived in the wood,” said Bruin. “Here comes my son, the Little Bear.” ‘Whatever became of Goldenlocks?”’ asked Walter of the Little Bear. “Would you have hurt her if you had caught ber when she came to your house in the wood and sat in your chair?” “No,” said the Little Bear, laughing “I would have played with her, and told her where the best berries grew 9 { £2 sumime oer. “And what fun we do have in sum- mer!” said the Sly Old Fox. “Do you :now, Little Bo-peep was watching her sheep one day when—" “Walter, Walter! come to supper.” some one called suddenly, and at the sound of the voice all the birds and beasts scuttled for nooks and crannies in the coals. “I'll tell you that tale another time,” d Sly Old Fex, and dodged into hole just as Walter's elder sister nto the room. “Wake up . supper is ready. 3 the shoulder t Ire had not ; . animal back to the f many pecpl ein were too although a glimpse of one or two of none of them came out and spoke to him. But Wal Iter hopes that ‘some time, in » twilight, he will see them all again, and that then the Old Fox will finish the story of ‘how s = all ran away."—Henry Hol Be ..ett, in St. Nicholas 1 the Arai Bo-peep’s ‘meat or eggs. HOW TO KEEP BOYS ON THE FARM. An Experiment Made Jy Genera Sheridan With Indians That May Solve the Problem. It is often a question how shall we keep our boys on the farm. The Rurad New Yorker publishes the following article, the last sentence containing their idea of a good solution of the pgoblem: The value of the society is usually American lien to given in terms of and provides the groceries, pays the mortgage, or shingles the house—but this is not all. Many stories couid be told of the way she has held soclety together. In the early history of Ply- mouth it was the broth made from a choice hen that saved the life of a friendly Indian chief and prevented the ferocious King Philip from start- ing out with the scalping knife at a time when he could have cleaned out the whites! Another instance of the power of the hen to soothe the savage breast was given. by a member of the New York Farmers: . Many years ago I was talking with General Sheridan, in Chicago. He told me that when he was a major of cavalry, in Arizona, he was in charge, on behalf of the Government, of a tribe of Indians, the Colorados, and his duty was to confine them to their reservation. His principal difficulty was on account of their nomadic char- acter; no matter what effort he made to make their homes comfortable for them, still they would leave them and travel away. and had to be brought back by the cavalry at short intervals. he could give them some interest in the way of live stock, it might be an anchoring influence. so he succeeded in having the Government give them a stock of horses. That, however, did not answer the pur pose, for they drove the horses, and coatinued to travel with the horses and mares and colts as they had before. Then he tried the experimegt of giving them cattle, hut after the cows had produced calves in the spring of the year the Indians traveled, and the stock traveled with thera. Finally Le hit upon the idea of giving tiiera, au. stock of pouliry, and the squaws promptly realized the vaiue of the product of the hens in the d&o- mestiec economy, became attached to the eggs andG attached to the chickens and when thie bucks proposed that they should make the squaws said “No.” The result ot the. poultry experiment was that for the first time he was enabled to an chor these Indians to the place where the Government desired to keep them. There are many boys on the farm to- day who could be anchored. to the old home if they could be interested in a good hen. The Cut Flower Market. Floriculture has become an ‘import ant commercial industry in the United States since 1825, when it was gStarted according to the census reports, *in Phil adelphia. It now cuts an importans: ficure in the local trade of all cities. In 1900 the wholesale value of flori cultural products in the United States was estimated by the Census Bureat at:$18,422,522, and the retail value of these products was placed at $30,600, 000. The annual income from eu’ flowers was then estimated at from $12,000,000 to $14,000,000. An average of $6,000,000 is spent on roses alone, and the trafiic in carnations amounted in the last census year to $4,000,000 The annual production cf roses and ear nations to supply the market is’ esti mated at 100,000,000 each. Violets and chrysanthemums, in the production of which California at present excels, come next in the order of popularity, the annual sales of the former aggre gating $750,000 and of the latter $50, 000 Floriculture has thus become a great industry, which gives employment tc a vast army of workers, and the pro- duction of any rarity means a bonanze to the owner, for everybody loves flow« ers and buys flowers, and the wealthy classes will pay almost any price for the choicer varieties.—San Francisco Chronicle. An English Novelist’s Mission. | We note with satisfaction the an- nouncement that Mr. H. Rider Hag: gard has been nominated by the Sec retary of State for the Colonies to pro- ceed to the United States to inquir, into and report upon the conditions and character of the agricultural and in- dustrial land settlements formed there by the Salvation Army for the recep: tion of immigrants from the great cities of the United States. Mr. Rider Haggard has for several years deyoted his energies in a most public spirited manner to most exhaustive inquiries into the conditions of agriculture in this country, his competence for the task intrusted to him is above question, and he is sincerely to he congratulated on this well merited official recognition of his patriotic and disinterested ex- ertions.—London Spectator. He is the Emperor, The general allusion to the ruler of § ar” is, strietly speak- incorrect. His official title is “Emperor and Autocrat) “Cz the old Russian word for “Lor pg? is i” or “Prince,” and was abandoned by Peter the Great on his triumpiial return frem Poltava, his crowning victory over Charles XII. of Sweden. Since then the Russian monarch has been officially entitled “Emperor,” and at the Con- gress of Vienna, in 1815, his right to the imperial term was admitted by the Powers, with the proviso that, t he was Emperor, he had no precede over the Kings of Western Euro St. James’ Gazette. She fills the dinner pail / He finally decided that if, their summer migration, a 71 A BRILL DR. (Subj Brook]; Cuyl fourth y time vig Soul.” 1 29: “The stern an said: The a Rome is 5f the loses its a strong but is sti fulness o modern lished e The chie rich, pr: The stor wreck yc from chil ship had “blizzard which is a ‘‘euroc stars ar fortnight cargo wi were obl craft wi from fo imagined the land. Of twen the lead are Now one man cast four it is a s the wall peii depi manner. aight wi weary Vv« the terri an the sl oner, is master o life is I member was par chors sh able life mighty rn Humart you now the judg is not a before si under Ge the ancx chors a1 afloat, b waves al And so i Make fa and to Lord Jes unseen. union vy Keeps m temptati those in When M a heavy . cable of throughc I have v our divi salvatior What ar notes ist cause th ted Stat hind it. force fo faith. N than a n iy more opinion. act of t Christ weaknes thiness t to His ir are not Christ, on Chris friend of in Albar room an saw it midnight >*Itirel” smoke grasped in safety on the when yo to Christ hold you promise. forsake 1 an actua testing ment to hid in th British ( ¢hors to <hapter. it’s recol «of faith marked the mary promises chor nev The se and obe Every d Aa religio pleasant son the of mere and floy strain a alty to t to tlre ¢ bedded are not faith w dead. I of conse right w with so wrecks days is in politi safe un merce 0 deience mandme even in anchor i ples of dience t these da the first
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers