X it GUILTY OR
y , x *
By AMY BRAZIER.
u - , , _ i t- , 4 * . . A - . A
CHAPTER III. ( Continued. )
Only George does not tell Barbara
of a grim shadow that haunts him
night and day a shadow so grim and
Jdack even his love for Barbara cannot
make him forget it , a trouble so dark
he dare not face his mother's gentle
eyes a trouble he locks in his own
heart , while day by day the end comes
nearer. Even if he told Barbara she
v/ould not understand. Racing debts
and promissory notes would be Greek
and Latin to her. But by degrees
George becomes graver and quieter ;
his bunny smile is forced sometimes ,
and his light-hearted gaiety seems to
have deserted him. And then Mrs.
Bouverie falls 511 so ill that any
Hhock or worry might be fatal and
George sits and looks at her with a
lump hi his throat and wet eyes. And
now his heart is breaking with his
own troubles , a sea of debt is engulf
ing him. In a month a bill for one
hundred pounds falls due , and he has
nothing to meet it with , his own al
lowance anticipated long ago. and the
mother who might have helped him
lying too ill to care now.
"No excitement , " the doctors say.
"The least shock would prove fatal. "
No wonder George Bouverie looks
miserable , and his face has a drawn ,
gray look. Dishonor is an ugly word ,
and that is what it will mean. The
man who had helped him into the
mess will not help him out of it. He
lias left the country , and George haste
to bear it all alone.
How to get a hundred pounds ? That
is the -problem that haunts George
Bouverie with a sick agony of uneasi
ness that will not be quieted. It is
always there the certainty of ruin
and the shame of it is horrible.
Money , borrowed to pay his racing
debtb. It-seemed so easy at the time ,
and three months seemed such a long
v/ay off. Ho would be sure to have a
run of luck and be able to pay. But
the man who had lent him his name
lias gone , and George has no means of
procuring a hundred pounds. With a
sinking heart , he remembers -with a
blush that scorches his cheek that his
mother's income is very slender. She
liad given nearly all to him , saying ,
in her sweet , lovable way :
"What can an old woman like me
want ? A young man must have pocket
money. "
"If she had only been harder on me
when I was a little chap. " groans
George now , realizing too late that his
own way has not been a good way
Even Barbara cannot comfort him
now.
The winter has worn itself away and
Harch has come March that has more
of the shy witching of April than the
usual boisterous month thr.t proverbi
ally enters as a lion.
SJill no answer from Tasmania.
Does Mr. Saville also mean to ignore
the engagement ? It were hard to say ,
but it looks like it.
Mrs. Bouverie slowly creeps back
from the borders of the shadow land ,
and George keeps his misery to him
self , while the day of reckoning draws
nearer and nearer.
Today the lovers have met. Bar
bara has ridden over on her bicycle to
ask for Mrs. Bouverie , and George
nvalks with her down the avenue. Bar-
ifoara cannot fail to notice his dejected
manner , the look of trouble that
blots the sunshine from his face.
They stand together in the sunshine
and the light falls on their young
faces , and out across the lawn the
sunbeams touch the daffodils.
Barbara looks at them with a smile.
"I always think of Wordsworth's
lines , " she says , and quotes them
softly :
"The waves beside them danced ; but
they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee.
IA. poet could not but be gay
lu such a jocund company.
I gazed and gazed , but little thought
What wealth the show to me had
brought. "
George only sighs.
She slips her hand into his as he
wheels her bicycle beside her.
"Poor George , it must have been
such an anxious time for you ; but
your mother is better , really better ,
BOW. "
"Yes. " he says , moodiiylooking with
Tiuseeing eyes at the nodding , dancing
daffodils , and drawing another long
sigh. Then his eyes rest on her face ,
with a sudden agony of regret she can
not fathom.
"Barbara , my darling. I am not
worthy of you ! " he exclaims.in a voice
that speaks of desperation.
She lifts sweet , smiling eyes.
"You must not say that. George ;
Imt. dear , why do you look so uu-
happy ? "
"I can't help it ! " he bursts out.
"Barbara. I am a most unlucky fel
low. Dear , it would be better for you
1f you never saw me again. "
She looks half frightened , but her
Iiand creeps closer into his palm.
"There isn't any fresh trouble , is
there ? " she asks , noting all at once the
haggard look in his face.
Then he tells her suddenly and
abruptly , almost roughly , making the
worst of it almost 'in his self-reproach
and misery , sparing himself nothing ,
pouring it all out in a whirlwind of de
spair.
"Now you know the sort of man you
- * + * i * $ -4' ' 2j * ZY i K.
-wr + * - + -
f\ ? 4x \ fa x x 71 * fa fa si * rtx \ > J ? * K
have promised to marry ! " he says ,
with sudden fierceness. "A gambler ,
and a gambler who cannot meet his
engagements ! No Bouverie ever dis
graced himself like that before. You
had better say good-by to me , Bar
bara. Your aunt was right 1 am not
flt match for you ! "
Barbara's cheeks are pale enough
now.
George leans the bicycle against a
tree , and leads her across the grass tea
a wood , where the green moss grows
in feathery tufts like sofa pillows , and
where here and there the celandine is
lifting its sparkling , spring-like face ,
the birds filling the air with song. All
the world appears full of hope and
promise ; hope seems everywhere but
in the heart of George Bouverie.
Barbara's eyes are slowly fillin
with tears , but what is that in wom
an's love that makes her then more
tender to the erring and more lenient
to the failures , s ready to forgive ?
She and George nave seated them
selves on a fallen tree , and she is the
comforter. His hand is held to her
bosom , her face , full of love and pity ,
is upturned , with the tears quivering
on her lashes.
"I feel as if I could shoot myself ! "
George cries passionately. "Sweet
heart , I have only brought sorrow on
you. "
Barbara looks at him bravely.
"George , when I promised to marry
you. it was to be for better , for worse.
It is the same as if we were married
now. I am glad you have told me
your trouble. It is very dreadful ; I
hardly understand what it means ; but.
my dearest , I will help you to bear
it. "
How sweet are her words , how earn
est the pure and lovely face !
George only groans.
Barbara does not know of the mire
of difficulties that so nearly submerge
him.
him.He
He turns his haggard gaze on her.
"Nothing can help me. unless I get a
hundred pounds ; and what I feel most
is what this will mean to my poor
mother. "
He might have thought of this be
fore , but Barbara does not say so ; on
ly leans her cheek against his" shoul
der , and looks away at the golden sea
of daffodils that flutter so gaily in the
March sunshine.
"I would rather release you. " George
says huskily. "I shall have to go
abroad or somewhere. "
"I will go with you. " Barbara says ,
in a sweet , unsteady voice. "You
cannot give me up , George , for I won't
be given up unless you do not care for
me any longer. "
"I must love you till I die ! " cries
poor George , love and remorse making
him well-nigh desperate.
But even Barbara cannot raise his
spirits. Nothing can lift the gloom
from his face. A trouble like this takes
the life out of a man. The girl puts
her arm about his neck and draws
his grave , unhappy face down to hers.
"George , after this you will never
bet on those horrid horses again ?
Once this trouble passes away and it
will pass , dear you will be brave. I
think , George Oh , I don't know
how to say it ! But do you remember
the preacher in the square ? He said
God will help people to resist tempta
tion even in the little things of every
day life. "
"That is rubbish ! " George returns ,
answering her caress. "My old mother
talks that sort of nonsense. I don't
believe she buys a new bonnet with
out asking for guidance as to the
color of the ribbon. " He laughs a
mirthless laugh. "It stands to reason ,
darling. I don't look on a mess like
mine as what mother calls a chasten
ing of the Lord. I have brought it allen
on myself , worse luck ! and I don't
expect a miracle to get me out of the
hold. ' My Barbara , my own love ,
you've lost your heart to a worthless
sort of chap. Even Sebastian Saville
but , no ! I would hang myself if you
were his wife ! "
The misery seems darkening every
moment. That awful promissory note.
given to pay that wretched racing
debt , is ever in his mind. Not even
Barbara's love can help him now !
He stands up , a tall , splendid figure ,
in tweed knickerbockers ; so goodly to
look upon , so wretched and unhappy ,
as his haggard face shows.
"I have only about a fortnight , " he
says , as together they walk back to
where Barbara left her bicycle. "After
that , oh , my darling , what am I to
do ? "
Barbara's heart echoes the cry. Her
face is as sad as his as she wheels
away in the sunlight ; and George ,
thrusting his hands in his pockets and
sinking his head on his chest , walks
slowly back to the house.
CHAPTER IV.
Mr. Saville's answer has come. It
is not in the least what Barbara ex
pected. It is a very short letter , and
out of it falls a cheque for two hun
dred pounds. And there is nothing
about her engagement at all , except a
casual allusion to the danger of flirta
tions that can end in nothing. And
Barbara is to come out to Tasmania at
once , by the next steamer that sails
after she receives the letter. The two
hundred pounds is to purchase an out-
fit and defray the expenses of the voy
age.
age.Mrs.
Mrs. Saville also receives a letter ,
which is possibly more lengthy , and
may contain more information than
the communication to Barbara , In
which her father only says he is lonely
and wants her to manage his house
hold for him.
Mrs. Saville looks keenly at her
niece as she sees her reading the let
ter , while the color forsakes her face.
And Sebastian watches Barbara , too.
"Father wants me to go out to him , "
Barbara says , lifting her great , trou
bled eyes. In her heart she knows
that this command is only to separate
her from George.
Mrs. Saville folds up her own letter.
"Yes , so your father says. He think
you are old enough now to be at the
head of his house ; but we will miss
you , dear. And I see he expects yoi
to start at once. He mentions the
steamer that some friends of his are
going out by. Every thing will be
dreadfully hurried. We must go to
London in a day or so and get your
things. "
Barbara sits white and miserable
To leave George , that is her one
thought to put thousands of miles be
tween them ! The thought is intoler
able ; but not till breakfast is over
and Sebastian , with another incompre
hensible look , has iounged out of the
room , does Barbara speak. Then she
looks at her aunt.
"Aunt Julia , does father say nothing
about George ? You know we are en
gaged. "
Mrs. Saville smiles rather provok-
ingly.
"J do not think your father has any
objection to your considering yoursell
engaged. He hardly mentions the sub
ject.
ject.Barbara's
Barbara's color rises. She is to be
treated as a child , then , who has set
its heart on possessing the moon , and
every one knows it is nonsense !
"I will go out to father as he
wishes , " she says , proudly , "but when
I am of age I will marry George Bou
verie ; so there will only be a year to
wait , and then nobody can make any
objection.
"I was not aware that any one had
objected , " Mrs. Saville returns. "I
have not tried to prevent your engag
ing yourself to any one.
Barbara's lip quivers. This tacit
ignoring of her engagement is hard to
bear.
bear.Mrs.
Mrs. Saville , who has no sympathy
with her , proceeds to discuss Bar
bara's clothes.
"You will want some gowns. " she
says. "I am sure I do not know what
kind of things you will want. I be
lieve it is a nice climate ; but I fancy
some one told me there is always east
wind , and that is so trying.
But Barbara can take no interest in
her clothes.
"I have plenty of things. I shall
only get a deck chair , " she says , al
most crossly , for this banishment to
the other side of the world is very
hard to endure. Besides , her nerves
are on the rack on account of George
Bouverie's troubles.
"Your father has sent you a cheek
for your expenses , " Mrs. Saville says
presently. And Barbara says "Yes , "
and no more.
Mrs. Saville gather ? up her letters
and rises from the table.
"I must go and tell Mason to com
mence packing. Really , it is hardly
fair to make you start at a minute's
notice ; but the steamer your father
names sails in a few days , and wa
have to meet these people who are to
take care of you. "
Barbara bursts into tears. She is
stung to a pitch of excitement , and can
only realize the one awful fact she
must say good-by to George and leave
liim in his trouble.
"My dear , there is nothing to cry
for , " Mrs. Saville says , crossing the
room in her trailing garments , and
leaving it as Sebastian enters.
( To be Continued. )
Origin of VUltinjj Cards.
"The use of visiting cards dates back
: o quite an antiquity. " explains Mrs.r
Van Koert Schuyler , in the Ladies'
Home Journal. "Formerly the porter
at the lodge or door of great houses !
kept a visitors' book , in which he
scrawled his idea of the names of those
who called upon the master and his
family , and to whose inspection it was
submitted from time to time. One fine
gentleman , a scion of the nobility from
the Faubourg St. Germain , was
shocked to find that his porter kept
so poor a register of the names of
those who had called upon him. The
names , badly written with spluttering
pen and pale or muddy ink. suggested
to him the idea of writing his own
name upon slips of paper or bits of
cardboard in advance of calling upon
his neighbors , lest his name should
fare as badly at the hands of their
porters. This custom soon became
generally established. "
Fine Sarcasm.
Four or five drummers , after their
day's work was over and their din
ners stored away , were talking about
the various cities of the United States
which they had visited in the course
of their business experience. New
York. Chicago. Philadelphia and Bos
ton were left in the list of the unde
cided when a New York man appealed >
to a veteran who had been reading a
lewspaper during the discussion. "You
enow the country pretty well. I guess ,
major ? " said the New Yorker. "Fairly ,
should say. " was the reply. "I've
been traveling over it for thirty
vears. " "Well , what would you say
was the best town in the United
States ? " "Chicago , " responded the
major , promptly. "Aw. " expostulated
he New Yorker , "we don't mean mor
ally , " whereupon the major hastened
o apologize. Washington Star. i
to
TALILMJE'S SERMON.
LABOR AND CAPITAL LAST
SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
There Is a Christian Kemcd.v for All
Industrial ] tflsiin < lerstiniling ; > i .Sngxes-
tions as to IIoxv tlio Irrepressible Con
flict Mny IJo Settled Poreier.
[ Copyright , 1900. by Louis Klopscli.J
Texts , Galatians v , 15 , "But if ye
bite and devour one another take heed
tha : . ye be not consumed one of an
other , " and Philippians ii , 4 , "Look
not every man on his own things , but
every man also on the things of oth
ers. "
About every six months there is a
great labor agitation. There are violent
lent questions now in discussion be
tween employers and employes. The
present "strikes" will go into the past.
Of course , the damage done cannot
immediately be repaired. Wages will
not be so high as they were. Spasmodically
medically they may be higher , but they
will drop lower. Strikes , whether
right or wrong , always injure labor
ers as well as capitalists. You will see
this in the starvation of next winter.
Boycotting and violence and murder
never pay. They are different stages
of anarchy. God never blessed mur
der. The worst use you can put a man
to is to kill him. Blow up tomorrow
all the country seatb on the banks of
the Hudson and the Rhine and all the
fine houses on Madison square and
Brooklyn Heights and Rittenhouse
square and Beacon street , and all the
bricks and timber and stones will just
fall back on the bare hands of Amer
ican and European labor.
Neglect itf Christian I > ily.
The behavior of a multitude of la
borers toward their employers dur
ing the last three months may have
induced some employers to neglect the
real Christian duties that they owe to
those v.'hom they employ. Therefore
I v\aat to say to you whom I confront
face to tace and those to whom these
words may come that all shipowners ,
all capitalists , all commercial firms ,
all master builders , all housewives , are
bound to be interested in the entire
welfare of their subordinates. Years
ago some one gave three prescriptions
for becoming a millionaire : "First ,
spend your life in getting and keeping
the earnings of other people ; secondly ,
have no anxiety about the worriments ,
the losses , the disappointments , of
others ; thirdly , do not mind the fact
that your vast wealth implies the pov
erty of a great many people. " Now ,
there is not a man here would consent
to go into life with those three prin
ciples to earn a fortune. It is your
desire tn do your whole duty to the
men and women in your service.
First of all , then , pay as large
wages as are reasonable and as your
business will afford not necessarily
what others pay , certainly not what
your hired help say you must pay. for
that ( is tyranny on the part of labor j
unbearable. The right of a laborer to j
tell his employer what he must pay
implies the right of an employer to
compel a man into a service whether
he will or not , and either of those ideas
is despicable. When any employer al
lows a laborer to say what he must
do or have his business ruined and the
employer submits to it , he does every
business man in the United States a j
wrong and yields to the principle ;
which , carried out , would dissolve so- '
ciety. Look over your affairs and put j
yourselves in imagination in your la-
borer's place , and then pay him what
before God and your own conscience
you think you ought to pay him.
"God bless yous" are well in their
place 1 , but they do not buy coal nor I
pay house rent nor get shoes for the j
children. At the same time you , the }
employer , ought to remember through j
what straits and strains you got the j
fortune f by which you built your store
or run the factory. You are to remem-
her that you take all the risks and the
1T employee 1c takes none or scarcely any. \
You are to remember that there may
be reverses in fortune and that some
new style of machinery may make
your machinery valueless or some new
style of tariff set your business back i r
hopelessly and forever. You must ! I
take all that into consideration , and
then pay what is reasonable.
Cuttiiifj Uo\vii AVajjes.
Do not be too ready to cut down
wages. As far as possible , pay all , and j s
pay promptly. There is a great deal
of Bible teaching on this subject.
Malachi : "I will be a swift witness
against all sorcerers and against all j 8
adulterers and against those who opI I f
pose the hireling in his wages. " La- b
viticus : "Thou shalt not keep the
wages of the hireling all night unto
the morning. " Colossians : "Masters ,
give unto your servants that which is
just and equal , knowing that ye also
have a Master in heaven. " So you
see it is not a question between you
and your employe so much as it is a
question between you and God.
Do not say to your employes , "Now.
if you don't like this place get anoth
er. " v.'hen you know they cannot get sj
arother. As far as possible , once a
year visit at their homes your clerks
and your workmen. That is the only P
way you can become acquainted with
their wants. You will by such process
fir.d out that there is a blind parent to
or a sick sister being supported. You | a
vill find some of your young men in J y
rooms without any fire in winter , and or
n summer sweltering in ill ventilated
apartments. You will find out how o
much depends on the wage. , you pay or V ,
withhold. V.
V.V
Moreover , it is your douty as em V
ployer , as far as possible , to mold the to
welfare of the employe. You ought to he
hH
advise him about investments , about hZ
ife insurance , about savings banks. Z
You ought to give him the benefit of sv
svF
your experience. There are hundreds F
and thousands of employers. I am glad s ;
say , who are settling in the very n
best possible way the dcotiny of their
employes. Such men as Marshall of
Leeds , Lister of Bradford. Akroyd of
Halifax , and men so near at home It
might offend their modesty if I men
tioned their names these men have
built reading rooms , libraries , concert
halls , afforded croquet lawns , cricket
grounds , gymnasiums , choral societies
for their employes , and they have not
merely paid the wages on Saturday
night , but through the contentment
and the thrift and the need morals of
their employes they are paying wages
from generation to generation forever.
Again. I counsel all employers to
look well after the physical health of
their subordinates. Do not put on
them any unnecessary fatigue. I never
could , understand why the drivers on
our city cars must stand all day when
they might just as well sit down and
drive. It seems to me most unright
eous that so many of the female clerks
in our stores should be compelled to
stand all day and through those hours
when there are but few or no custom
ers. These people have aches and an
noyances and weariness enough with
out putting upon thorn additional
fatigue. Unless these female clerks
must go up and down on the business
of the store , let them sit down.
The Duty of Kmjiloyers.
But , above all , I charge you , 0 em
ployers , that you look after the moral
an-1 spiritual welfare of your employes.
First , know where they bpend their
evenings. That decides everything.
You do not want around your money
drawer a young man who went last
night to see "Jack Sheppard. " A man
that comes into the store in the morn
ing ghastly with midnight revelry is
not the man for your store. The young
man who spends his evening in the
societj of refined women or in musical
or artistic circles or in literary im
provement is the young man for your
stftc.
One of my earliest remembrance is
of old Arthur Tappan. There were
many differences of opinion about his
politics , but no one who ever knew
Arthur Tappan , and knew him well ,
doubted his being an earnest Chris
tian. In his store in New York he had
a room where every morning he called
his employes together , and he prayed
with them , read the Scriptures to them ,
sang with them , and then they entered
on the duties of the day. On Monday
nio'iiing the exercises differed , and he
gal bored the young men together and
asked them where they had attended
church , what had been their Sabbath
experiences and what had been the
sermon. Samuel Budgett had the larg
est business in the west of England.
He had in a room of his warehouse a
place pleasantly furnished with com-
fortablt seats and Fletcher's "Family
Devotions" and Wesleyan hymnbooks ,
and he gathered his employes together
every morning and , having sung , they
knelt down and prayed side by side
the employer and the employees. Do
you wonder at that man's success and
that , though 30 years before he had
been a partner in a small retail shop
in a small village , at his death he be
queathed many millions God can
trust such a man as that with plenty
of money.
Present Surroundings.
Sir Titus Salt had wealth which was
bey-mci computation , and at Saltaire ,
England , he had a church and a chapel
built and supported by himself the
church for those who preferred the
Episcopal ] service , and the chapel for
those t who preferred the Methodist ser
vice. At the opening of one of his
factor f ie.3 he gave a great dinner , and
there t were 3,500 people present , and
in i his after dinner speech he said to g
thee people gathered : "I cannot look
around me and see this vast assemblage - °
age of friends and work people with
out being moved. I feel greatly hon
ored by the presence of the nobleman
at my side , and I am especially de
lighted 1 at the presence of my work
people. I hope to draw around me a _
population that will enjoy the beauties
of this neighborhood a population of J'
> > I1 paid , contented , happy opera- '
t vcs. I have given instructions to my
architects that nothing is to be spared O1
to render the dwellings of the opera-
lives a pattern to the country , and if w
my lifti i * spared by divine Providence ygi
hope to see contentment , satisfac giw
tion and happiness around me. ' " gib
That is Christian character demon b
strated. There are others in this coun bT
try and in other lands on a smaller T
scnlc doing their best for their em m
ploye.- . They have not forgotten their ai
own early struggles. They remember te
hov. ' they weie discouraged , how hun oim
gry they were and how cold and how m
tried they were , and though they may PC
? CO or 70 years of age. they know taw :
just how a boy feels between 10 and w
20 and how a young man feels be- re
twcen 20 and KO. They have not for- Ia
gotten it. Those wealthy employers
were not originally let down out of '
heaven with pulleys of silk in a wicker j s
basket satin lined , fanned by cherubic j ° c
wings. They started in roughest Pi
cradle , on whose rocker misfortune put in
hr-r violent foot and tipped them into jy
thi1 cold world. Those old men are w
mpathetic with boys ;
A Religious Life.
Employers , urg'- upon your em
ployes , above all , a religious life. So th
far from that , how is it. young men ? ju
In.stead of being cheered on the road ti
tike
heaven some of you are caricatured , ke
and it is a hard thing for you to keep ar
your Christian integrity in that store
factoiy where there are so many fnR
hostile to religion. Ziethen. a grave R (
general under Frederick the Great , A <
APi
was a Christian. Frederick the Great Pi >
was a skeptic. One day Ziethen. the in
\oaerable , white haired general , asked
be excused from military duty that
might attend the holy sacrament.
He was excused. A few days after
Ziethen was dining with the king and
with many notables of Prussia when at
Frederick the Great in a jocose way ba
said , "Well. Ziethen. how did the sac
rament of last Friday digest ? " The tit
tettlefleld
time on i
life many a
I
hand , and he said :
Forgive me , forgive me.
scoffed
being
there are many
Oh.
and I than * God t
at for their religion ,
brave as
there are many men as
< 0 em
Ziethen ! Go to heaven yourself
w th > ou.
ploycr ! Take all your people
and
Soon you will be through buying
selling and through with manufacturing
and God will ask
ing and building ,
you : "Where are all those people over
? Are
influence
whom you had so great
{ hey here ? Will they be here. u
shipowners , into what harbor will your
crew sail ? ' 0 you merchant grocer ,
under your
are those young men that
care are providing food for the bodies
forever
and families of men to go starved
manufacturers , with so
ever ? 0 you
many wheels flying and so many bands
pulling and so many new patterns
turned out and so many goods shipped ,
are the spinners , are the carmen , are
the draymen , are tlfe salesmen , are the
watchers of your establishments work
ing out everything but their own sal
vation ? Can it be that , having those
people under your care 5 , 10. 20 years ,
you have made no everlasting impression - , r
sion for good on their immortal souls ?
God turn us all hack from such selfish
ness and teach us to live for others
and not for ourselves ! Christ sets us
the example of sacrifice , and so do
many of his disciples.
A Tmo riiyslelan.
One summer in California a gentle
man who had just removed from the
Sandwich Islands told me this inci
dent : You know that one of the Sand
wich Islan'ds is devoted to lepers. People
ple getting sick of the leprosy on the
other islands are sent to the isle of
,
lepers. They never conje off. They
are in different stages of disease , but
all who die on that island die of
leprosy.
On one of the islands there was a
physician who always wore his hand
gloved , and it was often discussed why
.
he always had a glove on that hand
under all circumstances. One day ha
came to the authorities , and he with
drew his glove , and he said to the
officers of the law : "You see on that
.
hand a spot of the leprosy and that I
am doomed to die. I misht hide this
for f a little while and keep away from
the isle of lepers ; but I am a physi
cian , and I can go on that island and
administer to the sufferings of those
v. ho are farther gone in the disease ,
and I should like to go now. It would
be selfish in me to stay amid the lux
urious surroundings when I might beef
of so much help to the wretched. Send
me to the isle of the lepers ? " They ,
seeing the spot of leprosy , of course
took the man into custody. He bade V
farewell to his family and his friends.
It was an agonizing farewell. He
could never see them again. He was
taken to the isle of the lepers and
.
there wrought among the sick until
prostrated by his own death , which at
last came. Oh , that was magnificent
sflf denial , magnificent sacrifice , only
surnassc-u by that of him who exiled f *
himself from the health of heaven to
this leprous island of a world that he
might physician our wounds and weep
our griefs and die our deaths , turning
the isle of a leprous world into a
great , blooming , glorious . garden !
Whether employer or employe , let us
catch that spirit.
CARVED A TOMB
I'or Himself in Marble ami "Was Knrietl
in It.
, Angel's Camp ( Cal. ) special San
Francisco Call : A unique burial took
place at Altaville cemetery yesterday.
Allen Taylor , a pioneer , died at hLs
home on Thursday , and his family at
onr.e consulted John Carley , an under
taker witJi whom the aged marble
worker had made arrangements four
years < ago in regard to his burial. A
grave which the old man had prepared
was opened and in it was found a mar
ble ] box jut large enough to receive a
body < without a casket of any kind.
Faylor had some bitter disappoint
ments in his
family a few years ago ,
ind since then life has had little in
terest for him. He conceived the idea
constructing his own grave , cut the
tnarble and placed the box in a secure
position. He then called the under-
aker , and after
showing him the grave
tvas told that it was too small for the
reception of a casket , at which he
aughed. stating that he wished to be
Juried that way. so in respect to his
A'iahes the body was draped in a
shroud , placed on a covered bier and
jorne to its last resting place by his
pioneer friends , where it was lowered
nto the white marble receptacle made
the hands which are now at rest
vithin.
Pilgrims Wheel to Koine.
There is nothing mediaeval about
he pilgrimage to Rome in this year o
ubilee. Within the Eternal
City elr-c-
ric cars and horse cars to St. Peter's
cecp down the greed of cab drivers
tnxious to overcharge , and now the
rablet announces that the pilgrims
rom Padua will pedal their way to
ome on bicycles along the old Via
Emilia. ' Punctured tires will test the tent
ilgrim's patience in place of the peas
his sandal shoon.
31 ik In * "Relic , " at Oetty.bnr-
A factory - for the manufacture
ont ! n