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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Advocate, 1899-5-4, Page 2BETWEEN TYO LOVES By BERTHA M. C1iAT (Continued). But she flashes a ]signing glance at Una. "No,," she says. "I have been a naughty ehi!d, and I shall remain he+e notal I am forgiven," "Yoe are foroive:" he replied. "Quite?" asi.s Lady May. rind his a:tswer is not put in words. He ,hes quite formettea Daisy. Heaven help end laity :lion: I'orgetten Vs :trur- riage, feratotterr Daisy---el'er\thnm es- eept 1t d fireaniftl?, bewalateieg love. atlIAP'i Llt XXV 1L. TOO Leer. leave woe. my pardon hzrdly,'" site said, in a laughing voice. "1 shoal,] . uppcse the laawS of decorum are quite bet :aside by this visit; but 'Sills Lock- wood knows• about it -I told bet, sod she geld that. eviler the ciree;mstane , it weeed get be tr:ogg." "It could rpt be wrerig," Sir Q4is,<cn. "'`Wrist magat see mitt i carnia have wetter:. So I =lc.igha,, but we many ae- e de:ats beeper: to ie vers ---some are lest, *eine delayed.; besides, a Tetter emlid neat say an emelt as 1 eau myself. I need of your arrival tial anorniate is the Omer hazette-we are staying, at Taw - len Nes: jog new --.incl the mother„ I reed it I eriei out re, Mass I"ocf:wood, • 'He is come! he is twiner She was pieta- • ed, rocs ---she :aways Iowa you, What: go woo ths":zik I did, Clio:0n?-1, whcam +Itie Wtuld sari pond, cold Lady aiay " "I cannot tell" he answered, look.-ing et the !eeetutifnl face, still bewildered heyeed the Dawes of thought. "i -the ""+ld, Imolai • Lady slay, the lsau,tlty girl who sent You away ---I took that gaper sa zny hands. Clinton, and kissed every letter in your name." She tt:melted a little, low, triumphant Jangle, "Rees nit that chow," She said, "hew • Muth 1 love you? ".Chen 1 wild to afiss Loekwood that I would wait no Iciager -thee I had waited eaoothe and yet; but that I slactasli come to, Londoa at once and free yerti. Size carne with me; elle has dl•iraen to Cliffe ]douse, told I carne Etre. She said it would only tertke ell right cs,;:sin, and those few wordy she advised me to speak myself. You see, CUiato:i, it is quite safe; your eervituts w571 asever dream. of Toe" ani 1 '"]sail go basis: to Cilife House without ally (Me sus -Denting ane. I never knew how much safety there was in a thick Treil before." • "1 knew yon," be said, slowly "Ah, yew -you, because you love mj and ' love has eye's: but no would." Then she passed her band ,,'brow and bis hair. • "lief thin you are, 'veld, "and your face 1+ +ec it. It will be the drive those lines aw' altered! you look been through yeo "So I have," el over his Wilton," site s so many lines rk of my life to How you have though you have of pain!" he eitad, in a low, soft years of pain! Ohl :tray, when I lost you I went mad; death would have been more merciful than the pain I suffered." "R is all over now, dear," she vivid, saressingiy. "1 shall spend my life in trying to make you forget all about it; and after this, after to -night, we will never allude to It again. It shall be all Yorgoiten and forgiven. You will never laugh at woman"s love again, Ciinion, shall you? See how true, and how etrcnsg, itnd iinw tender it is!" "Never attain, May," he replied with e sigh that was almost a sob; "nevem again." She drew her cloak from the floor with a. little, iow laugh of perfect hap- pin5— "alss Lockwood said ()ace that per- haps you would never forgive me. I told her that you would never refuse. Why, that night when you were so an- gry with me, if I bad held out my hand again you would have staid." "Yes, I would have staid." 'But perhaps, after all, it may be for the best; if it had 'not been for this quarrel, and the sorrow. the nein of he- : ing parted from you, I ghoul+] have al- weys been proud and cold; it has taught me such a lessson," she continued, humbly, "I shall make your love nam] yotar snappiness the study of my life." Ile as been wrapped in a dream• so IDeaii4,i1',ul, so delicious. that he hardly knows, even when she rises, for she lute been kneeling all the time. "1 must go," she said. "I shall not let you take me home. Clinton, became I do not wish any one to know where 11 have been, but to -morrow you will like to come to Gliffe Ilouse--come as early as you please, stay as long as yon like. I have so much to say to I; you that it seems to one that my life •will not he long enough to say it in." 'i'!him elm went up to him, a clear light in lite eyes, a humorous smile on ' ewe lea, .s pure, sweet. tender soil' re tiectr-il in tier char:nine dace. Once mere w`r,' raise,] her white, fair stems, tend laid elicen on his neck. "My lir,"," she smice very gravely and riyatie,ily, "Woe nave pardoned me. but I I til,«.11 newer pardon myself. 11'hat in the leonr of my caprice and folly I re- timed you, l: give you now -my whole uetet. Toy whole love, my whole truth, alit whole life; and when you ask me to le, your wife i shall say 'yes!' " Fin liitd forgotten his miserable mar- elege,•forgotten Daisy, forgotten every- thing hut his sweet and fair young love, 1 who was humbling herself so sweetly' to him. At the word "wife." he woke asp to a sudden, swift, keen sense of the truth. Crettt Heaven! how Clare he to stand mitib. those pure arms around his neck, intuit tender face raiised to him he, who was a married man. In the swattneete of lightning he saw it all. Her love, the cro"F n of his life, her sweet repent- ance, her tendernese, had all come too hast --too late! He dew back from her with a to ' Miele ere; a livid hue came over has :face, his lipss turned white as the lips of to dead man, but even as he drew back' she foitowed him. "Wheat le it, love, what is it?" she asketi4. Ho tiled, Heaven help him, he tried to speak; he tried to say to her "I hen t hales," but the cold, white lips ween dumb, he could frame no word wibh theta She placed her soft, warm hand on his brow. 'Why, Clinton." she said. "you ane ill, I :tut quite sure. 124'hat is it?" Ile tried again to soy to iter, "1 am married," hut he could not. Looking at her in her fair young beauty, so happy, soloving, with that glad light in her eyes and that glad smile on her Lipa, he could not slay her with the words. IIe could fur rather baretaken le hu' :gun and searred her beautiful nae" -it would have been easier to have taken a dagger and plunged it twig bee white breast thanhave said those words to her just thee,. "Oh, madman that I bare been!" be th,eught; but she was still looking nt hint with tender. loving pity. ".ee e you ill, Clinton?" she asked. saa;LiCetely. "Only a spasm," he said; "a spasm at the heart," He recovered himself by a terrible ef- fort, "But ' that is very dangerous. You must see a doctor; I shall insist epee it. I taunt afford to lose you now t.hvt I have found you." lie !.colied at her- "Would er."Wislid you grieve so very much it yen lest me now, May?" he said. She shook her charming heed. "My :answer will make you rain, I ]:now," she replied. -Yes. I am not csal;ge satins, Cllinton-I think I should die it 1 lost von again, or, if 1 did net die, 1 sh •n;d never have another mo- ment of hmppiness while 1 livtvi,; th'tt wooed :tltnot t be worse than death to ate, for I love happiness," "If I had tiled abroad." be said, "what then?" then, dear, I must have sub - :pitted. It would have been Heaven's will; bat I should never bare married, Cliatoe, If 1 ]tad beat you in this w,i;ld 1 sh' & l hive lived in the hope of find- ing you is the next. But 1 have not lc et you, love." "Suppose -only suppose, May --that In the interval. I had forgotten you -loved some one else?" einaot fancy anything of the kind." she said, laughingly. "Better ask me to imagine that the stare fall, tate sun infuses to saline, the tide to f" I ootid not Imagine such a thin - it I tried." "But I have been long a "That may be. Had as long, it would nor You cannot Shalee Clinton, jest a.' ale. could • nodisturb her sweet fait,her enisre x 1,4A evened perfect trust. She held +au'' ete„„ollt her bands to him,. chary 'd -night," site said, with her "Mag smile, "You have been very "...rd. to ane, Clinton. Am I to go home and tell Miss Lockwood that you have quite forgiven me?" "You may tell alis Lockwood that I say you are an angel," he replied "May, let me go with you. I enanot let you go alone." "But I want to keep my visit a secret." "So it shall be, deer; Yon have got a cab at the door, I suppose." "'Yes," she replied. "I drove steak -Oat from the station here. Very undignified haste, w•as it not?" He thought to hirunelf it would be easier to tell her in a cab, where he could not see the white anguish that would come over her face -easier than to tell her as she stood there. "Let me take you home," he said. "As you wish your visit to me to remain a secret, I will not get out of the cab. I will see you safely in the house, and then drive back home again," "1 will not say no," she replied. "Ah, Clinton," laughing softly, and clasping her hands, "I shall be much pleased, dear, and I should have been disap- painted had you not offered to go. See how frank I am growing." So they drove away in the cab to- gether. and the wind that came into the window was sweet, dewy, and pew fumed. She looked more beautiful than ever in the star -light. "Now, I must tell her," he said; "stab my darling right through her tender, loving heart." He did begin, in a grave tone: "May," but she interrupted him. She held up a little white hand before him, on which shone a golden ring. "Do yon remember that?" she asked. He held the sweet, white hand in his, while he looked at it. "It is the one I gave you," he said. "Yes; and I know you have been true to me, because the stone has not chang- ed its color. Miss Lockwood always said theme was hope of me, because I loved my ring." How was be to tell her? In what words? "May," he began again, In a grave, tender voice: "Clinton," she interrupted, "do you know that the sound of your voice has altered-clinnged completely? It has lost all its ring. just as your eyes hare lost all iheur happy laughter; but it will soon come back." "I must tell her," he thought. "Hea- ven help me, I must tell her! Oh, fool and madman tarot I was!" She was wanting beside him now; her warm, sweet breath reached his cheek. By the light of the stars he saw that her eyes were wet with happy tears. "What are those linea, Clinton?" she asked. "I like them so much. Listen, do I say them correctly: tar," he said. ou been twice have mattered. ntv faint in you, u wall.:' ed. then he was alone in the starlight -alone with his sorrow and despair. GHA,PTEIt XVIII.. must plunge the sharpest :sword in her pure, loving heart. As he stood there, looking up at the quiet stars, he could have carved his iiow HE Lover, Hen, fate; still, he never dreamed oe hiding When the door of Cliffe House closed the fact from her. He called himself a behind him, and he was alone, aher er coward, a, traitor, that he had not tali her a, once. The first moment she came Clinton Adair dismissed the cab. IIe k near hint he ought to have said toher, was suit:mated; he could not breathe; ee am married."" Better to have told the smell vehicle seemed to him like tt an et fir,^m't. furnaces be lowed to be where the It was of no use staying out tweefree, fresh air could circle round him i watching, the stars; they had given Rod cool the fever of his heart and shear counsel, they ]rad told him ea-h,tt brain. to do; Ile re-entered tate house; he ..I ought to have told her the first went straight to the drawing -room, moment,,, be said to himself; ""the in- NN berg their interview had taken Plana stant she entered the room I ought to fust to convince Itirnself that it h'ud have told her I was married. "It will heen real, and not a dream. There was be a thoasaid times more diflieult now." the lamp, with its pearly light, the He walked quickly through the de- chair whereon he had at, the flower's, serted squares, wbere the summer wind everything just as he left it. Ile kissed gently stied the sleepy #roes. He the chair where her white hand had rested. How he loved her -great I -Lea- ven, how he loved her! A sudden idea occurred him -he would write to her; that would be by far the easiest way of telling her. He went back to his study. There on the desk lay the letter beginning ,"My deux Daisy," Was lee ever to finish that? Ile felt unequal just at that moment to ever writing to Daisy again. 'When he took himself to task -Daisy was his wife. the woman who had loved him when all other love seemed to fail him. IIe forced himself to write; he added only a few lines, telling her he had to 'him so frankly of iter lova--Izow slit' ing site was w•ef1 :tad not ton �ei • . She loved him, how she had waited tor hitt, must be sure to let him know of she how she heel kept her heart and her were dull, and be signed the letter, love untouched for him; how, if he had "from your affectionate husband." Tie died, she would never bare married, hat would have lived all alone for his sake, Could it be possible that she loved him so well? Tbe lovely, half -drowned eyee raised to his, the sweet lips half trembling, halt smiling; he coned think of nothing (To be oesitlnued.) rise• -the toualt of those little white hands was with him still, How .fair', how pure, and how tender t►.,. `"'` ..- ^w , v.., . - -, was hhia "'�' - Whi ti's In a Name/ In an article on Indian names Mr. Frank Terry comments on the odd ffeer produced by giving rein to this fancy for distinguished appellations in the re- naming of Indians. Often their native names are unpronounceable and the translations long andnot in accordance with our ideas of what is pleasing. So, instead of simply turning Bear -Sits - Down or Mule -Kicks -Up or Jumping Rabbit into English, the Indian is re- named entixely, and is given the first famous name that comes to mind. "William Perin, Fitz-Hugh Lee, Da- vid B. Hill and William Shakespeare,' says Mr Terry. "are policemen at the Shoshone agency. Wyoming. Only a short while ago it was reported that on an Indian reservation in New ]Mexico William Breckinridge arrested John G Carlisle for being drunk and disorder. ly. "It would no doubt surprise the read- er of this should I say that I have seen George Washington, John Quincy Adams, Franklin Pierce, Rip Van Winkle, Allen G Thurman and Hilary Herbert engaged together in a game of ebinney Yet this interesting spectacle I havegazed upon, and I have been the enforced witness to a severe spanking administered to "lames G. Blaine." - Youth's Companion. could not collect his thoughts; he could not realize what had passed, Lady May, his proud, fair young love, had been with him -Lady May, whom he had worshipped as men of old wow shipped the sun and the stars -Lady May, May, who would never relax her dig- nity, who would never lay aside her grade, whe had been so coy, so shy, eo reserved, that he feared often she did eat love him. She had been with him, her fair arms clasped round his neck:.; She had knelt at his feet; she bad lifted ue her pure, fair face to kiss bins -hie hands burned wbere those sweet lips bad touched them; and she bad talked arz,v*d in .pn,,,,tnd safe and wen, ho folded, sealed, and directed it, That duly done, it would be eo much easier to write to Lady May. He tried it-- hcw cold the words looked en pauper. Mutt was he to ■ayt sweet young love of '• been more ..ts she bad never pest#t WO wabitehing than it her pretty t`heeeese iand pretty tears, Ile ]tad aget t most probable that she had 'tarried; instead of that, elle had been waiting for him -keeping her love and her beam for him. He had thought. that he might not see her again, She had been living only to see hint. He had thought that if he met her he could pass her by with a cold, careless glance, or say, eoretese words; instead of that, his darling had been kneeling at his feet, speaking tender words to ltkm, earessing hint atter her own pure, sweet fashion. IIow he had misjudged her: Why, all her pride and her coldness had given way before Iter love. If she were proud then he knew not what pride meant. Who so sweet, so gracious. so loving, so kind? How wrongly he had judged her! Was it a dream, or a reality? How many long months had he spent in dreary despair; never caring for the sun. to rise or set, weary of his life. caring, for nothing, because he had lost Lady May; and all this time site was longing for him with a love as great as his own. Was it a dream? Should be wake up presently and find himself among the vines at Seville? Was it pee: able' tibet all his anguish and misery had been for nothing? Heaven bless her! haw beau- tiful she was; there was no other wo- man like her in the wide world -none! Heaven bless heel she had grown fairer and sweeter. What a madman he' had been! If only on the evening of that fatal play he had been more patient. She was too young, so beautiful so admired, no wonder elle was impatient of control. Every one flattered her, indulged her, spoiled her; no wonder that she die• liked his scolding and imperative mea- ner. If he had been less jeaioue, less angry -if he had only gone on the moaning afterward and asked her to forgive his jealousy. After all, he had so little cause for it; she had eared nothing for the Duke of Itoseca.r'n; why could not be, Sir Clinton, have been more .indulgent? What real harm was there. after a]1, in the private thea- tricals? Not one-quarter so much au ttere was in his own jealousy, with its terrible consequences. IIow more than foolish he had been to let such trifles anger him so deeply. He hated himself with a fierce hatred when he thought of what he bad done. The cli- max to his folly had been his marriage with Daisy -the marriage contracted without love, simply from pity. because a pretty girl said she was dying over him. How foolish it had all been. to maaay her, when he cared nothing foe her, when his whole heart, mind and soul were given to another. "I have put the climax to my folly," he thought, "in coming back again; yet my return has disclosed the truth abrxat her --I know that she really loved me. All would be well with him, would be right, but for this most foolish mar• riage of his. Poor, pretty Daisy! at the best he had only felt a kindly affection for her, a toleration, born of her kind- ness and love for him. Now that she was the obstacle, the barrier between himself and his love, he felt something more akin to dislike to her. Poor, pretty, shnple Daisy! Alas! why had she chosen to fall in love with him, and why had he been so mad as to marry hem? He looked at the sleepy trees, they gave him no counsel; he looked nit the pale, pure stars, they said mach to bdm -they said he must do his duty, come what might, and, without loss of time, he must tel] Lady May that he was married. What would she think of it? He shuddered with terrible pain, his heart grew sick and faint within hien; yet he knew that, above all, she would resent the fact that he had not told her et once -that he had allowed her to open her heart to him, knowing all the time that he was a married man; s!he would 'resent that fact more bitterly than, the fact of his marriage. How could he tell her? He pictared her as he should see her, with all hes love shining in her face, sweetest wel- come shining is her eyes, bee white hands outstretched in. kindliest greeting -tall, fair, slender, like a white lily - bud. She would ase kind weeds to him, amcl there, he standing before her, must tell heir that lie was married, must dash the sunlight and happiness from her, must see the lace and the joy frozen in her sweet eyes, the smile die en leer tips; he must slay her more cruelly than Jeph,tha slew his daughter he 'After long years of sorrow and point The arms of my true love are round me again.' "' "Yes," he said, "that Is right." "One never feels the truth and beauty of poetry until one has loved and suf- fered," said Lady May; "but the suf- fering is all over for us, Clinton -only the love remains." "May," he began the third time, end the cab stopped. "We are at Cliffe House," she said; I am disposed to think we have come by steam." "I mast tell her to -morrow," he thought to himself. "My darling, she will have one night of happiness. I could not hare borne to have killed ail her innocent Toy so soon. To -morrow - 1 wal1 tell her to -morrow. Oh, dreary clay!" She was holding out ber hand to him with a sweet smile on her lovely face. "Good -night, my love, good -night," she said. And he never knew what he auawer Lizards That Grow New Eyes. The tuatara lizard of New Zealand is said to be one of the most ancient forms of animal life now existing. It original- ly possessed four eyes, but now has to be contented with but two. It lays eggs, and these take no less than 13 months to hatch out, the embryos passing the winter in a state of hibernation. These remarkable animals are found only in one or two places in the colony. and they are rapidly becoming scarce, as collectors from every part of the world are continually on their track. They are about 18 inches in length. and. like many of the lizards, are said to have the characteristic of being able to replace portions of their limbs. etc., which have been destroyed. One owned by Mr. Carl Hanser of Awanni had the misfortune to lose an eye some time ago, and now a complete new eye, as perfect se the undamaged one. has grown in the place of that lost. While the eye was developing the lizard seemed to be no more inconven- ienced than a human being is in the growing of finger nails or hair. Trying It on the Dog. Lamson lives on the South Side. Car- ter, his arch enemy. lives next door. Trouble has been brewing, and Lamson was aching to give Carter a "piece of Hs mind. when he soddenly conceived a brilliant idea. He bought a cheap dog of question. rble breed and named him Carter. Whenever Mr Carter was outside his house, Lamson would let his dog out, end standing on his doorstep he would fire the following or similar soulful talk at the canine "Carter. yon are a cur. Your mother ha" the mange. I am going to kick the etnffin out of you. you miserable thing. If yon were not so hungry looking, 1 would kill you. Yon ain't even good enoughfor sausage meat, yon lopsided. cheap, good, for nothing, " etc. The neighbors wonder why Mr, Car- ter does not have Mr Lamson arrested, but Mr Carter bas discovered the base plot and will move next week. --Chica- go Journal ICE REFRIGERATION. 'Flow to Secure the Best Results at Least Cost.. Some 17 years ago, writes George H. Garter of Illinois, 11. 13. Gnrler and myself built our first creamery and re- frigerator, We thought it sufficient to partly surround a tightly closed room with ice, so on one side of our icehouse the made a room about 12 by 18 and 8 feet high and packed the ice on one side and overhead when we filled the house. When warm weather tame, the sides and ceiling began to gather moisture, and the room was wet and damp. The ice. too. melted rapidly, and the whole thing, was unsasrsiactory. Some years later we thought we could improve this room by creating a circu- lation of air. .This we did by putting the ice in the top of the room and al- lowing the hot air to pass around the ice and become cooled, By later experi- ence I am satisfied that our idea of cre- ating a circulation was all right, but our way of doing it was not. As a type of a later and better re- frigerator it might be well to describe one I recently built. This room is al)* proximately 8 by 12 and 8 feet high, made of three thicknesses of matched lumber and building paper laid in such shape as to leave two air spaces 13 inches wide around the sides and top. The door into the butter room is mac the same way d;td AJngea like the door hi a cafe, One window with double sashes and blinds admits what light is necessary, In one side of this room is built the box or rack for the ice. It is 8 feet long by 3 feet wide and extends from the ceiling to within 134 feet of the floor. The bottom is trade of 2 by 6 set edge- wise two inches apart and capable of easily supporting the 10 to 15 cakes of ice the rack is designed to holdThe drip from the ice is carried off by a tin conductor under the 2 by 6. The sides and ends of the box are boarded up to within six inches of the ceiling, which space is keit open, one side of this rack being also the side of the building. The ice is easily put in through a small closely fitting door. I think a better circulation is obtain- ed and less ice used by having the ice near the floor as in the above room, the cold, heavy air passing from around the ice to the floor and the warm, light air being forced from the top of the room through the space at the top of the ice rack and in turn becoming cooled. This room is as dry and sweet as any room in the building, and no particle of moisture or dampness gathers either on the sides of the room or on the tubs of butter. I need from 40 to 50 tons of ice in this refrigerator last season and had as high as 85 to 90 tubs per week in it. The temperature was low enough throughout the summer to keep the but- ter in good shape. I think an average of 50 degrees F. would not be unreason- able. Where the Crabs Come In. When a school of menhaden make their way into a bay, they may stay for days swimming around in one re- gion. Larger fishes, including perhaps some sharks, feed upon them there. From such feeding there are more or less fragments that sink down through the water, and the various crabs and other crustaceans come scuttling from all parts of the bay to get them. It may be that the tide carries some of the litter about, or perhaps the crabs and other creatures smell It, as bluefish scent the bait that is used in chute- :ming. humming. but when a school of menhaden are preyed upon at the surface all the crabs in the bay congregate on the mod below to catch the crumbs that fait. •« New Holstein -Friesian Record. Professor F. W. Wall of the Wiscon- sin experiment station reports in Hoard's Dairyman a new Holstein -Frie- sian record, made by Duchess of Orms- by, H. F. H. B., 16004, owned by W, H. Jones of Hnstis£ord, Wis. She tested on the morning of Jan. 3, this year, 6.3 per cent, and gave a large mess of milk at that -viz, 18 pounds. At noon the same day she gave 15.5 pounds of milk 7a' DUCHESS OF ORMSBY. testing 5.2 per cent, and in the evening 17.2 pounds testing 5.6 per cent. Yield for the day, 50.? pounds of milk and 2.90 pounds of fat, average per cent of fat in full day's milk, 5.78 per cent. She was entered for competition in the "officially authenticated batter tests," of the Holstein -Friesian association, and was tested during a seven day period, Jan. 3-9 inclusive, by Charles A. Nicho- las, as representative of this experiment station. Bacteria In Milk. Bacteria in milk, which either favor- ably or unfavorably affects it and its products, is the lowest form of vegeta- ble life. The milk can is a good deal like the farmer's field with respect to vegetable growth. Every farmer knows that unless he takes very good care of his fields they will be filled with weeds that not only possess no value of their own, bat are seriously injurious to those forms of vegetable life that are useful. Similarly bacterial vegetation exploits itself in the milk can. Unless you take care of the milk can those forms corresponding to the weeds -that is, the hurtful kind -will multiply im- mensely and destroy the usefulness of the milk and of Cu helpful kind of veg- etation in it, whereas those that are helpful to the milk and its products must be carefully cultivated and the hurtful kind kept out. Cost of Keeping a Cow. The daily maintenance of a cow va- ries from 16 cents a day in New York and the New England states to 4 cents a day in, Colorado and Nebraska. As the dairy business advances toward a condi- tion of the survival of the fittest the western states have supreme advantages for cheap production. But where alfalfa farming is so easy it is not difficult to see where we have the cinch in the ]nation of economy. -Denver Fie]yi ]'FIE SUNDAY SCHOOL. t ESSON VI, SECOND QUARTER, INTER- NATIONAL SERIES, MAY 7. Text of the Lesson, John xv, 1-11. Memory Verses, 6-8—Golden Text, John xv, 5 -Commentary Prepared by the Rev. D. M. Stearns. [Copyright, 1899. by D. M. Stearns.] 1. "I am the true vine, and My Father is the husbandman." The principal thought of this part of His discourse seems' to be that of bearing fruit to the glory of God. In verso 16 Re says that He chose and ordained them that they should bring forth fruit that should abide. In Rom. vii, 4, we aro said to be married to the Lord to bring forth fruit unto God, In John iv, 86, He spoke of. fruit unto We eternal, In Rom, vi, 22, it is fruit unto holiness. The true vine is in contrast to Israel, which was the vineyard of the Lord of Hosts, but though planted a noble vine became turned into the degenerate plant of a strange vine unto the Lord (Isa. v, 7; Jer, it, 21). 2. "Every branch in Me that beareth not fruit He taketh away, and eyery branch that beareth fruit Ho purgeth it, that it may bring forth morefruit." These words were spoken to eleven true disciples whom He had already taught that they could never perish and no power could piucke them out of His hand (John x, 27-29), so that we must not seek, to find hero any reference to the possible loss of the soul. It is wholly a question of fruit bearing or otherwise, and the husband - man's treatment of the fruitful and un- fruitful branches, 8. "Now ye are clean through the word wui,th idea:a spoken unto you," Ho had told them in chapter a; ,c, 10, that they were clean every whit, thus dw;.ribing their standing in Him, accepted in the wit loved (nigh. 1, 6). But He also referred to a need of constant cleansing in daily life because of contact with the world. This is spoken of also in chapter aril, 17, and Epb. v, 26. There is a sanctification that 'a ours by the one offering of Christ once for all, and all who aro justified aro also sanctified (Heb. x, 10, 14; I Cor. vi, 11). 4. "Abide in Ate and I in you. As the branch menet bear fruit of itself except it abide he the vine, no more eau yo ex- cept ye abide in Me."Ilos. viii, 9; xiv, 8, Ho says, "In Me is thine help; from Me is thy fruit found;" in Isa, xlv, 24; xxvl, 12: "In the Lord have I right- eousness and strength. Thou also hast wrought all our works far us." Every- where the teaching is that we have the treasure in earthen vessels that the excel- lency of the power may bo of God and not of us (II Cor. iv, 7). How, then, shall we abide? Hudson Taylor says that be made great efforts to abide until he saw that it needed weakness and not strength to abide. 6. "I am the vine; yo are the branches He that abideth iu Ale and I in him, the same bringetle forth much fruit, for with- out Mo ye can do nothing." Tho margin says "severed from Mo." Yet many try to do much that they call good apart from Him. But He says it is all nothing. It may bo a great nothing or a small noth- ing, but unless Ho does it through us it will bo only wood, hay and stubble to be burned up and result in nothing but loss, Is it not wonderful to consider that the vine makes itself dependent upon the branches to bear fruit? Grapes are never gathered from the main stem of the vine, but always from the branches, new growth. 6. "If a man abide not in Me, he is cast forth as a branch and is withered, and men gather them and cast them into the fire, and they aro burned" This helps to explain the first clause of verse 2. The branches that do not boar aro like the salt that bas lost its savor and is trodden un- der foot of man (Nath. v, 13), 7. "If ye libido in Me and My words. abide in you, yo shall ask, what ye will, and it shall be done unto you." This is about the seine as chapter xiv, 13, 14, and includes the thought of being about His business and seeking only His glory. Abiding in Him includes our weakness •yielded to His strength, His strength made perfect in our weakness, His life made manifest by Isis Spixit in us. The Spirit works through and by the word. 8. "Herein is My Fatherglorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall yo be My dis- ciples." In chapter viii, 81, He saki, "ll ye continue in My word, then are ye My disciples indeed." The word in us will cause us to continue u , in His word, and be, the word and the Spirit we shall be filled with the fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus Christ unto the glory and praise of God (Phil. i, 11). The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long suffering, gentle- ness, goodness, faith, meekness, temper - mace (Gal, v, 22), and whatever God does with us or wherever He places us we may be sure that His desire is to have us bear more fruit. 9. `'As the Father hath loved Me, so have I loved you; condone ye in My love." We must persistently believe that He loves us with an unchanging love, an evorlasb ing love, a TOve that brought Him from heaven to earth for us, a love that spared not Himself and will therefore with Him- self freely give us all things (.ler. xxxi, 8;. Rom. viii, 32). We must ever believe. Thi Son of God loved me and gave Himself for me (Gal. ii, 20), and In all our service the thought of our hearts should be "Unto Him who loved me (lovcth me) and washed in:: from my sins in Hisown blood" (Rev- 5101 Rey 1, 5). 10. "If ye keep My commandments, ye shall abide in My love, even as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in His lova" Ho did always those things that pleased the Father (chapter viii, 29). • But how can WO be in any measure thins pleasing unto Him? The answer is found in such passages as II Cor. va, 16, "God hath said, I will dwell in them and walk in them," and Hob. xlii, 2o, 21, "The God of peace working in yon that which, is well pleasing in His sight through Jesus Christ. " if you ask how it is to be done, what is our part, the answer is in Roue. vi, 13; xis, 1: "Yield yourselves onto God, as those that are alive from the dead. t Present your bodies a living sacriflee'and! bo not conformed to this world." 11. ''These things have I spoken unto you that My joy might remain in you and that your joy might be full." Compare xiv, 25; xvi, 1, 33, and see how He would have us also never offended, but finding peace in Him even in tribulation. The re- inaining verses of this chapter teach us that we must not expect better treatment, than He received, but in all that people do to us or say of us we may have His peace and joy, which was not dependent upon feelings or circumstances, but was found' in Rio, oneness with the Father and the consciousness of His approval. We may learn to say, "Though flocks and herds, vine, olive and fig tree all fail, yet 1 will , rejoice in`the Lord; I will joy in the Gad air salvation" (Iiab. Ili, 16).