PHANTOM SHIP
—OR— 11
The Flying Dutchman.
^-EY CAPTAIN MARXYAT.
L.I.LXJ_LXXXXJ_LXXA J.f.X I ,t.XXJ_It_t-.L I. «_•_ft_LX J_ft_L.LJ.J_L L J_». X ft. ft _«_ft. ft. «
CHAPTER II.—(Continued.)
I “You shall have your three guilders
* and a half, and your vial to boot, Mr.
Foots,’’ replied be, as he rose from off
the bed.
"Yes, yes; I know you mean to pay
me—if you can. But, look you, Myn
heer Philip, it may be some time be
fore you sell the cottage. You may
not find a customer. Now, I never wish
to be hard upon people who have no
money, and I'll tell you what I’ll do.
:Tbere is something on your mother’s
neck. It is of no value—none at all,
but to a good Catholic. To help you
dn your strait, I will take that thing,
and then we shall be quits. You will
have paid me, and there will be an
end of it.’’
• Philip listened calmly; he knew to
what the little miser had referred—
tho relic on his mother's neck; that
wery relic upon which his father swore
the fatal oath. He felt that millions
of guilders would not have Induced
Y him to part with it.
" “Leave the house," answered he,
abruptly. "Leave it immediately. Your
money shall be paid."
Now, Mynheer Foots, In the first place,
knew that the setting of the relic,
which was in a square frame of pure
gold, was worth much more than tho
gum due to him; he also knew that a
large price had been paid for the relic
Itself, and as at that time such a relic
was considered very valuable, he had
no doubt but that it would again fetch
a considerable sum. Tempted by the
sight of it when be entered the cham
ber of death, he had taken it from tho
peck of the corpse, and it was then
actually concealed in his bosom; so he
renlled:
"My offer Is a good one, Mynheer
Philip, and you had better lake it. Of
what use is such trash?”
"I tell you no!" cried Philip in a
rage.
i “Well, then, you will let me hnve it
In my possession till I am paid, Myn
heer Vanderdccken—that tg but fair, I
must not lose my money. When you
bring me my three guilders and a half
and the vial I will return it to you.”
Philips indignation was now without
bounds. He seized Mynheer Poots by
the collar and threw him out of the
door. “Away, immediately,” cried he,
♦or by-”
There was no occasion for Philip to
finish the imprecation. The doctor
► had hastened away with such alarm
that he fell down half the steps of the
staircase and was limping away across
the bridge. He almost wished that the
relic had not been In his possession;
but his sudden retreat had prevented
him, even if so Inclined, from replacing
it on the corpse.
The result of this conversation nat
urally turned Philip’s thought* to the
relic, and he went into his mother's
room to take possession of it. He
opened the curtains—the corse was laid
out—he put forth his hand to untie the
black ribbon. It was not there. “Gone!”
lexclaimed Philip. “They hardly would
have removed It—never would—It must
be that villain Poots—wretch! but I
will have it, even if he has swallowed
it, though I tear him limb from limb!”
Philip darted down the stairs, rush
ed out of the house, cleared the moat
at one bound and, without coat or hat
flew away in tho direction of the doc
tor’s lonely residence. The neighbors
saw him as he passed them like the
wind; they wondered and they shook
their heads. Mynheer Poots was not
more than half way to bis home, for
he had hurt hU ankle. Apprehensive
of what might possibly take place,
Bhould his theft be discovered, he oc
casionally looked behind him; at
length, to his horror, he beheld Philip
Vanderdecken at a distance, bounding
on in pursuit of him. Frightened al
most out of his senses the wretched
pilferer hardly knew how to act; to
stop and surrender up the stolen prop
erty was his first thought, but fear of
VanderUeckcn'H violence prevented
him; so he decided on taking to his
heels, thus hoping to gain his house
and barricade himself In, by which
moans he would he In a condition to
keep possession of what he lud stolen,
or at least make some terms ero he
restored It.
Mynheer Foots had need to run fast,
and so he did, his thin legs hearing
his shriveled form rapidly over the
ground; but Fhillp, who, when be wit
nessed the doctor's attempt to escape,
was fully convinced that he was the
culprit, redoubled his exertions and
rapidly came up with the chase. When
within a hundred yards of his own ,
door Mynheer Foots heard the bound
ing steps of Fhillp gain upon him, and
he sprang and leaped In his agony.
Nearer and nearer still the step, until
at last he heard the very breathing of
his pursuer; and Foots shrieked In his
tear, like the tmre In the Jaws of the I
greyhound. Fhillp was not a yard
from him; hts arm was outstretched,
when the miscreant dropped down par
alysed with terror, and the Impetus ot
Yanderdecken was so great that hs
passed over hts body, tripped, and after
trying In vain to recover hi* equilib
rium. he fell and rolled over nod over.
This sated the little doctor; It was
like the double of n hare In n eerond
hs was again on his legs, and before ,
Fhillp could rise and ngain stsrt hla
speed. Foots bad sntsred hla d«»ov and ;
bolted It within Fhillp was. however,
determined la repoeeeee the Important
reaeuro. sad as he pealed hs feet hts ,
eyes around to see If any means offered
for his forcing his entrance into the
house. But as the habitation of the
doctor was lonely, every precaution
had been taken by him to render It
secure against robbery; the windows
below were well barricaded and se
cured, and those on the upper story
were too high for any one to obtain
admittance by them.
The door was strong, and not to be
forced by any means which presented
themselves to the eye of Vanderdeck
en. For a few minutes he paused to
consider, and as he reflected, so did hts
anger cool down, and he decided that
It would be sufficient to recover his
relic without having recourse to vio
lence. So be called out, in a loud
voice:
"Mynheer Boots, I know that you can
hear me. Give me back what you have
taken, and I will do you no hurt; but
if you will not, you must take the
consequence, for your life shall pay the
forfeit before 1 leave this spot."
This speech was indeed very plainly
heard by Mynheer Boots; but the little
miser had recovered from his fright,
and thinking himself secure, could not
make up his mind to surrender the
relic without a struggle; so the doctor
answered not, hoping that the patience
of Bhllip would be exhausted, and that
by some arrangement, such as the sac
rifice of a few guilders, no small mat
ter to ono so needy as Bhllip, he would
be able to secure what he was satis
fied would sell at a high price.
Vanderdecken, finding that no an
swer was returned, indulged in strong
Invective, and then decided upon meas
ures certainly In themselves by no
means undecided.
CHAPTER III.
There was part of a small stack of
dry fodder standing not far from the
bouse, and under the wall a pile of
wood for firing. With these Vander
decken resolved upon setting fire to
the house, and thus, if he did not gain
his relic, he would at least obtain
ample revenge. He brought several
nrmfuls of fodder and laid them at the
door of the house, and upon that he
piled the fagots and logs of wood until
the door was quite concealed by them.
He then procured a light from the
steel, flint and tinder which every
Dutchman carries In his pocket, and
very soon he fanned the pile Into a
flame. The smoke ascended in col
umns up to the rafters of the roof,
while the Are raged below. The door
was Ignited, and was adding to the
fury of the flames, and Philip shouted
with Joy at the success of his attempt.
"Now, miserable despoller of the
dead—now, wretched thief, now you
shall feel my vengeance,” cried Philip,
with a loud voice. "If you remain
within, you perish In the flames; If you
attempt to come out, you shall die by
my hands. Do you hear, Mynheer
Poots—do you hear?”
Hardly had Philip concluded this ad
dress, when the window of the upper
floor furthest from the burning door
was thrown open.
"Ay—you come now to beg and to
entreat; but, no—no,” cried Philip—
who stopped as he beheld at the win
dow what seemed to be an apparition,
for instead of the wretched little miser
he beheld one of the loveliest forms
Nature ever deigned to mold—an an
gelic creature of about sixteen or sev
enteen, who appeared calm and reso
lute in the midst of the danger by
which she was threatened. Her long,
black hair was braided and twined
around her beautifully formed head;
her eyes were large, intensely dark,
yet soft; her forehead high and white,
her chin dimpled, her ruby lips arched
and delicately line, her nose small and
straight. A lovelier face could not be
well Imagined; It reminded you of
what the best of painters have some
times, In their more fortunate mo
ments, succeeded in embodying, when
they would represent a beauteous
^alnt. And as the flames wreathed
and the smoke burst out in columns
and swept past the window, so might
she have reminded you In her calm
ness of demeanor of some martyr at
the stake,
"What wouldst thou, violent young
man? Why are the inmates of this
house to suffer death by your means?"
For a few seconds 1'hlllp gazed, and
could make no reply; theu the thought
seized him that In his vengeance, he
was about to sacrlflce so much loveli
ness. He forgot everything but her
danger, and seizing one of the large
poles which he bad brought to fetal
the flame, he threw of? and scattered
In every direction the burning masses,
until nothing was left which could
hurt tb<> building but the Ignited door
it»elf; and this, which as yet— for It
was of thUa oak plank had not suf
fered very material Injury, ha soon
reduced, by beating It with clods of
earth, to k smoking and harmless
state. I hiring these active measures
«>n the part of Philip the young maiden
watched him In silence.
"All la safe now, young lady," said
Philip, *'CJod forgive we thet I should
have risked a life so precious, I
tbouaht hut to wreeh wy vengeance
upon Mynheer Ponta."
"And what cause ran Mynheer l*oote
have give fur such dreadful veage
eaeaf** replied the waidea. calmly.
"What cause, young lady f lie cawa
to my house—despoiled the dead—
took from my mother’s corpse a rello
beyond price."
"Despoiled the dead—he surely can
not—you must wrong him, young sir."
"No, no. It Is the fact, lady—and
that relic—forgive me—but that rello
I must have. You know not what de
pends upon It.”
"Walt, young sir,” replied the maid
en. "I will soon return."
Philip waited several minutes, lost
In thought and admiration; so fair a
creature In the house of Mynheer
Poots! Who could she be? While
thus ruminating, he was accosted by
the silver voice of the object of his
reveries, who, leaning out of the win
dow, held in her hand the black ribbon
to which was attached the artlclo so
dearly coveted.
"Here is you relic, sir,” said the
young female; "I regret much that my
father should have done a deed which
well might justify your anger; but
here It Is,” continued she, dropping
it down on the ground by Philip; "and
now you may depart.”
“Your father, maiden! can he be
your father?” Bald Philip, forgetting
to take up the relic which lay at his
feet.
Bhe would have retired from the
window without reply, but Philip
spoke again:
"Stop, lady, stop one moment, until
I beg your forgiveness for my wild,
foolish act, I swear by this sacred
relic,” continued he, taking It from
the ground and raising it to his lips,
“that had I known that any unoffend
ing person had been In this house I
would not have done the deed, and
much do I rejoice that no harm hath
happened. Hut there Is atlll danger,
lady; the door must be unbarred, and
the Jambs, which still are glowing, be
extinguished, or the house may yet be
burned. Fear not for your fathor,
maiden; for had he done me a thou
sand times more wrong, you will pro
tect each hair upon his head. He
knows me well enough to know I keep
my word. Allow me to repair the In
jury I have occasioned, and then I will
depart."
•‘No, no; aon t irusi mm, earn
Mynheer Poots from within the cham
ber.
“Yes, he may be trusted,” replied the
daughter; “and his services are much
needed, for what could a poor, weak
girl like me, and still weaker father,
do In this strait? Open the door, and
let the house he made secure.” The
maiden then addressed Philip; “He
shall open the door, sir, and I will
thank you for your kind service. I
trust entirely to your promise.”
“I never yet was known to break
my word, maiden,” replied Philip: “but
lot him be quick, for the flames are
bursting out again.”
The door was opened by the tremb
ling hands of Mynheer Poots, who then
made a hasty retreat upstairs. The
truth of what Philip had said was then
apparent. Many were the buckets of
water which he was obliged to fetch
before the fire was quite subdued; but
during his exertion neither the daugh
ter nor the father made their appear
ance.
When all was safe, Philip closed the
door, and again looked up at the win
dow. The fair girl made her appear
ance, and Philip, with a low obeisance,
assured her that there was then no
danger.
“I thank you sir," replied she—-“I
thank you much. Your conduct, al
though hasty at the first, has yet been
most considerate.”
“Assure your father, maiden, that all
animosity on my part hath ceased, and
that in a few days I will call and sat
isfy the demand he hath against me."
The window closed, and Philip, more
excited, but with feelings altogether
different from those with which he had
set out, looked at It for a minute, and
then bent his steps to his own cot
tage.
(To be continued.)
-.. . , . —
THE CLIENT OBEYED ORDERS.
Clemenceau Promised to Use Ills lufln
enrw sad Did Mo.
M. Georges Clemenceau, who has
been bo prominently before tbe pub
lic in the Dreyfus affair aa editor of
the Aurore, told ub a good story in tbe
chamber of deputies tne other day,
says To-Day. Years ago, when he was
th'i mayor of M/trtre and at the same
time r. deputy, he opened a dispensary
in the quarter, where ndvlre was given
free, for Clemenceau Is a specialist In
skin diseases. One day he noticed that
he had just one hour In which to get |
his luncheon and go down to the
chamber, where he had to interpellate
the government. Ho called his assist
ant and said: "How many more pa
tients are there waiting?" "Hit," re- ;
piled the man. One after the other
hud his case diagnosed, and Clemen- i
eeau, after another glance at his
watch, said: "Tell the other two to
umtma at once, as 1 have only two
more minute* to watt." One entered
and C'cmenccau wrote out a prescrip
tion In the l winkling of an eye. The
last man came In as naked aa the day
w hen he was born. Clemenceau eyed
him for a minute and then said; "You
are suffering from no skin disease.
What have you come here to worry
me fur?" The man loosed at liiw
aghast for a minute and replied: j
"rtkln disease? I never entd I had n j
skin dl Your man cam* and told
me to nndre*e. monsieur to depute, and
| did so. All I wanted to ask you was
to u»* )<>ur Influence i„ get m> (l*t*r
a p:4<* l« !><•• i —>“Wt •> IW Algeria '
Clemenrcnu smiled, took his name and
did use lit* Influence
It should fte the duty end privilege
of all ChrUttaa people to help their
fellow mew Met M X. Maw son. I*ree
ky leriaw. Brooklyn, N. V. ,
TAJ,MAGE'S SERMON.
"HOUSEHOLD ANNOYANCES,"
LAST SUNDAY’S SUBJECT.
“Lord Dost Thon Not Care Th«t My
Sister Hud, Left Me to Herre Alone—
Hid Her Therefore Thet him Help
Me"—Luke lt>: 4U.
Yonder Id a beautiful village home
stead. The mat! of the house is dead
and his widow has charge of the prem
ises. It Is Widow Martha of Uethany.
Yes, I will show you also the pet of
the household. It la Mary, the young
er sister, with a book under her arm,
and in her face no sign of care or
anxiety about anything. Company has
come. CbrUt appearing at the out
side of the door makes some excite
ment Inside the door. The sisters set
back the disarranged furniture, ar
range their hair, and in a flash pre
pare to open the door. They do not
keep Christ waiting outside until they
have newly apparelled themselves or
elaborately arranged their tresses, and
then, with affected surprise, come out,
and pretending not to havo beard the
two or three previous knockings, say:
"Why, is that you?" No, they were
ladies, and always presentable, al
though perhaps they hud not on their
beat. None of ua always have on our
beat; otherwise very soon our best
would not be worth having on. They
throw open the door and greet Christ.
They say, “Good morning, Master,
come In and be seated." Christ brought
a company of friends with him, and
the Influx of so many city visitors, you
do not wonder, threw the country
home into some perturbation. I sup
pose the walk from the city had been
a keen appetizer. The kitchen depart
ment that day was a very. Important
department, and I think as soon as
Martha had greeted her guests she
went to that room. Mary had no anx
iety about the dinner. Sho had full
confidence that her sister Martha
could get up the best dinner In
Detbany, and she practically said,
"Now, let us have a division of labor.
Martha, you cook, and I’ll sit down
and learn."
The same difference you now some
times see between sisters. There is
Martha, industrious, painstaking, a
good manager, ever Inventive of some
new pastry, discovering something in
household affairs Here is Mary, fond
of conversation, literary, so full of
questions of ethics she has no time
to discuss questions of household wel
fare. It is noon. Mary is in the par
lor. Martha is In the kitchen. It would
have been tetter for them to have
divided the toll, and then they could
have divided the opportunity of listen
ing to Christ. But Mary monopolizes
Christ, while Martha swelters before
the Are.
It was very important that they have
a good dinner that day, for Christ was
hungry, and he did not often have
luxurious entertainment. Alas! me! if
all the responsibility of that entertain
ment had rested with Mary. What a
repast they would have had! But some
thing went wrong in the kitchen.
Either the Are would not burn, or the
bread would not bake, or something
was turned black that ought to have
been only turned brown, or Martha
scalded herself, and, forgetting all the
proprieties of the occasion, with be
sweated brow she rushed out of tho
kitchen Into the parlor, perhaps with
tongs in one hand and pitcher in the
other, and she cried out, “Lord, dost
thou not care that my sister has left
me to serve alone? Bid her therefore
tbat she help pne?” Christ scolded net
a word. It it were scolding I would
rather have him scold me than any
body else bless me. There was noth
ing acerb in the Saviour's reply. He
knew that Martha had been working
herself almost to death to get him
something to eat. and he appreciated
her kindness, and ho practically said:
“My dear woman, do not worry, let
the dinner go; sit down here on this
couch besldo your younger sister,
Mary; let us talk about something
else. Martha, Martha, tbou art careful
and troubled about many things; but
one thing Is needful.”
As Martha throws open the door, I
look In today, and I see a great many
household anxieties, perplexities, fa
tigues, and trials, and about them 1
am going to speak. If the Lord of Mary
and Martha aud Lazarus will help me
ty his grace.
As 1 look Into that door. In the first
place, 1 see the trial of uon-npprccla
lion. That was what made Martha so
vexed at Mary. Mary, the younger
sister, had no proper estlmato of the
cider sister's fatigue. Just as now,
men having annoyances of store and
factory und shop or at the stock ex
change, come home at night und hear
of some household annoyance and they
say, "Oh, that's nothlug; you ought to
be In a factory a day and have ten or
fifteen or twenty or n hundred subor
dinates. Then you would know some
thing about annoyance and trouble.”
O man, let me tell you that a wife and
a mother has to couduct at the same
time a university, a clothing establish
ment, a restaurant, a laundry, a libra
ry, and has to be health «RWr. police,
and prtfcid ‘at of the whole realm' Mb*
has to do a thousand things, and to do
them well In order to make things go
smoothly, and that U what puts the
awful tax on a woman's nerves ami a
woman's brain I know there are ex
ceptions to the rule, thonellnies you
will find a woman who ran sit In the
arm chair of the library all day with
out Bay anxiety, nr tarry on the be
lated pillow and aU the rare* of the
household are thrown upon servant*
who have large wages sad great espe
rleaee; hut that la the except ton I
speak of the great meases of house
keepers. In whom life la a struggle, and
who at thirty years of age touh as
though they were forty. The fallen
at Chalons and Austerlltz and Gettys
burg and Waterloo arc a small num
ber In comparison with those who
have gone down under the Armaged
don of the kitchen. Go out to tho
country and look over the epitaphs on
the tombstones. They are all beauti
ful and poetic, but If the tombstone!,
could tell the truth thousands of them
would say: "Here lies a woman who
was killed by too much mending and
cewlng and baking and scouring and
scrubbing," and the weapon with
which she was killed was a broom or
a sewing machine or a ladle.
The housewife rises In the morning
half rested. At an irrevocable hour she
must have the morning repast ready.
What If the flro will not burn? What
If the clock stop? What If tho mar
keting has not been sent In? No mat
ter that; It must be ready at the Irre
vocable hour. Then the children must
be got ready for school. Hut what If
the garments bo torn? What If they
do not know their lessons? What If the
hat or sash Is lost? they must be got
ready. Then you have the duly of
the day, or perhaps several days to
plan out. Dut what If the butcher
sends meat unmastfcable? What If the
grocer furnishes you articles of food
adulterated? What If the piece of sil
ver be loot, or a favorite chalice be
broken, or tho roof leak, or the plumb
ing fall, or nny one of a thousand
things occur? No matter. Everything
must be ready. The spring Is coming,
and there must be revolution In the
family wardrobe, or the autumn Is at
hand, and you must shut out the
northern blast, nut hew If the moth
has preceded you to (be chest? How
If the garments of the last year do
not fit the children now? What If uil
the fashions have changed? • * •
As Msrttha opens the door I look In
and I also tee tho trial of severe econ
omy. Nine hundred and ninety-nine
: nousenoius out or a thousand arc bijd
I jected to It, either under the greater
| or less stress of circumstances. It Is
; especially so when a man 3mokes ex
pensive clgnrs and dines at costly res
taurants. Ho will bo very apt to en
join severe eeonomy at borne. That Is
what kills thousands of women—the
attempt to make five dollars do the
work of Bevcn. It Is amazing how tome
men dole out money to the household.
If you have not got the money, say so.
If you have, be cheerful In the expen
diture. Your wife will ho reasonable.
“How long does the honeymoon lust?"
said a young woman about to enter
the married state, to her mother. The
mother answered, “The honeymoon
lasts until you ask your husband for
money.’’ “How much do you want?"
“A dollar." "A dollar! Can’t you get
along with fifty cents? You are always
wanting a dollar.’’ Thlo thirty years’
war against high prices, this everlast
ing attempt to bring the outgo within
the Income has exhausted multitudes
of housekeepers. Let me say to such.
It Is a part of tho Divine discipline. If
It were best for you, all you would
have to do would bo Just to open tho
front windows, and the' ravens would
fly in with food, and after you bad
baked fifty times from the barrel In
the pantry, like the barrel of Zarep
hath. the barrel would be full, and the
children’s shoes would last as long as
the shoes of the Israelites In the wil
derness-forty years. • • *
Romance and novelty may for a lit
tle while seem to be a substitute. The
marriage day has only gone by, Just
gone by, and all household cares are
atoned for by the Joy of being togeth
er, and by the fact that when It Is late
at night It Is not necessary to discuss
whether It Is tlmo to go. All the
mishaps of tho r.ewly-marrled couple
in the way of household affairs are not
matters of anxiety or reprehension,
but merriment. The loaf of bread
turned Into a geological specimen, tho
slushy custards and jaundiced and
measly biscuits! Oh, It Is a very
bright sunlight that falls upon the cut
lery and mantel ornaments of a new
home! Romance and novelty will do
for a little while, but after a while
the romance is all gone and there Is a
loaf to be made, a loaf that cannot be
sweetened by any earthly condiments,
and cannot be flavored with any earth
ly flavors, and cannot be baked In any
ordinary oven. It Is the loaf of do
mestic happiness. All the Ingredients
from heaven. Fruit from the tree of
life and sweetened with the new wine
of the kingdom, and baked in the oven
of home trial. God only can make
that loaf. You cau cut It, but it takes
God to make It.
Solomon wrote out of his own miser
able experience ho bad a wretched
home—no man can be happy with two
wives, much less with seven hundred
- and out of his wretched experience
lie wrote: "Getter is a dinner of herbs
where love Is, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith.” Oh, the responsi
bilities of housekeepers! Kings, by
tbetr Indigestion, have lost empires,
and generals, through Indigestion.have
lost buttles. One of the great suilt
H. tin* says that out of a thousand un
married nun thirty were rrlmtuaU.
and out of a thousand married men
.inly eighteen were criminals, showing
the power of home. And, oh. the re
sponsibility resting upon hou cke«p
er«! Gy the food they provide, by the
couch they spread, by the boohs they
introduce, by the influence they bring
a round the home, they are helping to
•teem* isv »i, tat isjt-tkctua!,
the moral, the eternal welfare of the
human race. Oh. the responsibility!
That woman alia In the house of God
to-day, perhape. entirely unappreciat
ed. A he .4 the banker of her home
tke president, tke cashier, the teller,
the dlseeuat rterk; sad ever aad anon
three Is panic God knows tke aas
letisn and the care#, aad he kaows that
this It not a use Use seraxm. hut that
there are multltadee of hearts, wailing
for tke dtsililattoa of the IMtlae merer
sad solace la their hour of trials aad
their home duties and their own fa
tigues. The world bears nothing
about them.They never speak about
them. You could not with the agonies
of an Inquisition bring the truth out of
them. They keep It still. They say
nothing. They endure, and will until
God and the judgment right their
wrongs. Ob, but says some sister,
j "Are you not trying to show that all a
woman's life at home Is one of self
sacrifice?" Yes, my sister, and that
Is the only kind of life worth living.
That has been the life of Florence
Nightingale; that was the life of Ed
ward Payson; that was the life of the
Lord Jesus Christ; that Is the life of
every man or woman that Is happy—
a life of self-sacrifice. Those people
living for themselves—are they happy?
Find me one. I will give you all the
nations of the earth to find mo one.
Not happy, no, not happy. It Is the
self-sacrificing people that are happy,
for God pays so la gely, so gloriously,
so magnificently, In the deep and eter
nal satisfactions of the soul. Self
sacrifice. We all admire It In others.
How little wo exercise of ft! How
much would we endure; how much
would we risk for others? A very
rough schoolmaster had a poor lad that
had offended the laws of the school,
and be ordered him to come tip."Now,"
he said, "take off your coot Instant
ly and receive this whip.” The boy
declined, end more vehemently the
teacher aald, "I tell you. now, take off
your coat; take It off Instantly." The
boy again declined. It was not be
cause he wan afraid of the lash; he
was used to that In his cruel home.
Hut It was for shame; Iso had no un
dergarments, and when at last ho re
moved his cent there went up a sob
of rruollon nil through the school as
they saw why he did not wish to re
move his coat, and aa they saw the
shoulder blades almost cutting through
the nktii. As the schoolmaster lifted
his whip to strike, a roseate, healthy
Loy leaped up and said, "Stop, school
master; whip me. lie Is only a poor
chap; ho can't stand It; whip mo.’
"Oh," raid the teacher, "It’s going to
be a very severo scourging. But If
you want to take tho position of a
substitute, you tan do It.” Tho boy
said, "I don’t caro; whip me; I’ll take
It; lie’s only a poor chap. Don’t you
see tho bones almost come through tho
flesh? Whip me," And when the
blows cann down on the hoy's shoul
ders, this healthy, robust lad made no
outcry; he endured It all uncomplain
ingly. We all say "Bravo!” for that
lad. Bravo! That Is the spirit of
Christ! Splendid! How much scourg
ing, how much chastisement, how
much anguish will you and I take for
others? Oh, that wc might have some
thing of that boy’s spirit! Aye, that
we might have something of tho spirit
of Jesus Christ; for In all our occu
pations and trades and businesses, and
nil our life, home life, foreign life, we
are to remember that the sacrifice for
others will noon lie over.
TAKE IT PHILOSOPHICALLY.
One of till) l.riKont Tlmt All of U|
Alnat I.onr/1.
It Is a question which la the most
dlfflcut thing to do—-to take victory
modestly or to hear up cheerfully un
der defeat, says the Detroit Freo Press.
Perhaps there are more people who ars
able to subdue themselves and their
pride when victory crowns their efforts
than there are able to glvo the victor
a heartfelt and cheerful sympathy
when they themselves are the van
quished. It Is certainly hard not to
feel downcast, or sometimes even an
gered, when things turn out against
one’s wishes and against one’s efforts.
In a game of marbles the fellow who
loses feels a wpight on his heart for
hours. In a game of ball the losers
are forever saying, "If this had not
happened Just as It did," or, “If we had
a chance to do that at the proper time
we could have won.” In the deeper
and more weighty games of life It Is
much the same and men are forever
making excuses for their failures. But
tell us. little lad, what If you have lost
a half-dozen of your marbles, does the
sky lose thereby any of Its blue? Or
has not the sport paid well for the
losing? And you who have lost the
ball game, has that damaged your
character any? Has It taken away any
of your friends? Have you not even
more In your stock of experience than
you had before? After all. It Is but
n game, and all games must be lost and
won. Would you always be the win
ner? Then, should you wish to see
your neighbors, your frleuds, your
business rivals always defeated, the
fame of life would lose Its zest. Is
It not the better policy to do one's best
slid let come what will? If the result
Is favorable w« can then be glad; not
losing sight of the fact that some one
has tost In the contest. And If
lost Is our part then ought we to take
the result as cheerfully as If It bad
been victory, knowing full well that
there has been no harm dime to our
true characters, and th« world will
wag on just as evenly a* before. Is It
a money loss* We c: a amt will be
Just as happy without the stuff, and It
may be doing much more Rood to him
who has It than It did to ourselves
To take victory and defeat with equal
modesty, cheerfulness and thought ful
ness far the other fellow- that la the
r«-si smi * * *. sod « >-ii* mi, Hoe should
he the training and this should be the
true object of every game and every
contest.
lIsM Ins last*
A cigarette smoker sends Into the
air about teee.seeoo# particle* of duet
st every puff, according to Ur Atkina'
tavestlgaUuw*
Character gtvea splendor ta youth
and awe to wrinkled akin end gray
hair* — k'mersoe.