WU after the lapse Of twenty years.
From the window of the chapel softly
sounds an organ's note,
Through the peaceful Sabbath gloam-ing drifting shreds of musicfloat,
And the quiet and the firelight and the
sweetly solemn tunes.
Bear me dreaming back to boyhood
and its Sunday afternoons;
When we gathered in the parlor, in
the parlor stiff and grand,
Where the haircloth chairs and sofas
stood arrayed, a gloomy band,
Where each queer oil portrait watched
us with a countenance of wood,
~,nd the shells upon the whatnot in a
dustless splendor stood.
, i
Then the quaint old parlor organ, with
the quaver in its tongue,
Seemed to tremble in its fervor as the
sacred songs were sung,
As we-sang the homely anthem, sang
the ~lad revival hymns
Of the glory of the story and the light
no sorrow dims.
While the dusk grew even de~per and
the evening settled down,
And the lamp-lit windows twinkled in
the drowsy little town,
Old and young we sang the chorus and
the echoes told it o'er
In the dear, familiar voices, hushed or
scattered evermore.
From the windows of the chapel faint
and low the music dies,
And the picture in the firelight fades
before my tear-dimmed eyes,
But my wistful fancy, listening, hears
the night wind hum the tunes
That we sang there in the parlor on
those Sunday afternoons.
A Jest of Fate,
• BY MAUDE E. LEONARD.
(Copyright, 1901, by Daily Story Pub. Co.)
The man was in a brown study. Ap-
parently he was engaged in a diffi-
cult experiment in his laboratory for
his hands moved automatically among
the chemicals. Liquids met, min-
gled and were separated deftly, but in
reality he was entirely ignorant of
what his sensitive fingers were~ doing,
for his mind' was busily engaged oth-
erwise.
He was a well-built man. and his
Profile spoke of strength, with its
slightly aquiline nose, deepset eye,
and closely trimmed beard. That the
mouth hidden by this same beard
~leld doubtful curves and a curious
droop was a fact naturally unknown
to most persons. When Dr. Packard
chose to address a meeting of scien-
tists his auditors always were aroused
and listened. For he had a brain.
Whether he was troubled by a heart
was something women liked to spec-
ulat~ about. Tllose who had solved the
question discreetly hid their dearly
brought knowledge, for women do not
I~rade their hurts.
In the face of this! it is somewhat
remarkable to understand that at the
moment when he was so aimlessly
puttering about in his mechanical
work with lackluster, Introspective
eyes, Dr. Packard's brain was in re-
ality entirely occupied with a woman.
She had come out of the past so far
back that the halo of mystery was
beginning to adorn her memory, and
because he was a son of Adam Dr.
Packm'd found this uniquely attrac-
~ve. She needed some such softening
LI
The other held poison.
nimbus, he reflected, with a touch of
sardonic humor, for she must be forty
years old--it was over twenty years
since he had left that miserable small
town in the west when opportunity
had ai~retched out a finger to his rest-
|ess grasp. ~he tumultuous and fast
following years had cluttered his
mind, and it came.to him that thts
was the first time he had e~er so
seriously and leisurely contemplated
his act.
He set down a siphon smartly and
~ashed it as he reflected what a fool
he had been. At nineteen he had
married Bessie Crowell. She was a
waitress in the railroad restaurant and
alone in the world. She had been
pretty, of court, and she was good.
As to her spelling he was ne¢ so sure.
CarefaIly he pieced out his boyish
recollection of her. He knew precise-
ly what h~ type would have degen-
erated IntO~ln the time which had
pas~d. With the uncompromisingly
accurate knowledge of the mature man
could mm her ~ ~e undOU~teINY
She was fat and wore broad, fiat sltues
with the buttons Off. Her gowns were
of the dreary, nondescript wools stu-
pid women affect, and her waist went
by courtesy. Her hair--it had been
brown and roughly curly~was thin-
sing and s~illy and d~re~ed into a
tight knot. Her complexion was
coarse and oily, and she was gross,
stolid.and entirely repellant to a man
of fastidious tastes. Her mind had
never risen above the gossip of the
store and corners. As this picture
grew, so correspondingly faded the
idea which as a Just man ~had attacked
him, that he had done wrong in run-
ning away from her. It was with a
sort of pride he recollected in all these
years he had never failed to send reg-
ular remittances back to her and the
child• For there had been one, but
it had not appealed to his restless
youth and still slumbering emotions
of fatherhood. His lawyer relieved
him of the delicate task of forwarding
Sh~ had never heard such a laugh.
the allowance to Bessie, Mrs. Abbott.
When he ran away he had changed
his name to Packard and she had nev-
er traced him. though his invaluable
leg&al man bad once carelessly con-
vexed to him the impression that a
vindictive ~nd spasmodic search for
Iher strangely missing husband was
now and then made by his client's ben-
eficiary, Mrs. Abbott. Packard had
thank~d~ his legal man gravely with-
out vouchsafing any information con-
~rning the recalcitrant htmband to
s expectant legal man. and had gone
to his club to offer up thanks that his
trail was covered.
Dr. Packard, the scientist, the fa-
vored, the admired by the lovely and
gracious women of society and by
men of affalrs~what had this roan'in
common with the hot-~neaded boy of a
quarter of a:e~ntury before, whose
name was Abbott and who had been
a fool? She could never find him.
With a short sigh Dr, Packard set
down the retort he held and reached
for the glass of water he had drawn
some moments before. The day was
warm and he was thirsty. He drank
every drop before he emerged from
his mental wanderings and stood
blinking as one whose sloping eyes
have opened suddenly on a glare of
light. Then he stumbled, sat down,
and stared stupidly at the empty
glass. Two feet away from where it
had stood was another glass similar
In shape, filled wtth~a ~ol~rleu, liquid.
One of those glasses had held water,
the other had been filled with a solu-
tion he had made of a peculiar, color-
less. tasteless poison. And, he had
drunk one of them.
There was a dampness on his fore-
head. If it was the poison he had
swallowed he was a dead man inside
an hour. Then of a sudden he squared
his shoulders and laughed harshly
with relief. Hastily he reached for the
other glass--he could test its contents
and the suspense world be over. As he
grasped it his trembling hand shifted,
the glass slipped into the sink and the
contents disappeared down the dram.
The man groaned. It had come on
him so sudden] y, he had awakened to
the everyday world so abruptly he had
not had time to get his balance. He
was not lu a normal condition to face
such a catastrophe and he sat clutch-
ing the table edge with starting eyes
and a ghastly face. He did not want
to. die--he would not! A blind panic
had him fast as he realized there was
no use calling fbr help. No one could
save him. With nerves tingling he sat
waiting for the first twinge of pain, hie
imagination lending hideous aid to
reality. In a few minutes everything
would be ended for him if it was the
poison he had swallowed and some-
thing of his old, dominating will came
back as he rapidly adjusted his point
of plow. Stubbornly his thoughts re-
turned to Bessie Abbott but not with
contemplative |lesure this time. She
loomed a solemn fact in the life he
had suddenly become separated from
and the idea of a full expiation seized
him and was insistent: With the odd
notion growing he rose and wavered
toward his desk in the next room and
wrote hurriedly. There was really no
one else with' so good a claim on his
wealth and the child, young man by
this time---he still thought of him as
an alien, distnterestedly~might pos-
sibly make some use of prosperity even
as he had done. With livid face he
glanced over the unblotted letter.
"You could never have found me
living,"'lt ran, "but it is my: whim
you should profit by my death. It
will give New York something to talk
about and wonder over~ I do not ob-
ject adding to the gayety of n~tiona
for I k~ow the devil of ennui. Come
to the address at the top of this sheet
and tak~ possession. Everything is
yours. I must confess I rarely remem-
bered you till today when strangely
ev~0ugh you have been much in my
thoughts. They ~say the mind of the
aged reverts to scenes of youth--poe-
~dbl~ in my ease forty is old. It is
evidently sufficient in fate's Judgment
for in half an hour I gkall be de~A
Ths brutality of the few words
seemed ~o revive him and stop the dull
pricking that was stealing over his
body. Methodically he sealed, ad-
dressed and stamped the envelope=
walked out and handed it to the post-
man who at that moment was unlock-
ing the mailbox. Then he came back
to the laboratory and shut the door
behind him. There was no longer in
his mind any doubt as to which of
the glasses be had emptied for his
hands were cold, he trembled as with
an ague and numbness stole over his
brain. He could not think. He wan-
dered around the room with protest-
ing despairing tread and when his
knees gave way beneath him he fell
gasping to the floor and the waves
swept over him.
$ * • $ $
Hours later those working over Dr.
Packard who had been found on the
floor of l~is laboratory were rewarded
by the flicker of his eyelids and pres-
ently he spoke. It was the usual inane
question of those coming out of the
depths.
"You are in your own room," brisk-
ly answered the physlcian at his right,
a personal friend. Dr. Packard was
trying to think as the waves which
had submerged him receded, "I was
poisoned," he breathed in a frazzled
way.
His friend's face broke into the
humoring smile given remarks made
by the feeble and incompetent. ""Non-
sense," he said soothingly, "you've
been in the most ~xtensive and all-
pervading faint I ever saw but you
weren't poisoned, man--what put that
idea into your head? You're dream-
ingl And what do yo'a mean by keeL-
ing over in such • reprehensible way ?
You were working too long without
food and rest, that's what ailed you!"
It was some minutes later that Dr.
Packard remembered the letter.
He laughed once, shortly, abruptly,
before he turned his face toward the
wall. But the trained nurse at his side
Jumped. She had never heard quite
such a laugh in all her experience.
Anel she never wanted to hear it
again.
Davies Too Mueh for the Bo~
A gray-halred alumnus of Colu~blk,
on from a western state for the ~'adu-
ating exercises, chatted of the days
when he was at Columbia. "There
was Prof. Davies," said tbe old evl-
legian. "We fellows used to llke him
as well as it was possible for a col-
lege boy to like a professor of mathe-
matics. One winter. ~ recollect, the
members of my class, myself among
the rest, had fpunzl consideraMe
amusement and relieved ourselves ~f
class work by burning asafetida, pe~-
per and other unpleasant things in
the various class rooms. We tried "the
trick with Professor Anthon. who
taught Greek. and with Prof. Nairne,
who oceupled the chair of moral phil-
osophy. At last some of the bolder
spirits suggested that we transfer our
attentions to Prof. Davies. Well, I
remember that morning. It was blt-
ter cold, and all of the ouzlets of the
room were closed to keep the warmth
within. We were on hand early, and
hod several fat lumps of asafetida
smoking away when the professor
came. He walked to the desk ann
lald hls hat and coat on it. Then
odor struck him. He hesitated a mo~
most, and then walked slowly to the
d~, locked it. and put the key in his
pocket. 'Now. gentlemen, we will en-
~oy this together,' said he. as he re,
turned to his s.~at. Then he got back
at us. The mathematlcs he threw at
us would have filled a set of mathe-
matical books from the primary arith-
metic to the calculus. And all the
time the asafetida, was smoking, for
he would not let us remove it. When
we got out of that room after ~wo
hours we were wl.ser and more discreet
boys, and you can bet we played no
more tricks on the author of Davies'
Legendre."~New York Times.
Clubs Have Their £,lvautages.
I think it must be owned that the de-
partures from the old order of home
life have greatly ameliorated the con-
dition of the weak, the timid, the less
self-assertive writes Bishop Potter in
the Woman's Companion. In any given
home circle it is not always the clever-
est or the strongest who claims and
exercises the mastery. A shrinkiug and
sensitive nature will not fight for its
precedence in the home ~ny more than
out of it. A gentle, modest woman Will
often be overborne by her loud, push-
ing and vulgarly modern children. A
mau of refinement and real force will
often let himself be bullied by a brawl-
ing woman because his very nature
makes him "no brawler." Now, in the
old days, so far as social intercourse
was concerned, it was largely a ques-
tion of the home or--nothing. If there
was no bright talk. no diverting ree-
reatlon, no songs and laughter there,
there was none anywhere.
Reforms Thst Woro Exp~slv~
About three-quarters of a railroad's
receipts come from the freight depart-
ment. The passenger department su~-
plies nearly all the rest. the incom,#
from mail, express and other privilege.~
being comparatively small. Carryin.~
passengers is a simple matter, or would
be, if state legislatures did not now
'and then 'take a hand in prescribing
added specifications for railroad paS-
senger service. In Ohio a law was
passed decreeing that the height be-
tween the platform and the lowest
steps of passenger coaches should not
exceed 12 inches. This co~t the rail-
road~ nearly $100,000t and the reform
ted to the abolition of a number of flag
stops where the passengers had beeu
quite willing to scramble up off the
baliast.--Ainslee's Magazine.
Women buy things they do not wa~t
at bargain eru&h~s to prevent wom~tt
who mm~ m~ad t~ ~ from
lug the .m~__ ....
l Hdred
BY THE DUCHESS.
CHAPTER XVI.
In but few minutes' time after the
accident Mildred was beside Denzil,
and down upon her knees, her horse
idly wandering away. She stooped
and placed her hand upon his heart.
but failed to detect the faintest beat.
She clrew her fingers across his fore-
head---cold and damp with thc chilling
wintry wind--but to her it seemed
iouched by the cold hand of Death.
A terrible feeling took possession of
her. Was he dead? Was he speech-
qess, deaf, blind, beyoud love, life,
trope, for evermore?
Lifting his head onto her lap an~l
pushing back the hair from his beau-
tiful forehead, sh~ murmured to him
tenderly, almost reproachfully, half
believing the cruel voice he had loved
so well on earth would recall him even
from the grave. But there was no an-
swer.
She looked up wildly. Would nobody
ever come? How long they were~
how lq~ag! And, when they did come,
would it, perchance, be only to tell
her that help was needless~that he
was indeed dead, as he appeared~
lifeless within her very arms.
Oh, to speak with him once more.
if,only for a moment--just for so long
as it would take to let him know how
well she loved him. and to beg on her
knees for his forgiveness!
Why did he lie so silent at her feet?
Surely that calm, half smile had no
sympathy with death. Was she never
to hear his voice again~never to see
the loving tenderness that grew in his
eyes for her alone?
Was all the world dead or insensi-
ble that none would come to her call.
while perhaps each precious moment
was stealing another chance from his
life? This thought was maddening;
she glanced all round her, but as ye~
no one was in sight. And then she
began to cry and wring her hands.
"Denzil, speak to me!" she sobbed.
"Denzll--darling--darlin g !"
$ $ $ $
Lord Lyndon, shortly after the acci-
dent had occurred, turning round in his
saddle to discover whether Miss Tre-
-vanion was coming up with them. and
not seeing her, ,raised himself in his
stirrups to survey the ground behind.
and beheld two horses riderless, and
something he could not discern clearly
upon the grass.
"Sir George, look!" he called to his
companion. "What is it--what ha~
happened? Can you see Mildred?
He waited for nothing more, but
putting spurs to the astonished animal
nnder him, rode furiously back, leav-
ing Sir George to follow him almost
as swiftly.
And this was what they saw.
Lying apparently lifeless, with oue
arm twisted under him, in that horri-
ble, formless way a broken limb will
sometimes take, lay Denzll Younge,
with Miss Trevanion holding his head
upon her lap and smoothing back his
hair, while she moaned over him words
and entreaties that made Lyndon's
heart grow cold.
"Mildred!" he cried sharply, putting
his hand on her arm with the inten-
tion of raising her from the grouud,
but she shook him off roughly.
"Let me alone," she Said; "what have
you to do with us? I loved him. Oh,
Denzil. my darling speak to me--speak
to me."
"What is the meaning of this?"
Lyndon asked hoarsely. "Trevanlon,
you should know."
Sir George, who was 'bending over
the prostrate man, raised his eyes for
a moment.
"I suppose, as she says it, it is true."
he answered simply. "But I give you
my word of honor as a gentleman, I
was unaware of it. All I know'is that
she refused him long before you pro-
posed for her--for what reason I am
as ignorant as yourself. It has been
her own secret from first to last."
As Sir George spoke, Mildred looked
up for the first time.
"Is he dead?" she asked with terri-
ble calmness.
"No, no--~I hope not; a broken arm
seldom kills," answered her father,
hurriedly, drawing the broken limb
from beneath the wounded man with
gre~t gentleness. "Lyndon, the bran-
dy,"
Lyndon, who was almost as white as
Denzil at the moment, resolutely put-
ting his owu grievances behind him
for the time being, knelt down beside
Sir George, "and, giving him his flask.
began to help in the task of resusci-
tation.
"How will it be?' he asked in a
whisper.-
"I cannot tell," answered Sir George;
"we can only hope for thb best. But
I don't like the look on the poor lad's
face. I have seen such a look before.
Do you remember little Polly Stuart of
the Guards? I was ~n the ground when
he was killed very much in the same
manner and saw him lying there with
Just that sort of strange, calm. half
smile upon his face as though defying
death. But he was stone dead at the
time, poor boy."
"How shall we get him l~ome?"
asked Lyndo~. "I wish some doctor
could be found to see him. Was not
~tubber on the field this morning?"
"Yes, but was called off early in the
day, I think."
"His heart!" cried Miss Trevanion,
suddenly. "His heart! It's beating!"
She raised her eyes to her father's
as she gave utterance to the sweet
words, and Lyndon saw all the glorious
light of the hope that had kindled in
them. Her white fingers were pressed
closely against Denzil's chest; her
breath was coming and going raptur-
ously at quick, short intervals; her
whole face was full of passionate, glad
expectation.
- "So it is," said Sir George, excitedly.
"Lyndon, more bran,dy."
So life, struggling slowly back into
Denzil's frame, began its swift course
once more for him; while for Lyndon,
turning away'sick at heart and misera-
ble. its:joys and promises were but as
rotten fruit, ending in bitterness and
mockery.
CHAPTER XVII.
It was late the.same evening, and
Mildred sitting in her mother's room,
with one hand clasped in Lady Caro-
line's, was gazing idly into the fire.
seeming pale and dejected in the reu
light of the flame, that ever and anon
blazed up and sunk, and almost died,
and brightened up again. Yet in her
heart there was a great well of thank-
fulness, of joy unutterable--for had
not the doctor, fully an hour before,
declared DenziL out of any immediate
danger?
Up to that moment Miss Trevanion
had remetned in her own apartment.
not caring to encounter the gaze of
curious observers--now walking fever-
ishly backward and forward with un-
spoken prayers within her breast, now
sitting stunned and wretched, waiting
for the tidings she yet dreaded to hear.
But. when Lady Caroline came to
tell her all was well for the present,
she could say not!-ing;~she only fol-
lowed her mother back to her own
room where she fell upon her knees
and cried as if her heart would break.
Suddenly the door opened and a ser-
vant stood revealed.
"Lord Lyndon's compli~cnts to
Miss Trevanion, and he would be glad
to see her for a few minutes in the
north drawing room," he said, and !in-
gered for a reply.
"I will be down direstly," Mildr, ed
answered tremulously, and when he
had withdrawn turned nervously to-
ward Lady Caroline. "Ob, mother,"
she said, "what can I say to him?
What must he think of me?"
"Have courage, my darling," whis-
pered Lady Caroline, "and own the
truth plain speaking Is ever the be~t
and wisest. Afterward he will forgive
you. Remember how impatiently I
shall be waiting here for your return."
"Of course he will understand that
it is now all over between us?" Mil-
dred asked, half anxiously, as she
reached the door.
"Of eourse he will," said' Lady Care-
,line, • wlth a suppressed sigh. How
Could she help regretting this good
thing that was passing away from her
daughter. "Now go, and do not keep.
him in suspense any longer."
So Mildred went; but, as she passed
the threshold of the room that con-
tained Lord Lyndon, a sudden rush of
memory almost overpowered her, car-
rying her back, as it did, w that other
night, .a few short weeks ago. when
she had similarly stood, but in how
different a position in the sight of the
man now standing opposite to her.
Then she had come to offer him all
that was dearest to him on'earth, now
she was come to deprive him of that
boon--was standing before him, Judg-
ed and condemned as having given
away that which in nowise belonged
to her.
She scarcely dared to raise her head,
but waited, shame-stricken, for him
to accuse her, with eyes bent sorrow-
fully downward.
"I have very little to say to you,"
said Lyndon, hoarsely, in a voice that
was strange and cold, all the youth
being gone out of it, "but I thought it
better to get it over at once--to end
this farce that has been playing so
long."
No answer from Miss Trevanion--
no movement--no sound even. beyond
a slight catching of the breath.
"Why you "should have treated me
as you have is altogether beyond my
fathoming," he went on. "Surely I
could never have deserved it at your
hands. When I gave you that paltry
money a fe~f weeks ago, I little
thought it was accepted as the price of
your affection. Affection! Nay, rather
toleration. Had I known it I would
have flung it into the sea before it
should have so degraded both yourself
and me. Had you no compassion--
no thought of the dreary future you
were so coldly planning out for us
both--I ever striving to gain a love
that was not to. be gained--you per-
petually remembering past days that
cdntained all the sweetness of your
life? There---it is of small use my re-
proaching you now; the thing is done,
and cannot be undone. You have only
acted as hundreds of women have act-
ed before you--ruined one man's hap-
piness completely, and very nearly
wrecked another's, all for-the want of
a little honesty."
He made a few steps forward, as
though to pass her, but she arrested
him by laying both her hands on his
arm.
"Oh, Henry, forgive me!" she ~-
claimed, with deep emotion. "You can
not leave me like this. I know I have
been bad, wicked, .deceitful, in ewry
way, but, oh, forgive me! No--do not~
mistake me. I know well you would
never marry me now; and" lowerin[
her voice--"neither could I ever marry
you, having once shown you my heart;
so there can .be' 'rio misconception
about that, But if you knew every-.
thing--how wretched I was, h~w hope-!
less, how essential it was that the~
money should be procured, how ter-
rible it was to me to have to borrow
it, and how just and right a thing it
seemed to give you myself in ex-
change, having no other means of re- :
payment--you might perhaps pity me.
Could you only have seen into
heart, you would have read there how
real was my determination to be true
to you, to make you a good wife, and
love you eventually as well as I loved
--that other."
She broke down here and covered
• her face with her hands. And Lyndon
who had never learned the art of be-
ing consistently unkind to anything,
felt his wrath and wrongs melt,awaY
altogether, while a choking sensation
arose in his throat.
He forgot all his own deep injuries,
and, taking the pretty golden head,
between bis hands, he drew it down :
upon his breast, where she began to
cry right heartily.
"Mildred, how could you do it?" he
whispered, presently, in a broken
voice. "Had you hated me you could
have done nothing more cruel. Child,
did you never think .of the conse-
quences?"
"I know I have behaved basely to
you," sobbed Mildred. "But I never
thought that this would be the end.
All might have turned out so different-
ly, had--had this day never been."
"I shall never cease to be thankful
that this day did come," he answered,
earnestly. "Better to wake from a
happy dream in time than rest uncon-
scious until the waking is too late.
Bitter as it is to lose you now, and
no-one but myself can guess how bit-
ter that is, would it not be far worse
to discover that my wife had no sym-
pathy with me, no thought akin to
mine?" He paused for a moment and
then he said, sadly, "It seems a hard
thing for me to say, but yet--oh, Mil-
dred. I wish we had never met!"
~'Is there nothing I can do to make
it up to you?" she asked, despairing-
ly.
"No, there is nothing," he answered,
regretfully; "all that could be said or
done would not obliterate the past.
You are crying still, Mildred." raising
her face, and regarding it mournfully;
"are you so very sorry then, for your
work? And yet a few plain words
would have prevented all this. Tell
me--when returning the money, which
you Insisted on doing after your :~
grand-aunt's death, why did you not
then honestly speak the truth? Was
not that a good opportunity?"
"Oh, how could I do it tben?" she
asked, turning away her head, with a
little shiver of distaste; "that would
have appeared so detestable in your
eyes. What!"she exclaimed, "accept
your kindness gratefully when I was
in sore need of it, and then whefl I
had no further want of it, throw yon
of[ without the slightest compunction?
Surely you would have thought that
a very unworthy action?"
"Still it would have been better than
this," he answered, gloomily, begin-
ning to walk slowly up and down the
room. while she stood weaving her
fingers restlessly in and out, watching
him.
Poor Mildred. the bitterness of her
remorse Just then made half atone-
ment for her sin. With a heart at
once affectionate and deeply feeling,
it was to her the lntensest agony to
see ,Lyndon so crushed and heart-
broken, and know it was her own
handiwork.
For a few minutes there was silence
except for the faint sound of Lyndon2s
footsteps as he paced heavily to and
fro on the. thick carpet• At length
she could bear it no longer.
(To be continued.)
. Preaches for Her Husband.
Wearied and almost ready to col-
lapse from overwork, Rev. Mr. Clegg
of Tannersville, Pa,. on a recent Sun-
day evening permitted his wife to oc-
cupy his pulpit, and the congrega-
tion that listened to the discourse was
greatly pleased. "Sin came into the
world by my sex, and it is my duty
to get all the sin out of the world I
can," said Mrs. Clegg in her sermon.
She conducted her entire service for
her husband and her sermon was in-
teresting from beginning to end. The
announcement that the minister's wife
was to preach brought out a very
large congregation and late comers
stood two deep in the corridor. Rev.
D. W. Lecrone, the Lutheran pastor of
t,he village, dismissed his evening
service in order to hear Mrs. Clegg.
He was invited to a seat on the plat-
form and accepted. Pastor Clegg, who
is an ~ngllshman, introduced his,wife
to the congregation.
Limits of the Audibility of Sound,
An interesting matter, from a scien-
tific point of view, in connection with
the death of Queen Victoria, ~s the dis-
tance at which the sound of firing was
heard when the fleet saluted ,as the
belly was conveyed from Cowes to
Portsmouth. Letters in the English
Journals of science show that the
sounds of the guns were heard i~ sev-
eral places at a distance of eighty-tour
miles, and that at a distance of sixty
miles the concussions were sufficiently
intense to shake windows and to set
cock pheasants to crowing as they do
during a thunderstorm. There ap-
pears to have been but little wind to
interfere with the propagation of the
sound.~New York Post.
Of |55 Japanese university students
who were questioned as to their roll-
gious beliefs no fewer than 472 called
themselves atheists.
