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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (March 3, 1899)
PHANTOM SHIP —OR Thc Plying Dutchman. -BY CAPTAIN MAPRYAT CARTER IV. Two days later the widow's funeral was over, and Philip having found the key In a secret drawer of bis mother's cabinet, was standing In the room that had been locked up for so many years. The room was about twelve or four teen feet square, with but one window; opposite to the door stood the chim ney and fire-place, with a high buffet of dark wood on each side. On a table near by was a bunch of keys. With one of these he opened the wooden doors of the buffet, revealing an iron safe. A second key on the bunch opened the Iron doors; and Philip found hlm eelf In possession of a considerable earn of money, amounting, as near as fee could reckon, to ten thousand guilders, In little yellow sacks. Philip replaced the sacks, and locked up the cupboards, after having taken out of one, already half emptied, a few pieces for bis immediate wants. Then turn ing and gazing at the table again be beheld partly concealed under some embroidery, the sealed letter which his mother had declared had been left there by his father seventeen years ago. He dashed forward, seized the letter, and hurst out of the fatal room. “I cannot, dare not, read It here," exclaimed he; "no, no, It must be un der the valut of high and offended Heaven that the message must be re ceived." Philip took his hat, and went out of the house; In calm despair he locked the door, took out the key, and walked he knew not whither Phlllp loosed about him for some spot where he might he concealed from observation—where he might break the eeal, and read this mission from a worid of spirits. A small copse of brushwood, In advance of a grove of trees, was not far from where he stood. He walked to it and sat down, so as to be concealed from any passers-by. Then he broke the seal, which bore the Initials of bis father's name, and read as follows: "To Catherine: "One of those pitying spirits whose •yes rain tears for mortal crimes has been permitted to inform me by what means alone my dreadful doom may 'be averted. "Could I but receive on the deck of * my own ship tho holy relic upon which 1 swore the fatal oath, kiss it in all humility, and shed one tear of deep contrition on the sacred wood, I then might rest in peace. "How this may be effected, or by whom so fatal a task will be under taken, I know not. Oh, Catherine, we have a son—but, no, no, let him not hear of me. Pray for me, and now, farewell. “I. VANDERDECKEN.” “Then it is true, most horribly Irue," thought Philip; "and my father Is even now in living Judgment. And he points to me—to whom else should he? Am I not his son, and is it not my duty?” "Yes, my father!” exclaimed Philip, aloud, falling on his knees, "you have not written these lines in vain. Let me peruse them once more.” Philip raised up his hand; but, al though it appeared to him that he had •till hold of the letter, it was not there —he grasped nothing. He looked on (he grass to see if it had fallen—but, bo, there was no letter; it had disap peared. Was It a vision? No, no; he had read every word. "Then It must £• to me, and me alone, that the mis Blon was Intended. 1 accept the sign." ' Hear me, dear father—If thou art ■o permitted and deign to hear me, gracious Heaven— hesr the son who, It this sacred relic, swears that he will •vert your doom or perish. To that will he devote his days; and having done his duty, he will die In hope and peace. Heaven, that recorded my rash father's oath, now register his son's upon the same sacred cross, and may perjury on my part be visited with punishment more dire than hla! Re ceive It, Heaven, es at the last I trust that in Thy mercy Thou wilt receive the father and the son; and If too bold, eh, pardon my presumption!" Philip threw himself forward on his face, with hie Ups to (he sacred sym bol. The sun aent down and the twi light gradually disappeared; night had for some lime shrouded all In dark ness, and Philip yet remained In al ternate prayer and meditation! Hut he was disturbed by the volree of sente men. who sat down upon the turf but a few yards from where he nee concealed The conversation he little heeded, but It had roused him. and hie tret feeling nas to return to the college that he might reflect ever hla plane; but. elthough the n*s ■poke la a low tone hl« attention was soon arrested by the subject of tbelr conversation when he hennl the name nf Msnheor Pout* mentioned lie Us- . taaed attentively, and discovered that i they were four disbanded soldiers, nho Intended (gat night tu attach the house •f the intis doctor a h<> had thee knew, mmh money In hla possession "tvhat I have proposed la Ike heal," j ■aid one nf them, ‘ he has no <ta* with him but hla daughter ' I value her j moro than hi* moner. replied an- i other; “so recwUe* t before sr go it It i perfectly understood that she is to be my property." "Yes, If you choose to purchase her, there Is no objection,” replied a third. "Agreed; how much will you In con science sake ask for % puling girl?” "I say five hundred guilders," replied another. "Well, be It so, but on this condi tion, that If my share of the booty does not amount to so much, I am to have her for my share, whatever It may be." "That’s very fair,” replied the other; “but I’m much mistaken if we don’t turn more than two thousand guilders out of the old man's chest." "What do you say—Is It agreed— shall Raetans have her?” "Oh, yes," replied the others. "Well, then,” replied the one who had stipulated for Mynheer Foots* daughter, "now I am with you, heart and soul. I loved that girl, and tried to get her—I positively offered to marry her, but the old hunks refused me, an ensign, an officer; but now I'll have revenge. We must not spare him." "No, no," replied the others. "Shall we go now, or wait till It Is later? In an hour or more the moon will be up—we may be seen." "Who Is to see us? unless. Indeed, some one is sent for him. The later the better, I say.” "How long will It take us to get there? Not half an hour If we walk. Suppose we start In half an hour hence, we shall Just have the moon to count the guilders by." "That’s all right. In the meantime, I’ll put a new flint In my lock, and have my carbine loaded. I can work In the dark.” “You are used to It, Jan.” “Yes, I am—and I Intend this ball to go through the old rascal's head." "Well, I'd rather you should kill him than I,” replied one of the others, "for he saved my life at Mlddleburgh, when every one made sure I’d die." Philip did not want to hear any more; he crawled behind the bushes until he gained the grove of trees, and passing through them, made a detour, so as not to be seen by these miscre ants. That they were disbanded sol diers, many of whom were infesting the country, he knew well. All his thoughts were now to save the old doc tor and his daughter from the danger which threatened them; and for a time he forgot his father, and the exciting revelations of the day. Although Philip had not been aware in what direction he bad walked when he set off from the cottage, he knew the country well; and now that it was necessary to act, he remembered the direction in which he should find the lonely house of Myn heer Pools; with the utmost speed he made his way for it, and in less than twenty minutes he arrived there out of breath. As usual, all was silent, and the door fastened. Philip knocked, but there was no reply. Again aud again he knocked, and became Impatient. Myn heer Poots must have been summoned, and was not in the house; Philip there fore called out, so as to be heard within, “Maiden, if you father is out, as 1 presume he must be, listen to what I have to say—I am Philip Vauderdeck en. But now I overheard four wretches, who have planned to murder your father, and rob him of his gold. In one hour, or less, they will be here, and I have hastened to warn and pro tect you, if I may. 1 swear upon the relic that you delivered to me this morning that what I state is true." Philip waited a short time, but re ceived no answer. “Malden," resumed he, “answer me, If you value that which 1h more dear to you than even your father’s gold to him. Open the casement above, and listen to what I have to say. In bo doing there is no risk; and even If It were not dark, already have I seen you.” A short time after this second ad dress, the casement of the upper win dow was unbarred, and the slight form of the fair daughter of Mynheer Foots was to he distinguished by Philip through the gloom “What wouldst thou, young sir. at this unseemly hour? and what Is It thou wouldst Impart, t>ut Imperfectly heard by me, when thou spokeat this minute at the door?" Philip then entered luto detail of all that he had overheard, and concluded by begging her to admit him. that he might defend her. “Think, fair maiden, of what I have told you. You have been sold to one of thone reprobates, w hose name I think they mentioned was Ha-dene The gold, I know you value not, but think of thine own dear self suffer IS” to enter the house, and think not for one moment that my etory t* feigned I swear to thee by the mjuI of my pitur dear mother. »•>*. I trust. In llraven that every word ta true “heelotf did you sa> sir*** “If I wl'tistk them not itsk was the name, be sat I he loved you on e Thai name I have In m mury—I , know not what to do, or what to any, m» father kae been eommonrd to a birth and may be yet away Ko many kotire Yet how can I open Ike door ( to yon at night be not at home I J [ alone? I ought not—cannot—yet do I believe you. You surely never could be so base as to Invent this tale.” “No—upon my hopeH of future bliss [ could not, maiden! You must not trifle with your life and honor, but let me in.” i "And If I did, what could you do agalaet such numbers? They are four to ene—would soon overpower you, and one more life would be lost.” “Not If you have arm*; and I think your father would not be left without them. 1 fear them not -you know that I am resolute.” ”1 do indeed and now you'd risk your life for those you did assail. I thank you, thank you kindly, sir—but dare not open the door.” "Then, maiden. If you’ll not admit me, here will I now remain, without arms, and but 111 able to contend with four armed villains; but still, here will I remain and prove my truth to one I will protect 'gainst odds—yea, even here!” “Then shall I be thy murderer! But that must not be. Oh! sir—swear, swear by all that’s holy, and by all that’s pure, that you do not deceive me.” “I swear by thyself maiden, than all to me more sacred!” The casement closed, and In a short time a light appeared above. In a min ute or two more the door was opened to Philip by the fair daughter of .Myn heer Poots. She stood with the candle In her right hand, the color In her cheeks varying—now flushing red, and again deathly pale. Her left hand was down by her side, and In It she held a pistol half concealed. Philip perceived this precaution on her part, but took no notice of It; he wished to reassure her. “Malden,” said he, not entering, “If you still have doubts—if you think you have been 111 advised In giving me admission—there Is yet time to close the door against me; but for your own sake I entreat you not. Before the moon Is up, the robbers will be here. With my life I will protect you, If you will but tru*t me. Who Indeed could Injure one like you?” __ ’ t wr CHAPTER V. She was Indeed (as she stood Irreso lute and perplexed from the peculiarity of her situation, yet nor wanting In courage when it was to be called forth) an object well worthy of gaze and ad miration. Her features thrown Into broad light and shade by the candle, which at times was half extinguished by the wind—her symmetry of form and the gracefulness and singularity of her attire—were matters of aston ishment to Philip. Her head was without covering, and her long hair fell in plaits behind her shoulders; her stature was rather under the middle size, but her form perfect; her dress was simple but becoming, and very different from that usually worn by the young women of the district. Not only her features but hey dress would at once have indicated to a traveler that she was of Arab blood, as was the fact. She looked In Philip’s face as he spoke—earnestly, as If she would have penetrated Into his most Inmost thoughts; but there was a frankness and honesty In his bearing, and a sin cerity In his manly countenance, which reassured her. After a moment's hesi tation she replied: "Come in, sir; I feel that I can trust you.” Philip entered. The door was then closed and made secure. "We have no time to lose, maiden,” said Philip; "but tell me your name, that I may address you as I ought." "My name Is Amine,” replied she, retreating a little. "I thank you for that little confi dence, but 1 must not dally. What arms have you In the house, and have you ammunition?” "Both. 1 wish that my father would come home.” (To be continued.) ‘ Happy Mark Twain, Few Items of news from the other side of the Atlantic are more likely to please American reader* than the tidings that Mr. Clemens (Mark Twain) Is no longer In financial straits. It Is well known that some years ago the failure of a publishing house In which he was a partner left him saddled with heavy obligations, lie undertook to pay his debts and regain a competence by work more speedily lucrative than the production of books. Ha signed a contract to lecture, and, notwlthstand* tng occasional attack* of lllhealth, he has fulfilled Ills agreement. In the course of which he has made a tour around a large part of the globe. We are now told that Ills lectures have i time to an end, for the reaeon that the profit* slready acquired will an able him to rastrlct himself hence forth to writing This means that we may soon look for a new book from the pen of Ib« author of "Innocents Abroad.*'- Collier's Weekly, A •"»•« Skew la*. "No," declaied Horace llardrucks, '*1 cannot consent to tat you marry my dauahtei A Oisu who nnft*«a<*a bank rupuy a* ow did shat! never become a member of my family If I can halp It" tint," Albert Alltnahsm protest *d. ' iicmm another man has cone Into bankrupt, t an l stilt toms not *11 right | At iuc of out able it tin4net *r* hate had i lh«t • »><• nn . Veil tl It hut tpa* 1 will s«irf happen in yuttr rase Vus ) hat* no II wane tat a1 ’ tInjr ■ Y*b»r |fl«u *#*# uffl) I* i«*| 1m . Ua#U tit |Ut»iliU%w I? lb# buiiHi hi ItiNMitt) li»| i«i tb# IM «4>M If tb# liifd vI|4 1% tdn Him lilt l1#!# lift ful'vf* TAL MAGE’S SERMON. "THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS TRAIN” AS SUBJECT. I - "Tha Chariot* Mhall Rage In I he hi real*. Thoj Khali Jo*tla One Against the Other In th* Uroait Way*" From Mahon* 2:4. It has been found out that many of the arte and discoveries which we sup posed were peculiar to our own age are merely the restoration of thou sands of years ago. 1 suppose that the past centuries have forgotten more than the present century knows. It seems to me that they must have known thousands of years ago, In the days of Nineveh, of the uaea of steam and Its application to swift travel. Id my text 1 hear the rush of the rail train, the clang of the wheels and the Jamming of the car coupling*. "The chariots ahall rage In the streets; they •hall Jostle one against another In the broad ways; they shall seem like torches; they ahall run like the light nings.” Have you ever taken your position In the night, far away from a depot, along the track, waiting to see the rail train come at full speed? At Aral you beard In the distance a rumbling, like the coming of a storm, then you saw the flash of the headlight of the loco motive as It turned the curve; then you saw the wilder glare of the flery •ye of the train aa It came plunging toward you; then you heard the shriek of the whistle that frenzied all the •chocs; then you saw the hurricane dash of cinders; then you felt the Jar of the passing earthquake, and you •aw the shot thunderbolt of the ex press train. Well, It Beerns that we can bear the passing of a midnight express train In my text: "The chari ots shall rage In the streets; they •hall Jostle one against another In the broad ways; they shall seem like torches; they shall run like the light nings.” I halt the train long enough to get on board, and 1 go through the cars, and I find three-fourths of the passen gers are commercial travelers. They are a folk peculiar to themselves, easily recognised, at home on all trains, not startled by the sudden dropping of the brakes, familiar with all the railroad signals, can tell you what la the next station, how long the train will stop, wbat place the pas sengers tnke luncheon at, can give you Information on almost any subject, are cosmopolitan, at home everywhere from Halifax to San Francisco. They are on the 8 o'clock morning train, on the noon train, on the midnight train. You take a berth In a sleeping-car, and either above yon or beneath you Is one of these gentlemen. There are 100,000 professed commercial travelers in the United States; hut 600,000 would not Include all those who arc some times engaged In this service. They spend millions of dollars every day In the hotels and In the rail trains. They have their official newspaper organ. They have their mutual ben efit association, about 4,000 names on tbs rolls, and have already distrib uted more than $200,000 among the families of deceased members. They are ubiquitous, unique and tremen dous for good or evil. All the tenden cies of merchandise are toward their multiplication. The house that stands back on Its dignity and waits for cus tomers to come, Instead of going to seek bargain-makers, will have more and more unsalable goods on the shelf, and will gradually lose Us con trol of the markets; while the great, enterprising and successful houses will have their agents on all the trains, and ‘their chariots will rage in the streets; they shall jostle one against another in the broad ways; they shhll seem like torches; they shall run like the lightnings.” I think commercial travelers can stand a sermon of warm-hearted sym pathy. If you have any words of good cheer for them, you bad better utter them. If you have any good, honest prayers In their behalf, they will be greatly obliged to you. I never knew a man yet who did not like to be prayed for; I never knew a man yet that did not like to be helped. It seems to me this sermon Is timely. At this season of the year there are tens of thousands of men going out to gather the spring trade. The months of February and March in all our commercial establishments are very buay months. In a few days our na tional perplexities will all he settled, and then look out for the brightest ten years of national prosperity which this country has ever witnessed. Now you. the commercial traveler, have received orders from the head men of the Arm that you are to start on a long excursion. You have your patterns all assorted and prepared. You have them put up In bundles or cases and marked. You have full In structions as to prices. You know on what prices you are to stand Arm. and from what prices you may retreat somewhat. You have your vallee or trunk, or both, packed. If I were a stranger I would have no light to look Into that vallee, but as I am your brother I will lake the liberty. 1 look Into the valla* aad I congratulate you oa all theee comfortable article* of apparel. The eeeeoa* are so thaeg* able you have aot taken a slugl* pre caution loo many, dome night you will get out la tn* enow baa a and aavn to wnlk three or four mile* until you gel to the railroad station, and you will want all thee# umfurt* aad con venience* Hut will you eseute me If I make a suggestion or two about this valleef You »av, "Vertetaly. aa w* are havtag a piala frank talk, I will ant he offended at any honorable sag g- »uoa " i'ui la emong your leases* s»>me carefully aelertwt. wholesome reading let It he la kieiory at n poem nr a hash at pure A< tlua. or sums volume that will give you laformailua la re gard la your lias of huelnee* t hen add to that a Bible In round, beautiful type—sniall type la bad for the eyes anywhere, but peculiarly killing In the Jolt of a rail train. Put your railroad guide and your Bible side by side— 1 it? one *° show vou the route through j tills world, and the otner to show yuii | the route to the next world. “Oh," you say, "that Is superfluous, for now in sll the hotels. In the parlor, you i will And a Bible, and In nearly all the ! rooms of the guests you will find one." But, my brother, that Is not your Bible. You want your own hat, your own coat, your own blanket, your own Bible. •But,” you say, "I am not a Christian, and you ought not to ex pect me to carry a Bible.” My brother, a great many people are not Chris tians who cany a Bible. Besides that, before you get home you might be come a Christian, and you would feel awkward without a copy. Besides that, you might get bad news from home. I see you with trembling hand open ing the telegram saying. "Georgs Is dying," or “Fannie is dead—come home!" Oh, as you sit In the train, •tunned with the calamity, going home, you will have no taste for fine •cenery or for conversation, and yet you must keep your thoughts em ployed or you will go stark mad. Then you will want a Bible, whether you read it or not. it will be a comfort to have it near you (hat book full of promises which have comforted other people In like calamity. Whether you study the promises or not, you will want that book near you. Am I not wise when I say put In the Bible? • • • “Oh," you can say, "J have no taste for reading.” Now, that Is the trouble, but It Is no excuse. There was a time, my brother, when you had no taste for cigars; they made you very sick; but you persevered until cigars have be come to you a luxury. Now, If you can afford to struggle on to get a bad habit, Is It not worth while to struggle on to get a good habit like that of reading? I am amazed to find how many merchants and commercial trav elers preserve their Ignorance from year to year, notwithstanding all their opportunities. It was well illustrated by one who had been largely success ful, and who wanted the show of a library at home, and he wrote to a book merchant In London, saying: ‘‘Send me six feet of theology and about as much metaphysics and near a yard of civil law In old folio!” There is no excuse for a man lacking infor mation, If he have the rare oppor tunities of a commercial traveler. Improve your mind. Remember the ‘‘Learned Blacksmith," who, while blowing the bellows, set bis book up against the brick work and be came acquainted with fifty languages. Remember the scholarly Gifford, who, while an apprentice, wrought out the arithmetical problem with his awl on a piece of leather. Re member Abercrombie, who snatched here and there a fragmentary five min utes from an exhausting profession, and wrote immortal treatises on ethics Be ashamed to sell foreign fabrics or fruits unless you know something about the looms that wove them or the vineyards that grew them. Un derstand all about the laws that con trol commercial life; about banking, about tariffs, about markets, about navigation, about foreign people— their characteristics and their political revolutions as they affect ours; about the harvests of Russia, the vineyards of Italy, the tea fields of China. Learn about the great commercial centers of Carthage and Assyria and Phoenicia. Read all about the Medici of Florence, mighty In trade, mightier In philan thropies. You belong to the royal fam ily of merchants; be worthy of that royal family. Oh, take my advice, and turn the years of weariness Into years of luxury. Take those hours you spend at the depot waiting for the de layed train, and make them Pisgah heights from which you can view the promised land. When you are wait ing for the train, hour after hour In the depot, do not spend your time reading the sewing machine advertise ments, and looking up the time-tables of routes you will never take, going the twentieth time to the door to see whether the train Is coming, bothering the ticket agent and the telegraph op erator with questions which you ask merely because you want to pass away the time. But rather summon up the great essayists and philosophers and story tellers and thinkers of the ages, and have them entertain you. • • • Again, I charge you, tell the whole truth about everything you Bell. Ly ing commercial travelers will precede you; lying commercial traveler* will come right after you Into the aame ■tore. Do not let tbelr unfair compe tition tempt you from the atralght line. It la an awful bargain that a man make* when he aella hi* goods and hla soul nt the aame time. A young man In ons of ths stares of New York was selling some silks He was binding them up when he said to the lady customer: “It I* my duty to ebow you that there Is a fractur* in that silk-” Ah* looked at It and rejected the goods. The head of tha Arm. hearing of It, wrote to the father of the young maa In the country, saying: “Come and take your son away; he will never make a met. haul.” The father cam* In agltntlon, wondering what hla boy bad been doing, and the bead men of the grm said “Why. vour son stood hers at this counter and pots ted out a fracture In the ailh, end of course the lady wouldn't tab* It. W* am not responsible for the Ignornnce of cue* tutus is customers must look out for themselves, and ws lock o«‘ for on* , selves Your son will nevsr maks a lueribani" “la that all’" Mid lb* , father. ‘Ah* I am prouder of my bay i then I ever was John get your bat - end come h«*me " But It la el most eight. aad you go heck to the hotel Noe tome# the mighty tug fur the commercial trav eler Te|| me ebeie he speeds hie evenings, and I will tell you where he will spend eternity, and I will tell you what will be his earthly prospects. There is an abundance of choice. There Is your room with the books. There are the Young Me«’s ChrlstlMj Asso ciation rooms. There aTC tb5 wee£ nlght services of the Christian churches. There is the gambling sa loon. There is the theater. There la the house of Infamy. Plenty of place* to go. But which, O Immortal man, which? Oh, God, which? "Well,” you say. "I guess I will—I guess I will go to the theater.” Do you think the tarrying in that place until 11 o’clock at night will Improve your bodily health, or your financial prospecta, or your eternal fortune? No man ever found the path to usefulness, or honor, or happiness, or commercial success, or heaven through the American thea ter. “Well,” you say, “f guess then l will go to—1 guess I will go to the gambling saloon.” You will first go to look: then you will go to play. You will make 9100, you will make 9500, you will make 91,000, you will make 91,500—then you will lose all. Then you will borrow some money so as to start anew. You will make 950, you will make 9100, you will make 9600—then you will lose all. These wretches of the gambling saloon know how to tempt you. But mark this: All gamblers die poor. They may make fortune*—great fortunes—but they lose them. But now the question Is still open: Where will you spend your evening? Oh, commercial travelers, how much will you give me to put you on the right track? Without charging you a farthing, I will prescribe for you a plan which will save you for this world and the next. If you will Uke It. (Jo, before you leave home, to the Young Men's Christian Association of the city where you live. Get from them letters of Introduction. Carry them out to the towns and cities where you go. If there be no euch association In the place you visit, then present them at the door of Christian churches and hand them over to the pastors. Be not slow to arise in the devotional meeting and Ray: "I am a commercial traveler; I am far away from home, and I come In here to night to seek Christian society." The best houses and the highest style of amusement will open before you, and Instead of your belug dependent upon the leprous crew who hang around the hotels, wanting to show you all the slums of the city, on the one condi tion that you will pay their expenses, you will get the benefit of God In every town you visit. Remember this, that whatever place you visit, bad Influ ences will seek you out; good Influ ences you must seek out. While I stand here, I bethink my self of a commercial traveler who was a member of my church In Philadel phia. He was a splendid young man, the pride of his widowed mother add of his sisters. It was hfs Joy to sup port them, and for that purpose he postponed his own marriage day. He thrived In business, and after a while set up his own household. Leaving that city for another city, I had no opportunity for three or four years of making inqulcy In regard to him. When 1 made BUch Inquiry, I was told that he was dead. The story was, he was generous, and kind-hearted, and genial, and social, and he got Into the habit of "treating" customers and of showing them all the sights of the town, and he began rapidly to go down, and he lost his position In the church of which he was a member, and he lost his position in the commercial bouse, of which he was the best agent; and his beautiful young wife, and his sick old mother, and bis sisters, went into destitution, and he, as a result of bis dissipations, died In Klrkbrlde Insane asylum. Oh, commercial travelers, I pray for you the nil-sustaining grace of God. There are two kinds of days when you are especially In need of divine grace. The one, the day when you have no success—when you fall to make a sale, and you are very much disappointed, and you go back to your hotel dis comfited. That night you will be tempt ed to go to strong drink and rush into bad surroundings. The other day, when you will especially need divine grace, will be when you have had a day of great success, and the devil tells you you must go and celebrate that success. Then you will want the grace of God to sustain you from rol licking indulgences. Yes, there will be a third day when you will need to be Cbrlstlaus, and that will be the last day of your life. I do not know where you will spend It. Perhaps In your house, or more probably In a rail cftr or a steamer or the strange hotel. I see you on your last commercial er rand You have bidden good-by to the family at home for the last time. Tbs train of your earthly existence is nearing the depot of the greve. The brakee are falling. The bell rings at the terminus. The treln stops. All out for eternity. Dhow your ticket now lor getting Into the gale of the shining city the red ticket washed la the blood of the l.antb *1 the Theater. " leally. Jane, dear," said Mr Bob h*t*r to hla wife aa they ant down In the theater, "your hat la too high. Take It off and put it In your lap." "Welt, 1 like that!" snapped Mrs Bob be ter. “If I put that hat In my lap how am ! going to see over It?" Ha* It Started. The trouble tint up In this weyi Hbe bad been bending him a few juM ones. "Aa far back aa I can remember you “ Then be stopped ber w^thi Oh, hold on’ let's stick to lbs nine* teeaih century." Attorneys bate keen engaged.