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THERE'S NAE LAUD LIKE AULD SCOTLAND.
1); William Anderson, in the Scotsman.
There's nae land like lair Scotland,
Her vales 8ae bonnie, hills eae hie;
There's nae land like Auld Scotland?
The battlefield o' liberty.
A-vji iucic, ju uajo u jure, piuuu nume
First met a foe knew no retreat,
And fields o' Largs and Bannockburn
To freedom's foes brought sore defeat.
There's nae flowers like oor ain flowers.
The bonnie bluebell, waving free;
The primrose :.nd the buttercup,
And sweet wee daisies deck the lea.
And whaur's a flower sae bauld and Strang
As Scotia's thistle rears its head??
Ye loons wha ettle Scotland wrang
Ye daurna on her thistle tread!
There's nae sangs like auld Scotch sangs
To cheer the heart when we are sad?
To whisper true love's melting tale,
Or voice our joys when we are glad.
And want ye sangs to nerve the arm
And fire the soul that wad be free,
Then "Scots wha hae" and "Stirling Bridge"
Are trumpet tongues o' liberty! .
There's nae men like Scottish men,
In battle brave, in friendship true;
When duty, or when country calls,
"Aye ready!" they to dare and do.
And whaur's the lass is like oor ain?
The warld owre there's nane we ken
Sae bonnie, gude?sae fit to be
The wives and m'thers o' sic men!?Selected.
THE RETUKJN Ui RUPERT.
BY JAMES L. ELDERD1CE.
Outside the low-roofed farmhouse the snow
lay drifted in meadow and lane, and dark clouds
scudded aeioss the cold, gray skies; inside, by
the cheerful fireplace, hand clasped in hand, sat
an old cot pie, their faces aglow with the light
of love and contentment. Sometimes they would
rise and go to the window, peering through the
? :i.i. -- ? 1 /wvl.r All iluv Inner
puiiu W1L11 CUgCI, c.vpctlttlll luun, ^>11 - 0
tliey had watehed and waited for Rupert.
"Mother, our prayers, at last, are answered,
and at eventide we see the light."
"Twenty years and he but a lad when he left."
She took from the table a letter, the contents of
which she knew by heart. "And this the first
word we have heard from him, says that he will
be with us."
"But the best of it, mother, is the spirit of
repentance it breathes, telling of sorrow and
broken pride. Poor boy, so headstrong, so scornful
of counsel, recognizing no law but his own
will. Thank God that he has come to himself."
"I wonder how he looks?" Softly and tenderly
she stroked a little lock of hair which she
he'd in her hand. "But I forget." she laughed,
"that time has changed us, too. Do you think
that we, with our white heads, will appear
trange to him as lie will to us?"
Slowly the light of ami set faded from the western
skv. and twilight veiled the face of the hills,
lie had not come, hut still they waited, in silence
row. with a growing fear of disappointment that
flch vain'y tried to hide from the other. A
dark figure loomed at the garden gate, and she
ran to let him in. A tramp, only a tramp, who.
the light streamed out into the darkness,
nulled his hat down lower over his eyes, turned
1 * 1 * 11 - J 4 ? fA?.
up His ragged coai collar, auu iciifdicu n icn
steps into the shadows of the bushes that borlf?red
the walk.
He asked for a piece of bread, resolutely refusing
the invitation to enter and find shelter
from the cold.
"While they went within, the unkempt man
lifted his eyes and fea'ted them, not on the blazing
hearth fire, or the quaint furniture and homelike
things in the cheerful room, but on a porLi
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE S
leadings
? 6
i
trait that hung above the mantel?the open,
laughing face of a boy.
The old folks returned with food, and he hur
lied down the walk and out into the long, white
road.
"0 God!" he moaned, "I know I have wandered
far, but how far I never dreamed. What
madness possessed me to thrust myself into the
presence of parents whose names I have disgraced.
No, no, they must never know the truth.
Let them remember me as I saw them last, the
day I left them lonely on the farm."
Having satisfied his hunger, he wandered on
aimlessly until he reached the edge of the village,
half a mile away. As he paused for a moment
to look at a trim cottage, set back from the road.
a bevy of laughing girls trooped down the stejw.
One of them called back:
"Jennie, Jennie Armstrong, you are going
with us tomorrow. You needn't think because
you live alone that we are g<>ing to let you make
an old maid of yourself. No. not yet awhile. We
will call for you at three o'clock."
The door closed, but not before the tramp
had glimpsed a woman, whose cheek was dimpled,
and over whose face liuttered one lock of
wavy aubuin hair, bringing before him the picture
of a boy and girl racing wildly over the
meadows, or coasting down the hills, always together,
and always the bright curls tlying in the
wind.
u.l nnnin I Jnrtnin ! " J 4 4 * ' *
U vuuiv . uvumti iiu Uiuticicu, X llttVC iUSl
you, too! But 1 wish that you only knew that
all these years, for me, there has never been another.
And you?do you remember?"
.People were hurrying past him and crossing
the street to enter a hall, in front of which shone
a light from a lamp post. Prompted by curiosity,
he shuilled over. Some sort of a meeting was
in progress. He would slip in on the back seat
and lind warmth and rest for an hour, and then
out again into the wide world?where, he neither
knew nor cared. lie slipped in, unnoticed, he
thought. What was it they were singing?
"The long-lost son, with streaming eyes,
From folly just awake,
Reviews his wandering with surprise,
His heart begins to break."
Giving way to his emotions, he buried his face
in his hands, and, for the first time in many
years, gave vent to tears, that unrestrained
streamed down his face.
" I die no more for bread,' he cries,
Nor starve in foreign lands;
My father's house has large supplies,
And bounteous are his hands."
While the stranger listened, a keen-eyed man
was watching him. The services ended; he was
the first one out. and when the man on the back
at immediately appeared, he followed him a
few feet, then stenniner forward, laid hia hand
upon his arm and exclaimed, "Rupert!"
The tramp started and tried to shake off the
hand that restrained him, but it was no use. "Is
this the way to treat an old friend? Yes, you
have changed, but we have spent too many days
together, Rupert, for my eyes to be deceived.
I know you, old fellow, and I am glad to see
you.''
Rupert turned upon him fiercely. "No, Dick,
you don't know me! I have not been here to
O U T H [ February 28, 1912
night 1 And you never taw me 1 Do you under
stand!"
"They are waiting for you at the farmhouss,
comrade. The mother told me about it to-day."
"Yes, I know," in broken tones. "But don't
you see, it would never do for them to know?
r Have 1 not caused them unliappiness enough
wiiiiuui snocaing tnem witn my presence now?
They think that I have only been unfortunate in
business ventures. They shall never see me as a
beggar and a tramp."
"1 see," mused his friend. "You do not want
to blight their hopes of welcoming a decent-looking
son. But you are going home, a man, 'clothed'
and in your 'right mind,' to bring gladness
to the old folks at home, to make their hist days,
and yours, the best of your lives. Why, man,
you are going home! Think of running off, do
you, because you are ashamed to meet folks, eh?
1 know a trick worth two of that. Here, come
with me."
First they entered a barber shop, where the
shaggy hair was neatly trimmed, and the slubo.v
beard removed . Then Dick, taking his triend
111 his home, ellterpd thi? liaelr wnv an/1 u-itlmiil
disturbing his wife, who was in the front room,
slipped up the kitchen stairs, returning with u
complete suit of clothes and a stiff hat. In five
minutes the transformation was complete, and as
the astonished Rupert looked at the handsome
man who stood before him in the glass, he smiled,
and said, "Yes, old boy, your trick is worth two
of mine." A moment in thoughtful silence he
stood, and as the light of a newly-formed purpose
lit up his face, he added, "I will arise, and
go unto my father."
Ten o' clock. The gate latch clicked, firm footsteps
sounded on the walk, the door Hew open,
and two pairs of arms enfolded the long-lost son.
"Father, I am home again, on the old farm to
stay!" Joy at the old heartstone; joy in the
presence of the angels of God; and a little later,
joy in the heart of Jennie.?Ex.
BIBLE STORIES AS LITERATURE IN THE
SCHOOLS.
BY LAURA J. BRUCE.
There has been much controversy, at different
times, about the use of the Bible in the public
schools of our nation, and the action of the Supreme
Court of Illinois in deciding against it,
has called forth considerable discussion. The old
hue and cry has again been raised, "You are
teaching religion in the public schools." Why
not accuse us of teaching pagan religions because
our pupils study ancient mythology?
Therefore, ignoring the religious phase of the
question as something outside our province as
teachers, and viewing the matter from a secular
standpoint alone, we earnestly recommend the
teaching of Bible stories as literature in all the
grades and also in the high school.
Why not? They possess every requisite re
quired by the highest standard in classics. As
well discard Scott, Longfellow or Shakespeare.
A story, in order to recommend itself to youthful
readers, must, first of all, be interesting. Unless
the mental food given to children to digest is
palatable to them, it cannot be assimilated, and
my own observation and experience have taught
me that Bible stories possess, in a preeminent degree,
this peculiar fascination for children.
The most- precious memories of my childhood
cluster about them. How well I remember my
mother gathering the little ones of the household
about her on a quiet Sabbath afternoon, while she
poured into our willing ears story after story
from the Bible. Never shall I forget the simultaneous
effect upon me and my baby brother,
when, in relating the matchless story of Joseph,
she came to the climax, "And Jaco?> said, Now lot