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.
