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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 20, 1899)
MY POOR WIFE. BY J. P. SMITH. CHAPTER XV. (Continued.) “My dear boy, wait a moment. Just a moment," pleaded my uncle, hie hand grasping my arm. "YVc will give you all the particular!) wo have gleaned. Don't -don't be afraid. Unfortunately tip to the present we we have no re liable duo to your wife's whereabouts more than the letter haa probably given you; but we hop®-" “There’s her hat—the hat she al ways weurs In the garden; It looks all wet and muddy—sho must have drop ped It in the graaa. Give It to me— give It to me! Finlay, what on earth have you jingling there? It—It looks “I don't know what It Is; do you recognize It, Mr. Dennys?" he an swered, holding up a block of bruised metal from which hung a light, rusted chain entangled In a rag of blue rib bon. “That rubbish?—no. At first in the shade there 1 thought It looked not un » like a steel girdle and chatelaine my wife wears—one that 1 bought her at the Palais Royal last spring. I—I don’t know what put It Into my head. Give me the hat. Where was It found? An swer me, answer me! Are you all struck dumb?" Then they told me, two or three of them taking up one another nervous ly, that the hat was picked up the morning before by the children of the a range lodge In a bed of ruahes down le river; that the chain and mass of metal bad been found twisted round the big wheel of the Red Mill, and that It was recognized by Carter, my wife’s maid, as part of tha chatelaine she un doubtedly wore the day she disap peared. “You—you wiah me to understand that my wife went down the river un der the mill machinery like the girl long ago? You—you want me to be lieve that? Great heavens!” "My dear boy—no, no. As long as there is no further confirmation, of course we—we must hope for the best; but—but you see, unfortunately the nlglit was dark, and the river unusual ly swollen; it is so dangerous down by that broken bridge, so easy to miss one's footing In the—the—I say, catch him, catch him! Oh, poor fellow, he's falling!" I saw their faces crowding round me, the room seemed to heave convulsive ly, and then I remembered nothing more for many weeks. CHAPTER XVI. One cold gusty evening In October, seven years after the pen had fallen from Paul Dennys’ hand, two women, wearing the garb of the good Sisters of Nazareth, wended their way across the little country churchyard of Col / worth and stood silently before a white marble cross bearing the following In scription— “Sacred to the memory of Helen, the beloved wife of Paul Dennys of Eolworth, who died 22nd of July, 187—, aged 19." “It stood a few yards away from the huge stone monument under which generations of Dennyses slept, the reeds and ruahes from the river, flow ing close by, rustling mournfully around It, making the spot so dismal and ghostly that the elder sister, a woman of a vigorous and unimagin ative disposition, shuddered Involun tarily and exclaimed half-pettlshly to her silent companion— "Well, sister, is our journey at an end? Ia this the spot we have traveled over two hundred mllea to visit?” "Yea. I wanted to know If this Helen Dennys waa burled here, and I And she Is. I am ready to go bark now, Bister Agatha, when you wish." She stooped to pick a spray of Ivy grow ing round the cross, held It In her hand Irresolutely for a moment, then flung It Into the river and moved heavily away. "No; wait a moment and rest your self—you look quite exhausted. Don’t sit on the grass, child; do you wish to get your death of cold? Sit here on the slab beside me," cried Sister Agatha, laying a motherly baud on bar companion's shoulder. She obeyed, tossing back her heavy craps veil, and lifted a wan listless face to the low murky «ky. "Poor Helen!" she sighed presently, with a weak laugh. “They haven t given her a very dry bed. have they? They might have moved her a little farther, even though It were only bet memory mouldering there.** Slater Agatha made no reply, hut read aloud the Inscription, coidment Ing softly, aged nlnteen. That was young to bid good-by to earthly hap piness. Was this Helen a relation - any ona you loved Sister t’lothlld*?" "I knew her all her life; though she dt*d young In years, she was old In sorrow. "And yet »h« ws* beloved*" "Ho the stone says to the ilt.tie ■gys. Oh, sister, sister," hurst on! the young nun, with « sudden, hlttsr try, "of all the lies, uttered or record •• I in <bU world of I * ti'«r# me non* none. I say «•> •h,int*f>il, eo bar* faced M those that drttle IDs grave I at da of ottr land!* * Hu»h hush, my dear sUtet !'* te proved the elder. In a shotted voU* "Prsp.^rsy rueyos ytttwll you do rut know wb.it > 'a ais »*ytug bus tnfeecuwli g- ■ ** “Let me speak, let mi* speak now. It will do me good, and I will be silent aftor (hut for the rest of niy life! Let mo tell you the story of the ‘beloved’ wlfo who lies hero; It will do me good." ‘‘Very well, my dear, If It will ease your mind, I will listen,” she answered soothingly, looking at her companion with keen anxious glance. ‘‘It's not a long story. an«l a com mon-placo one enough. She that Helen lived up In the red house the chimneys of which you can see smok ing among the trees, and she believed herself beloved as that cross asserts sho was; hut In a very short time she found out her mistake-found out her husband bad only married her out of pique and disappointment -that he loved another woman fairer than she. Her rival carno to stay In the house with her; the wife was tried, tortured, maddened to despair, and one day she disappeared from her home, leaving a letter saving she bad gone never to return. No trace was found of her, but after a few days sufficient evi dence was had to lend her husband to believe that she had been drowned In that river flowing there tinder the wall, and her body ground to pieces In some mill machinery half a mile further down." ‘‘What a horrible story! Poor soul— poor soul! Was It proved to be acci dental or—or otherwise?” “That no one will know until the day all things will be made known. They have not judged her harshly here; let not us do otherwise,” "And the husband, sister?" "He—the story says-went raving about the country seeking her, at first, as if be had lost the treasure of his life, and, five months after her death, married her rival." “Five months?” "Five month. They live very happily together now surrounded with their children. That's the whole story, and It ends In the orthodox style with a happy marriage, you see. Now let us go, or we shall miss our train." W'lth a glance toward the chimneys, Sister Agatha put her arm within her companion’s, and they walked quickly and silently through the long wet grass, over the old bridge above the mill, to the station half a mile away. When they arrived there the up train was slowly moving away from the platform, and to their dismayed in quiries the station-master Informed them there would not be another until 1:16. It was then only half-past seven. Four dreary hours stretched before them, to be got rid of—how? Bister Agatha, who had been up the three preceding nights nurslug the sick, and who had a week of hard work before her, prior to her departure for New Zea land, where she, her companion, and three other nuns were going to found a convent, lost no time In making up her mind how to dispose of tho lime before them. Beating herself In a re tired corner of the waiting-room, she fell Into a heavy sleep, after having urged her companion to follow her example. Clothllde tried to do so, but It was In vain, sleep would not come. Vis ions of past days, past happiness, hope, and sorrow floated before her—voices she had loved before she laft the world tiounuen in ner ears. When the last train from town ar rived, the quiet station became a scene of bustle and excitement—porters, guards, passengers flitted hurriedly by. doors were slammed; but Sister Agatha slept placidly through It all, and her companion drawing her thick veil over her hideous funnel-shaped bonnet, shrank farther Into her corner. Two or three travelers Invaded the room for a moment, then hurried out, and the train slowly moved on. Clotblldo had just pushed aside her stifling veil, when the door opened again, and a plump ungloved hand, sparkling with diamonds, thrust two children hastily In, n gay, vibrating voice, thut sent the blood rushing to the nun's white face, calling out — "Children, stay there until nurse romee to fetch you; don't attempt to leave this room. Percy, take care of your sister, do you hear?" "Don't be afraid. Cissy, I'll take care of you," said the boy, a beautiful child of about five with golden curls falling over his face. "The room is dark, but—" "Who are you? What‘a you're name? Tell me quick quick I must know!" The little fellow started back, threw hta arm around hla sister, as he stare I awestruck Into the white face uni l hurtling eyes of a woman In a long t la k cloak lowering over hitu, a woman he had never wm before, yc whom h«* knew perfectly on the tua- j to- nt the white witch of Carving ' Knife Cave who socked the htood of j trying children, that nurse tol-l them about * bi*n ihvy wir* naughty* **t 4tfi |vr» y ICtlwird h»'H* j H)n of <‘«>| north ir4 ihU N in) ?Of<t lk'ftlijr | the thIM hl« «Ht««ly. “if ion «*:*• 1*4 r ? me—don’t look at me again, and yon . are safe. Go-go!" They went; and Helen Dennys, who #as supposed to have bean drowned seven years ago, sank back Into her seat and covered her face with her hands li^ a passion of d**pa<(r and stormy re/olt, almost us fierce as that which swept her the morning she tried lo take her husband's life. CHAPTER XVII. Presently the door opened a;;»ln, and a portly nurse, laden with a gorgeous ly-clad baby, waddled In, speedily fol lowed by the owner of the gay votes and begemmed fingers, namely, Mrs. Dennys of Colworth, a stately well conditioned lady, on whoso lovely blooming far* not the faintest traco of shame, remorse, regret lingered a face that was the embodiment of supreme self-satisfaction and unshadowed pros perlty. Helen looked Into It long and deeply with hungry eyes, then turned to the wall, when a shower of hot tears dimmed her sight. "I tell you, Halpln, the box Is some where in the station; the port»r dis tinctly saw It being lifted out of the last train, and 1 won’t leave the sta tion until It Is found. I renlly never inet such u helpless and stupid woman as you; It Is unbearable!” cried Mrs. Dennys angrily, stamping her foot. "Hullo, Hullo, wife, what's the storm about?" Interposed a man’s voice, "Is half you’re nursery missing, or what?" "My bonnet box from KUIe’a is miss ing, Mr. Dennys, and 1 am telling Hat pin that I won’t leave the station until it Is forthcoming; I'll not have the his tory of my emerald bracelet repeated.’' Mr. Dennys made a half-soothing, half-bantering reply; at the same time, seizing his little girl, ho perched her on his shoulder. The child clung to him fearfully, her eyes fixed upon the dark figure, which nobody seemed to notice. Helen’s lips moved in Incoherent ter rific prayer, her hands pressed to her eyes. "Help me, help me, O Heaven!” she prayed. "Oh, do not desert me after seven years’ struggle, don't let my sac rifice be All In vain! I have suffered, I have struggled! Oh, for pity’s sake help me now, or I—I ruin—ruin him 1 love! Paul, Paul, If you love your wife, your children, your happy home, go—go quick, before my strength leaves me, before I look at you—before I look at you again," She leaned forward rocking herself to and fro In the fever of temptation, moaning feebly, until some one touch ed her upraised arm, and her hand fell instinctively. Edith’s husband was standing beside'her, speaking to her. "I beg your pardon, madam, there Is a parcel under your seat. Would you allow mo to see if it Is the one we are looking for No, it Is not; thanks. I am sorry for disturbing you," He moved away, not a gleam of rec ognition In his face, and she looked after him dumbly, her hands lying on her lap. At first she could not see him plain ly for a red mist shrouded her eyes; but it passed away, and he stood clear before her, a man 'n the prime of life; stalwart and shapely, with a handsome sunny face as insouciant, free from remorse and care us Edith’s own, a man whom the world used well, who had obeyed her lust request In the spirit as well as the letter. Changed; oh, so little changed since the summer days long ago, when she watched him died on her lips, the tumult In her — her god among men—a little fuller In the body and redder In face, but otherwise unchanged, unchanged! (To be Continued.I WHEN TOLSTOI WRITES A BOOK Count I.co Tolstoi la such an original author that it is not in the least sur prising that bis modus operand! when writing a book is equally so. As soon as he has decided what the plot ot a new novel is to be he makes a rough sketch of the whole, leaving out de tails, using for the purpose quarto pa per of the commonest description, probably from motives ot economy, as his handwriting Is so large that he uses an enormous amount of paper for very little work; this be gives to his wife or one of his daughters to rewrite and reduce to something like neatness. As soon as the first manuscript is ready he works up the plot and fills in some of the details, writing his own com ments and ideas, far future alteration on the margin. From the first copy a second and third are made, onch In the same way. if thero Is any pari with which Count Tolsoi Is very much dissatisfied, he will take the (rouble to write and re write It as many as eight vr nine times sooner than pass anything with which he is not quite pleated; he very seldoih succeeds at once in describing any very remarkable scene, and when any i great difficulty presents Itself he adopts the highly orlgtual way of getting over it and collecting his Ideas by playing a game of "I'atieuce," Critical as he Is about Ills own work. Count Tobol meets with still slterper criticism front His wife and family, and j a* be placet great letlanee on (heir Judgment and good taste in all things . relating to literature, as *«*»n a* * new j Hovel i* I'ftn h it I he reads It uv<r to them. In order that they may suggest j sit h sltri c but • a, they think ad v isa* | l)|v; sent# of which suggest Iona he acs u;> in When the prnofsheate are sent tH their correcting absorbs his whole j tint* jad attention, and it l» Mi>l that I t.o living so*hoi elves hi, publish-r *■» i touch trouble, naira to the number tear lJ*t,j, * i {|<t htftMi up *fi t I*»m1 o ha »4* fir»t l ull by wonts t$W lb TALMAGE’S SERMON. I "A NEW CENSUS” LAST SUN DAY’S SUBJECT. From IIid Hrrniil Kook of S«inu«l, Chapter 1*111., Vtii* 5. a* follow*: "I lion Arl Worth Tan Tlmutauil of t*." *Onc of the moat wondrous charac ters of bin time wan David. A rcd baired boy, ho could shepherd a flock, or carry "ton loaves and ton slices of milk chon** to hi* brother* In the regi ment," or, with leathern thong, atone loaded, bring down a giant whoso ar mor weighed two hundred weight of inctal, or cause a lion which roared at him in rage to roar wlih pain a* he flung it, dying, to the roadside, or could marshal a host, or rule an em pire, or thumb a harp bo skillfully that It cured Saul’s dementia -a harp from whose strings dripped pastorals, elegies, lyrics, triumphal marches, benedictions. Now, this man, a com bination of musics and heroics, of dithyramb!:* and battlefields, of coun try quietude and statesmanship, la to lit out a military expedition. Four thouaand troops, according to Jo sephus, were sent Into the field. The captains were put In command of the companies, and the colonels In com mand of tho regiments, which were disposed into right wing, left wing, and center. Gen. Joab, Oen. Ablshal end tlen. Ittal Hre to lead these three llvlslona; but who shall take the field la commander-ln-chlef? David offers his services, and proposes to go to the front. He will lead them In the aw ful charge, for he has not a cowardly nerve In all hfs body. He did not pro pose to have fats troops go Into perils which he himself would not brave, and the battlefield required as much courage then as now, for the opposing forces must, In order to do any ex ecution at all, come up to within pos itive reach of sabre and spear. But thsre came up from the troops and from the civilians a mighty protest against David’s taking the field. His life was too Important to the nation. If be went down, the empire went down; whereas, If the whole four thou sand of the ranks were slain, another army might be marshaled and the de feat turned Into victory. The army and the nation practically cried out, "No! No! You cannot go to the front. We estimate you us ten thou eand men. ’Thou art worth ten thou sand of us!’* That army and that nation, then and there, reminded David, and now remind us, of the fact which we for get, or never appreciate at all, that eomo people ure morally or spiritually worth far more than others, and some worth fur less. The census and statis tics of neighborhoods, of churches, of nations, serve their purpose, but they can never accurately express the real state of things. The practical subject that 1 want to present today Is that thoso who have especial opportunity, especial graces, especial wealth, espe cial talent; especial eloquence, ought to make up by especial assiduity and consecration for those who have less opportunities and less gifts. You ought to do ten times more for God and human uplifting than those who have only a tenth of your equipment. The rank and the file of the four thou sand of the text told the truth when they said, "Thou art worth ten thou sand of us.’’ In no city of Ms size are there so many men of talent as are gathered In this capital of the American nation. Some of the states are at times repre sented by men who have neither tal ents nor good morals. Their political party compensates them for partisan services by sending them to Congress, or by securing for them position in the war or navy or pension or print ing departments. They were nobodles before they left home, and they are nobodles here. But they are excep tional. All the states of the Union generally send their most talented men and men of exemplary lives and noble purposes. Some of them have the glfta and qualifications of ten men, of a hundred men—yea, of a thousand men—and their constituents could truthfully employ the words of the text and say, "Thou art worth ten thousand of us.’* With Mich opportunity are they aug menting their usefulness In every pos «Ihle direction? Many of them are; some of them nra not. It Is a stu pendous thliiK to have power-political power, social power, official power. It baa often been printed and often quot ed as one of the wise sayings of the ancients. "Knowledge is power;" yet It may as certainly be power for evil as for good. The lightning espresa rail train has power for good, if It Is on the track, but horrible power for disaster if it leaves the truck and plunges down the embankment. The ocean steamer has power for good, sailing in right direction and in safe waters aud under good helmsman and wide awake watchman on the lookout, but Indescribable power for evil if un der full headway it strikes the break ers As *tvam power or electricity or water forces may be stored In boilers, In dynamos. In reservoirs, to be em ployed all over a town or city, so (Sod sometimes puts In ons man enough faith to ‘ i|<pl> tboioindsot men with courage. If a man happens to he thus t o ''.*« 1. i>!.o i realise his ... • tuutty and improve It. At this lime millions of men are atrcnible last this nation wake a mistake and enter upon some policy of government fur the Is lands of th« sea th»t will founder the republic. tied will give to a few i * »n l.ith sides of Ihts question faith and courage for all (he teal. These are two false positions many are now tahlng fats- aa false can be. The one Is that If w« decline la lake under full t barge Cut* slid I'm to like so I the Philippine*, we make a declination that will be disastrous to our nation, and other nations will take control of these archlpelagOH and rule them, and perhaps to our humiliation and de struction. The other theory Is that if wo tak« possession of these once Span tali cofoiiles, we Invite foreign inter ference, and enter upon n career that will finally be the demolition of this government. Both positions are Im measurably mistakes. Cod has set apart this continent for free govern ment and the triumphs of Christianity, and we may take either the first or the second course without ruin. We may say to those Islands, "We do not want you, but we have set you free; now stay free, while we see that, the Spanish panther never again puts Its paw on your neck.” Or we may In vito the annexation of Cuba and Porto Rico, and say to the Philippines, "Get ready, by education und good maruls, for free government, and at the right time you shall be one of our territo ries, on the way to be one of our states.” And there Is no power in Eu rope, Asia or Africa, or all combined, that could harm this nutlon In Its world-wide endeavor. Cod Is on the side of the right, and by earnest I in - ploratlon for divine guidance on the part of this nation we will be led tc do the right. We are on the brink of nothing. There Is no frightful crisis. This train of Republican und Demo cratic Institutions Is a through train, aud all we wunt Is to have tho engi neer and the brakemen and the con ductor attend to their business while the passengers keep their places. Wc wunt men In this nation with faith enough for all. We want hero and there a David worth ten thousand men. • • • The warrior David of my text showed more self-control and moral prowess In staying ut home than he could have shown commanding In the held. He was a natural warrior. Mar tial airs stirred him. The glitter of opposing shields tired him. Me was one of those men who feel at home In the saddle, patting the neck <^f a paw ing cavalry horse. But he suppressed himself. Me obeyed the command of the troops whom he would like to have commanded. Some of the great est Sedans and Austerlttzes have been In backwoods kitchens, or In nursery, with three children down with scarlet fever, soon to Join the two already In the churchyard, or amid domestic wrongs and outruges enough to trans form angels Into devils, or in com mercial life within their own counting rooms In time of Black Friday panics, or In mechanical life In their owrn car penter shop, or on the scaffolding of waifs, swept by cold or smitten by heat. No telegraphic wires reporter the crisis of the conflict, no banner w'as ever waved to celebrate their vic tory; but Cod knows, and Cod will remember, and God will adjust, and by him the falling of a tear la as certainly noticed as the burning of a world, aud the flutter of a sparrow’s wing as the flight of the apocalyptic archangel. Oh, what a Cod we have for small things as well as big things! David no more helped at the front than helped at home. The four regiments mobilized for the defense of the throne of Is rael were right In protesting against Davids exposure of his life at th< front. Mail he been pierced of nn nr row, or cloven down with a hattle-ax, or fatnlly slung from a suortlng war charger, what a disaster for Israel! Absalom, his son, was a low fellow, and unfit to reign, his two chief char acteristics were his handsome face and his long hulr—so long, that when he had It cut, that which was bclasored off, weighed "two hundred shekels, after the king's weight,” and when a man haB nothing but a handsome face and an exuberance of hair, there Is not much of him. Tho capture or slaying of David would hHve been a calamity Irreparable. Unnecessary exposure would have been a crime for David, as It Is a crime for you. In nine canes out of ten, the fatali ties every flay reported are not the fault of engineers or brakemen or con ductors or cab-drivers, but of the stu pidity and recklessness of people at street or railroad crossing. They would like to have the Chicago limited express train, with three hundred pai sengers, and advertised to arrive at s certain hour In a certain city, slow up to let them get two minutes sooner to their destination, not one farthing of their own or any one else's welfare de pendent r>» whether they arrive one minute before twelve o’clock, or one minute after. You ought to get per mission »r.«n a railroad superintendent to mount beside the englueer on a lo comotive, to realise how many evils of recklessness there are In the world funeral processions whipping up to get across before the cow-catcher strikes the hearse; man of family, with wife sud children beside him In a wagon, evidently having made done calcula tion as to whether a stroke from the locomotive would put them backward or forward In the Journey to the vil lage grocery; traveler on a railroad bridge, hoping that he could get to the end of the bridge before the train reaches It You have no right to put your life In peril, ualees by such #«■ po«ure mroeibli’t Is to be gained for others. What imbecility in thousands of Americans duiIng our recent Amer ko dpaiilth "w*e, disappointed because the sot render tame so soon, and they could n«t have the advantage of being shot at pan Jus a htlt, or brought down with the yellow (ever, and carried on a lltjer to transport steamers aitead> is mnay floating Uiifrtlus, Instead of thanking Uud that they got no nearer to the ala ugh ter than Taui|a or fhst* tan, ifg, or the encampment at their *n slate eaptral, «• »d at the govern hi -at, urad at tied, bees use thry retth* not g«t to th« float la time to Join • he four thousand corpse*, that at* t ow betug transported fi' to the tropic - to the national cemeteries of tit* United States! Exposure and daring are admirable when duty calls, bat keep out of peril when nothing prac tical and useful is to be gained tor your family or your country or your Oorh I admire the David of my test as ho suppresses hfraself and enters the gate of bis castle, as much aa I admire him, when, with his fonr Sa gers and thumb clutched Into the gris ly lochs of Goliath's head, which he had decapitated, and Saul admiringly aaka. ' Whose sou art thou, young man?" And David, blushing with genuine modesty, responds, "I am the son of 'by servant, Jesse, the liethlehemlte." • * • The world hns had other conqueror*, yet they subdued only a nation or a. continent; but here Is One who la to be a Conqueror of hemispheres. QUrar physicians have cured sufferings, but here is a Doctor who gave sight ti* those who were born blind, and with out surgery straightened the crooked! back, and changed the numbness of paralysis into warm circulation, and who will yet extirpate all the ailment* of the world, until the last cry of tho world's distress shall change Into m. song of convalescence. Other kings havo ruled wide realms, but here !■ a King that will yet reign in all tho earth as he now reigns In heaven. There have been other historians who told the story of nations, but hero la Ono who tells us of things that oc curred before the world was. Tharo have been other generals who com manded men, but here was a General who commanded seas and hurricanes. There have been other prophets, hut here is One out of whose life and car reer, Moses und David and Jeremian and Ezekiel and Mlcab and Malachl and Zecbarfab dipped their inspira tion. There have been other merciful hearts all up and down through tho ages, but here In One who loves ua with un everlasting love, and whoa* merer antedates the birth of the first moon tain, and the wash of the first sea, aad the radiance of the first aurora, and! the chant of the morning stare at tfc* creation, and will continue after tba last rock has melted In the final con flagration, and Atlantic and Paelfn oceans have rolled out of their beds, and the last night shall have folded op Its shadow, and our Lord shall hat# cried out In the same words that sounded through the night of Jobn’a banishment on i’atmos, "I am Aiphai and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.” Then all the mightiest of heaven will gather around the Incarnated God of whom I preach, each one saying It for himself, but altogether uttering It In mlghtj chorus, “Thou Hon of David, thou Bon of Mary, thou Hon of God, thou art worth ten thousand of usi” But 1 must not close without com mending to you this wonderful Christ here and now ns your pardon for all sin, and your solace for all grief, and your triumph In all struggle. Down at Norfolk, Virginia, a few days ago, a gentleman was telling mo of one of our war-ships In Cuban waters. Be fore it left a northern harbor, some Christian ladles, at much expense and with fine taste, bought and furnished for that war-vessel a pulpit, from which the chaplain might read the ser vice and preach while on shipboard. The pulpit was made in the shape of a Close, and It was beautifully damasked and tasselled. The ship got Into the battle before Santiago, and the ves sels of the enemy began to sink, and their crew were struggling In the waters, when, from this ship 1 speak of, the officers and sailors began to throw over chairs, planks, tables, to help the drowning save themselves. After a while everything movable had been thrown overboard, except the pul pit In the shape of a cross. After ob jection by some that It was too beauti ful and valuable to be cast Into the waters, the cross was dropped Into the sea. One of the drowning men seised It, but let go, and another seized, and the shout went from many on deck to those struggling In the waves, “Cling to the cross! Cling to the cross!’* Several of the drowning took the ad vice and held on until they were res cued and brought lu safety to deck, and shore, and home, and 1 say to all the souls today sinking In sin and sorrow, now swept this way and now that: Though the guns of temptation and disaster may splinter and knock from under you all other standing, and everything else goes down, take hold of the cross and cling to It for your pres ent and everlasting safety. Cling to the cross! for he who died upon It will save to the uttermost, and he la so good, and so lovely, and so mighty that he Is worth Infinitely more than tea thousand of us. VHe IMajr of *|HisUk (klldrfa. At Kucuterrabla the place waa ta fete for four day* In honor of the pa tron aaint. The morning* were divid ed by the native* between long aerv tce* in the Cathedral and letting oil rocket* In the street*; the afternoon* were entirely devoted to bull light*, four bull* being generously provided each day- Somehow we did not go. In ihe market place were a group of tiny children plating the only gam* they knew. That waa a mimic hull light. Rvtry »tag* wa* faithfully reproduced. Only a l»« entail hoy* and girl* were not taking part lu the game. They had tn mated to capture a like uparraw, and woe et»Jo)!ng ihe more f t.cinat irg pl'*a*ireef tabling off tie leg* and wiug*. We kh *14 think the latroa • ■ moi i> ■ !*otb planned wid Par..- • / ta -»a : <‘hamh*ra* Journal. II >t \ t * n# the •*■ ienl |!grp> H*na hon - I .» u wh t dead. rhe t,' C.M* U»» w.o* w > ,# la their dn> turd gti. tl #