PHANTOM SHIP
—OR—
The Flying Dutchman. j
-1Y CAPTAIN MAIUtYAT. S
TTTTTTrTTTrftfTTTTTTVTTTTT
CHAPTER V—(Continued.)
"And so do I," replied Philip, "de
voutly wish he would, before those
murderers come; but not, I trust,
■while the attack is making, for there's
a carbine loaded expressly for his head,
and if they make him prisoner they
will not spare his life, unless his gold
and your person are given in ransom.
But the arms, maiden—where are
they?”
"Follow me,” replied Amine, leading
Philip to an inner room on the upper
floor. It was the sanctum of her
father, and was surrounded with
shelves Ailed with bottles and boxes
of drugs, In one corner was an iron
chest, and over the mantel-piece were
a brace of carbines and three pistols.
“They are all loaded," observed
Amine, pointing to them, and laying
on the table the one which she bad
held in her hand.
Philip took down the arms and ex
amined all the primings. He then
took up from the table the pistol
-which Amine had laid there, and threw
open the pan. It was equally well
prepared. Philip closed the pan, and
with a smile, observed:
“So this was meant for me, Amine?”
“No—not for you- but for a traitor,
had one gained admittance.”
"Now, maiden,” observed Philip, “I
•hall station myself at the casement
which you opened, but without a light
In the room. You may remain here,
and can turn the key for your se
curity.”
“You little know me,” replied
Amine. “In that way at least I am
not fearful; I must remain near you
and reload the arms—a task in which
I am well practiced.”
"No, no," replied Philip, "you might
be hurt."
“I may. But think you I will re
main here idly when I can assist one
who risks his life for me? I know my
duty, sir, and 1 shall perform it."
“You must not risk your life.
Amine," replied Philip; “my aim will
not be steady if I know that you’re in
danger. But 1 roust take the arms into
the other chamber, for the time is
come.”
Philip, assisted by Amine, carried
the carbines and pistols Into the ad
joining chamber; and Amine then left
Philip, carrying with her the light.
Philip, as soon as he was alone, open
ed the casement and looked out—there
was no one to be seen; he listened,
but all was silent. The moon was Just
rising above the distant hill, but her
light was dimmed by fleecy clouds, and
Philip watched for a few minutes; at
length he heard a whispering below.
He looked out, and could distinguish
through the dark four expected as
sailants. standing close to the door
of the bouse. He walked away softly
from the window, and went into the
next room to Amine, whom he found
busy preparing ammunition.
"Amine, they are at the door, in
consultation. You can see them now,
without risk. I thank them, for they
will convince you that 1 have told the
truth.”
Amine, without reply, went into the
front room and looked out of the win
dow. She returned, and, laying her
hand upon Philip's arm, she said:
“Grant me your pardon for my
doubts. I fear nothing now but that
my father may return too soon, and
they seize him."
Philip left the room again to make
hi* reconnolssance. The robbers did
not appear to have made up their
minds—the strength of the door defied
their utmost efforts, so they attempted
stratagem. They knocked, and as
there was no reply, they continued to
knock louder and louder; not meeting
with success, they held another con
sultation, and the muzzle of a carbine
was then put to the key-hole, and the
piece discharged. The lock of the door
waa blown off, but the iron bara
which crossed the door within, above
and below still held it fast.
Although Philip would have been
justified in firing upon the robbers
when he first perceived them in con
sultation at the door, still there la that
feeling In a generous mind which pre
sents the taking away of life, except
from stern necessity; and this feeling
made him withhold his lire until hos
tilities had actually commenced. He
lie now leveled one of the carbines
at the head of the robber ueurest to
the door, who was busy examining the
effect which the discharge of the piece
had made, and what further obstacles
Intervened. The aim was true, and the
man fell dead, while the others started
hack with surprise at the unexpected
retaliation Hut In a second or two a
pistol waa discharged at Philip, who
•llil remained leaning out of the case
ment. foriunate|) without effect; and
the nest moment he felt himself drawn
away, so as to be protected from their
ire It waa Amlue who. uakaown to
Philip had been atandiaa by bin side
"You must not expose youreeif.
Philip." Mid ahe. In a low tone
ghe railed me Philip," thought he.
but made no r#pl>
"They will be watching for yon at
the case meal now said Amin# Tabs
the other carbine and go below in
the passage tf the lark of the door
la blown off they may pul tbelr arms
In. perhaps sad rem«*e (be bara 1
•TTTTTTTTTT*»TTVttt++ttttt+
do not think they can, but I'm not
sure; at all events, It Is there you
should now be, as there they will not
expect you.”
"You are right," replied Philip, go
ing down.
“But you must not Are more than
once there; if another fall, there will
be but two to deal with, and they
cannot watch the casement and force
admittance, too. (Jo -I will reload the
carbine.”
Philip descended softly, and without
a light. He went to the door, and
perceived that one of the miscreants,
with his arm through the hole where
the lock was blown off, was working at
the upper iron bar, which he could
Just reach. He presented his carbine,
and was about to Are the whole charge
Into the body of the man under his
raised arm, when there was a report
of Arearms from the robbers outside.
"Amine has exposed herself,”
Philip, ‘‘and may be hurt.”
The desire of vengennce prompted
him Aist to Are his piece through the
roan's body, and then he flew up the
stairs to ascertain the state of Amine.
8h# was not at the casement; he dart
ed Into the Inner room, and found her
deliberately loading the carbine.
“My God! how you frightened me,
Amine. I thought by their firing that
you bad shown yourself at the win
dow.”
"Indeed, I did not! but I thought
that when you fired through the door
they might return the fire, and you
be hurt; ao 1 went to the side of the
easement and pushed out on a stic k
some of my father’s clothes, and they
who were watching for you fired im
mediately.”
“Indeed, Amine! who could have ex
pected such courage and such coolness
in one so young and beautiful?” ex
claimed Philip, with surprise.
“Are none but Ill-favored people
brave, then?” replied Amine, smiling.
”1 did not mean that. Amine—but I
am losing time. I must to that door
again. Give me that carbine and re
load this.”
Philip crept downstairs that he
might reconnoiter, but before he had
gained the door he heard at a dis
tance the voice of Mynheer Poots.
Amine, who also heard it, was in a mo
ment at his side with a loaded pistol
in each hand.
“Fear not, Amine,” said Philip, as he
unbarred the door, "there are but two,
and your father shall be saved.”
The door was opened, and Philip,
seizing his carbine, rushed out; he
found Mynheer Poots on the ground
between the two men, one of whom
had raised his knife to plunge it into
his body, when the ball of the carbine
whizzed through bis head. The last
of the robbers closed with Philip, and
a desperate struggle ensued; it was,
however, soon decided by Amine step
ping forward and firing one of the pis
tols through the robber's body.
We must here inform our readers
that Mynheer Poots, when coming
home, had heard the report of fire
arms in the direction of his own house.
The recollection of his daughter and
of his money—for to do him justice, he
did love her best—had lent him wings;
he forgot that he was a feeble old man
and without arms; ail he thought of
was to gain his habitation. On he
came, reckless, frantic and shouting,
and he rushed into the arms of the
two robbers, who seized and would
have dispatched him, had not Philip
so opportunely come to his assistance.
As soon as the last robber fell Phil
ip disengaged himself and went to the
assistance of Mynheer Poots, whom
be raised up in his arms and carried
Into the house as if he were an infant.
The old man was still in a state of
delirium, from fear and previous ex
citement.
In a few minutes Mynheer Poots
was more coherent.
My daughter!" exclaimed he, "my
daughter! where is she?”
"She Is here, father, and snft," re
plied Amine
“Ah! my child is safe," said he.
opening hi* eyes and staring “Yea,
It Is even so and my money my
money—where Is my money?" contin
ued he, starling up.
"Quite safe, father."
“Quite safe; you say quite safe are
you aure of it? I.et me see"
"There It Is, father, us you may per
ceive, quite safe—thanks to one whom
you have not treated so well."
"Who what do you mean* Ah
yes. I see him 'its Philip Vauderdeck
en he owes me three ml'Jers and a
half, and there Is a vial— did he awvo
you—and my money child*"
"He did Indeed at the risk of his
life **
"Well, well, I **'! forgive him the
whole debt yes, the whole of It, bin
—the trial te ol no use to him he
must return that tltve me some wat
er "
It was some time before the old rneu
could regain hts perfec t reason Philip
left him with hts daughter aud. tah
lag a brace of loadivd p«stote. went mil
to ascertain the fate of the four »»
saltants The moon, having climbed
above the hank of clouds which had
obscured her was now high in the
hsavsas shining bright and he could ,
dtatlttguiah • tearly The two men Iv
l»« e<ruea ths thiesbold were quite
dead. The other*, who had seized up
on Mynheer Foots, were still alive, but
one was expiring and the other bled
fast. Philip put a few questions to the
latter, but lie either would not or could
not make any reply; he removed their
weapons ancl returned to the house,
where he found the old man attended
by his daughter, iu a state of compara
tive composure.
"I thank you, Philip Vanderdecken
—I thank you very much. You have
saved my dear child and my money -
that is little, very little—for I am poor.
May you live long and happily!”
Philip mused; the letter and Ills vow
were, for the first time since he fell
In with the robbers, recalled to hit
recollection, and a shade passed over
his countenance.
“Jxmg and happily—no, no,” mutter
ed he, with an Involuntary shake of
his head.
"And I must thank you,” said Am
ine, looking Inquiringly In Philip’s
fact. “Oh, how much I have to thank
you for! and, Indeed, I am grateful!”
“Yes, yes, she Is very grateful," in
terrupted the old man; but we are poor
—very poor. I talked about my money
because I have so little and I cannot
afford to lose It; but you shall not pay
me the three guilders and a half—I am
content to lose that, Mr. Philip.”
“Why should you lose even that,
Mynheer Foots? I promised to pay
you, and will keep my word. I have
plenty of money—thousands of guil
ders, and know not what to do with
them.”
‘‘You—you—thousanda of gntlderB!"
exclaimed Foots. “Pooh! nonsense!
that won’t do.”
“I repeat to you, Amine,” said Phil
ip, “that I have thousands of guilders;
you know I would not tell a falsehood."
“I believed you when you said so
to my father,” replied Amine.
“Then, perhaps, as you have so much
and I am so very poor, Mr. Vander
decken—”
But Amine put her hand upon her
father's lips, and the sentence was not
finished,
“Father,” said Amine, “It is time
that we retire. You must leave us for
tonight. Philip.”
“I will not." replied rump; nor,
you may depend upon, will I sleep.
You may both to bed in safety. It Is
Indeed time that you retire—good
night. Mynheer Foots, I will ask but a
lamp, and then I leave you—Amine,
good-night.”
“Good-night,” said Amine, extending
her band, “and many, many thanks."
“Thousands of guilders!” muttered
the old man, as Philip left the room
and went below.
(To be continued.) j
STORYETTES.
Mr. T., a business man, rents desk
room In his office to Mr. B., whence
the following story: “Is Mr. B. in?"
asked a caller. “No,” replied Mr. T.,
thinking he recognized an unwelcome
raller. "Well, I'll wait for him,” re
plied the caller, sitting down. At 6
o'clock he was still waiting. At 6:30
still waiting. A few minutes before 6
Mr. T. dosed his desk for the day and
prepared to go home. The caller ven
tured to ask if Mr. B. was likely to
return to his office that day. Mr. T.
answered: “No; he is in Sacramento^
and will be back next Tuesday morn
ing.” The caller showed no anger. On
the contrary, he smiled. “Don't apolo
gize,” he said; “my business is not
Important, and your office has proved a
pleasant lounging place. Fact Is,” he
blandly added. “I suppose I'm coming
down with the smallpox, and the doc
tor told me 1 must stay Indoors and
keep warm.”
Rudyard Kipling, when he was a
student in the I’nlted Service college,
in North Devon, says one who knew
him, was known as “Gigs,” because of
the glasses he wore. About the mid
dle of his school life he entered into
a strong tie of friendship with two
other boys. The trio are said to have
led a kind of bohemian existence, as
related in the “Stalky” stories. Kip
ling was the “Beetle.”
During these four or five years it
could hardly he said that Kipling was
a prodigy. He was always extremely
near-sighted, which was perhaps the
reason for his not taking any very
keen interest in either field sports or
athletics. On the other hand, he was
not always to he seen poring over hla
books He was seldom at the top of
his clifts, although when he left the
college in 1882 he carried with him
the well-earned first prlxe in Knglhfli
literature. He was chiefly noticeable
in his schoolfellowa’ eyes for a keen
wit and a How of language that could
only lie suppressed by depriving him
of his spectacles.
For two years Kipling was editor o’,
the College Chronicle, during which
period matiy bright verses and clever
articles from Ills pen appeared In that
little journal. The position led to hla
first newspaper engagement under
novel and amusing circumstances The
head master of the college was chair
men of the local board, aud he tu
tie tag attached by the local paper 1 ha
local editor, probably seeing some of
Kipling’s work, entered Into an ar
rangement with him to goad the bead
master into tbe Indlecretlon of a reply.
Tbe nett Issue contained a aeries of
aM.K-les written In euch poignant, sar
castle lei IMS that every body t legal) l<*
talk alwui tbe matter. The bend mas
ter was compelled to take up hla pea
iu seif detente and eventually ha re
algned hla chair
(hey Always ivy li
‘veneer about the actnf who made
the little speech before the curtain 1
last night, wavat It*”
•What was nueer about him?”
“lie diia’t '•> It seemed Ilka get
ting home when ha cam* here la 1U
h'4 •-tijagemeai 1 I
TAJ,MAGE'S SERMON.
"HOME" THE SUBJECT OF LAST
SUNDAY'S TALK.
Prom iho First Hook of 1 Imotlij, Chop
tor T., Verse H, •« Follows: "Let Them
Leern First to Show Piet? ot Homo"
l —Spheres In Which to Serve Uod
W" —1
Luring the summer months ihc
tendency Is to the Helds, to visitation,
to foreigu 11 hi el and the wittering
places, and the uceau steamers are
thronged; hut in the winter It Is
rather to gather in domestic circles,
and during these months we spend
many of the hours within doors, and
the apostle comes to us and says that
we ought to exercise Christian be
havior amid all such circumstances.
Let them learn flrst to show piety at
home.
There are a great many people long
ing for some grand sphere in which
to serve God. They admire Luther at
(he Diet of Worms, and only wish
that they had some such great op
portunity In which to display their
Christian prowess. They admire Paul
making Felix tremMe, and they only
wish that they had some such graud
occasion In which to preach righteous
ness, temperance and judgment to
come. All they want is an opportunity
to exhibit their Christian heroism.
Now, the apostle practically says; "I
will show you a place where you can
exhibit all that Is grand and beauti
ful and glorloua In Christian charac
ter, and that Is the domestic circle.
Let them begin flrst to show piety at
home.” If one Is not faithful In an In
significant sphere he will not be faith
ful In a resounding sphere.
If Peter will uot help the
cripple at the gate of the Temple, he
will never be able to preach three
thousand Into the kingdom at the Pen
tecoet. If Paul will not take pains to
Instruct in the way of salvation the
Jailer of the Philippian dungeon, he
will never make Felix tremble. He
who la not faithful in a skirmish would
not be faithful In an Armageddon.
The fact Is, we are all placed In Just
the position In which we can most
grandly serve God, and we ought not
to be chiefly thoughtful about some
sphere of usefulness which we may
after a while gain, but the all-ab
sorbing question with you and with
me ought to be, "Lord, what wilt
thou have me now and here to dc?”
There is one word in St. Paul's ad
juration around which the most of
our thoughts will revolve. That word
is "home.” Ask ten different men the
meaning of that word, and they will
give you ten different definitions. To
one it means love at the hearth, plen
ty at the table, Industry at the work
stand, Intelligence at the books, devo
tion at the altar. In that household,
discord never sounds its war-whoop
and deception never tricks with Its
false face. To him it means a greet
ing at the door and a smile at the
chair, peace hovering like wings, Joy
clapping Its hands with laughter. Life
is a tranquil lake. Pillowed on the
ripples sleep the shadows. Ask an
other man what home is, and he will
tell you it is want looking out of a
cheerless fire grate, kneading hunger
In an empty bread tray. The damp
air shivers with curses. No Bible on
the shelf. Children robbers and mur
derers In embryo. Obscene songs their
lullaby. Every face a picture of ruin.
Want in the background and sin star
ing from the front. No Sabbath-wave
rolling over that door sill—vestibule
of the pit, shadow of infernal walls,
fagots for an unending funeral pile.
Awful word! It lg spelled with curses;
it weeps with ruin; it chokes with
woe; it sweats with the death agony
of despair. The word "home” in one
case means everything bright; the
word "home” In the other case means
everything terrific.
I shall speak now of home as a test
of character, b0Die as a refuge, borne
as a political safeguard, home as a
school, and home as a type of heaven.
And In the first place, home is a pow
erful test of character. The dispo
sition In public may be in gay cos
tume, while in private It Is dishabille.
As play actors may appear in one
way on the stage and may appear in
another way behind the scenes, so pri
vate character may he very different
from public character. Private char
acter is often public character turned
wrong side out. A man may receive
you Into hls parlor as though he were
a distillation of smiles, and yet hls
heart may be a swamp of nettles.
There are business men who all day
long are mild and courteous and geulal
and good-natured lu commercial life,
damming back their Irritability and
their petulance and their discontent;
but at nightfall the dam breaks, and
scolding pours forth iu floods and
freahets. Reputation Is only the shad
ow of character, and a very small
house sometimes will cast a very
long shadow, The lips may seem to
drop myrrh and <-aa*ia. and the dispo
sltlon be as bright and warm aa a
■heath of sunbeama, and yet they may
only be a magnlflceat show window fur
a wretched stock of goods There is
aiaay a man who la affable In public
life and amrd commercial epueiea, who
la a coaardl. way takee hls aager aad
bis petulance home aad drop* them la
the domed I* elects The »*•...» wteb
do mi display their bad temper la
pttblW te tie* sms# tbct du hut wsut i<>
be knocked down I I.Apare men Who
hide their petulance and Iheii Irrita
bility just lor the saaieplessoa that
they do out lei their tithes go te
pcotset || doaa not pay* ot far the
same reasoa that I hay doV^kn waal i
la their stuck ««a<idkhv to salt I
hie Stock below par, teat It depreciate I
the ealue
As at sunset sometimes the wind J
ilses, so after a sunshiny day there
may be a tempestuous night. There
are people who in public act the
philanthropist, who at home act the
Nero with reaped to their slippers
and their gown. Audubon, the great,
ornithologist, with gun and pencil,
went through the forests of America
io bring down and to sketch the beau
tiful birds, and after many years of
Kill and exposure completed his man
userlpt ami put it in a trunk in Pnil
adelphia. ami went off for a faw days
of recreation and rest, and came back
and found that the rats had utterly
destroyed the manuscript; but without
any discomposure and without any
fiet or bad temper he again picked up
his gun and pencil and visited again
all the great forests of America and
reproduced his Immortal work. And
yet there are people with the len
thousandfh part of that loss who are
utterly irreconcilable; who, Ht the loas
of a pencil or an article of raiment,
will blow as long and loud and aliarp
as a northeast storm. Now, that man
who Is affable In public and who Is
Irritable in private Is making a fraud
ulent and overissue of stock, and he
Is as bad as a bank that might have
four or five hundred thousand dollars
of hills In circulation with no specie
in the vault, l.et iis learn to show
piety at home. If we have It not there,
we have It not anywhere. H we have
not genuine giace in the family cir
cle, all our outward and public plausi
bility merely springs from the fear
of the world, or from the slimy, pu
trid pool of our own selfishness. I
tell you the home Is a mighty test
of character. What you are at home
you are everywhere, whether you
demonstrate it or not.
• * •
Oh. make your home the brightest
place on earth If you would charm
your children to the high path of vir
tue and rectitude and religion. Do
not always turn the blinds the wrong
way. Let the light, which puts gold
on the gentian, and Hpots the pansy,
pour Into your dwellings. Do not ex
pect the little feet to keep step to a
dead march. Do not cover up your
walls with such pictures as West's
"Death on a Pale Horse” or Tintoret
to's "Massacre of (he Innocents."
Rather cover the If you have pic
tures, with "Thu Hawking Party"
and "The Mill by the Mountain
Stream" and “The Fox Hunt" and the
"Children Amid Flowers” and the
“Harvest 8cene” and "The Saturday
Night Marketing." Get you no hint
of cheerfulness from grasshopper's
leap and lamb's frisk and quail's whis
tle, and garrulous streamlet which,
from the rock at the mountain top
clear down to the meadow ferns un
der the shadow of the steep, comes
looking to see where it can find the
steepest place to leap off at, and talk
ing Just to hear Itself talk? if all
the skies hurtled with tempest and
everlasting storm wandered over the
sea, and every mountain stream were
raving mad, frothing at the mouth,
with mud foam, and there were noth
ing but simoons blowing among the
hills, and there were neither lark’s
carol nor humming-bird's trill, nor
waterfall's dash, but only bear's bark
and panther’s scream and wolf's howl,
then you might well gather Into your
homes only the shadows. Rut when
God has strewn the earth and the
heavens with beauty and with glad
ness, let us take Into our home circles
all innocent hilarity, all brightness
and good cheer. A dark home makes
bad boya and bad girls In preparation
for bad men and bad women.
WWW
Again, home 1* a type of heaven. At
our best eBtate we are only pilgrims
and strangers here. “Heaven Is our
home.’’ Death will never knock at the
door of that mansion and In all that
country there Is not a single grave.
How glad parents are in the holidays
to gather their children home again.
But I have noticed that there Is al
most always a son or a daughter ab
sent—absent from home, perhaps ab
sent from the country, perhaps absent
from the world. Oh, how glad our
Heavenly Father will be when he gets
all bis children home with him In
heaven. And how delightful It will
be for brothers and sisters to meet
after long separation! Once they
parted at the door of (he tomb; now
they meet at the door of immortality.
Once they saw only "through a glasa,
darkly;” now It Is face to face, cor
ruption, Incorruption, mortality. Im
mortality. Where sre now all their
sins and sorrows and troubles? Over
whelmed In the Red Sea of death.while
they pass through dry-shod. Gates of
pearl, capstones of amethyst, thrones
of dominion do not stir my soul so
much as the thought of home. Once
there, let earthly sorrows howl like
storms, and roll like seaa. Home! I/>t
thrones rot and empires wither.
Home! Let the world die In earth
quake struggle and be burled amid
processions of plsueis and dirge of
spherea Home! I.el everlasting
ages roll la Irresistible sweep Hums!
No sorrow, no crying, no tears, no
death but home, sweet home, beauti
ful home, everlaetlag home, home with
each other, home wMh e»g*!s, home
with Uod'
Owe night, lying on my lounge, when
very tiled, wr children ail atuuud
me Hi Hill I "till, sil l hilarity an t
laughter on the lounge, half awah*
ami half asleep | dreamed this
ilrstts I was la a far • ouatry. It
sea oui Pet eta, although mors than
Oriental Ittsurlanee crossed the elite*
It was aul tb« tropics, although m>, *
thaa tropical fruitfulness Ailed tb*
gardens It was not Italy, although
mere thaa Italian softness Ailed the
air And I wandered around looking
for thorn* and set I lee. hut I found
that ao«* of them grew there and I
sate th* sun ties, and t watched la
see It set, but It sank not. And t
saw the people In holiday attire, and
I said: "When will they put off this
and put on workmen's garb, and again
delve In the mine and swelter at the
forge?" But they never put off the
holiday attire. ,
And 1 wandered In {he suburb* of
*he city to find tlie place where the
dead sleep, and I looked all along the
line of the b«“autlf<|] hill*, the place
where tlie dead might nS&si peacefully*
sleep, and I saw towers and castles,
but not a mausoleum or a monument
or a white slab could I see. And I
went into the chapel of the great town
and I said: “Where do the poor wor
ship, and where are the bard benches
on which they sit?” And the answer
was made to me: “We have no poor
In this country." And then I wan
dered out to find the hovels of the des
titute, and I found mansions of am
ber and Ivory and gold, but not a tear
could I see, not a sigh could I hear.
And I was bewildered, and I sat down
under the branches of a great tree and
I said: "Where am I, and whence
comes all this scene?" And then out
from among the leaves and up the
flowery paths aud across the broad
streams there came a beautiful group
thronging all about me. and as I saw
them come 1 thought I knew their step,
and as they shouted I thought I knew
tbelr voices; but then they were so
gloriously arrayed In apparel such as
I had never before witnessed that I
bowed as at ranger to stranger. But.
when again they clapped their hands
and shouted "Welcome! welcome!” the
mystery all vanished, and I found that
time had gone and eternity had come,
and we were all together again In our
new home |n heaven; and I looked
around and I said: “Are we all here?"
and the voices of many generations re
sponded, "All here!” And while tears
of gladness were running down our
cheeks, and the branches of the Leb
anon cedars were clapping their
hands, and the towers of the great city
were shining their welcome, we all
together began to leap and shout and
sing, "Home! Home! Home!"
SALVATION ARMY FARMS.
Commander llooth-Tuekar Telia of the
flood Work Done.
New York. F'eb. 14.—Commandet
Booth-Tucker of the Salvation Array
reports that the pant year on the col
ony farms of the army has been a
prosperous one, and that the results
thus far of the project of making poor
people self-supporting by transplant
ing them to the country have been a>>
that was hoped for. The beneficiaries
of the plan take kindly to It, and the
work Is to be extended. To date the
army has colony farms In Ohio, Colo
rado and California, covering 1,428
acres, and valued now at fill,000. They
are tenanted by 200 colonists, and It
Is hoped to Increase this number to
500 during this year. The largest and
most ambitious of the colonies Is lo
cated at Fort Amity, Colo. There set
tlers from the slum districts of east
ern cities have 640 acres of rich land,
which they are endeavoring to turn
Into ten-acre farms. Chicago and New
Your furnished the emigrants, major
ity of whom had had experience In
some sort of farming, while a num
ber were carpenters and mechanics.
The ground was divided Into ten-acre
lots, of which each alternate lot was
cultivated, but left unoccupied, with A
view to the extension of each holding
should teu acres be Insufficient, or a
relative of a colonist desire to settle
on the next farm. The plan adopted
to make the colony aelf-supporting
differs from that of most settlements
In that It Involves less of the coopera
tive plan. Each colonist Is master of
his own domain of ten acres, for which
he pays a weekly rental of from fl to
|3 for ten years, when be will own
the land and bouse. Truck farming
will be the main support of the colony.
The land, however, is surrounded by
thousands of acres of open prairie,
which, for a time at leaat, will fur
nish free pasturage for stock.
RIGHTS OF PEW-HOLDERS.
Are Hitting* to Ho Considered aa Par
■oust or Kami lUtstsT
Home Interesting point* regarding
the rights of pew holders have been
brought up In Boston in connection
with the question as to whether a deed
for a church pew must hear an inter
nal revenue stamp. In some state*
pewa In churches are declared by stat
ute to he real estate, and In other
states personal estate. In Boston pews
have always been considered to he
personal estate, and pews In ehurche*
of public worship throughout Massa
chusetts are made persons! property
by statute. "There Is a close analogy
between a pew-right and the right of
burial lu a public burying ground ur
cemetery," says Acting Com miss loner
Wilson of the Internal revenue bureau,
"and the Interest which a pew holder
ha* In his per/ la held by English
courts to be of an Incorporeal nature
only. It la In the nature of an eaae
meut. and the holder of the p«w or
sent Is not deemed the owner of so
much of the alte of the church as le
comprised within the area *»♦ *u. h pew
or sent. It has been held that n pew
holder s right U only n right to occu
py his pew during public worship “
This view of the quest ton regards pew*
' u persona! property, end, therefore,
documents fur their conveyance are not
| required to pay the war las
pflrele Ueesererde le raise.
1 here are no large cemeierteg Is
China Every family has its •••
graveyard, ae spacious as possible, and
thus a large part of the beet land le
given up tu the dead the worship of
whom le the tret principal la Chinese
I r llflo*.
