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i The Anarchists of the
Caucasus Oil* Fields
By H. IV. Afevinson.
S T other’s Armenians they fighting employed. fields “Social hope is not boast. of from destruction—with Democrats,” groups only securing time Asa into Besides the organized rule, to hostile popular unending time, or this they “Anarchist and armies batteries central among take favor, feud are some the which constantly feud, and that of Communists,” political workmen quick-firing in divides there devastate preparing are title, Tartars and numerous guns, the such in the their each and the oil¬ un¬ as as
some cases
origin may have been political and their aims may still be revolutionary.
But their methods are so simple and so lucrative that perhaps it would be
a mistake to attribute the zeal of all their members entirely to enthusiasm
for social reform. The manager of an oil-field receives a letter briefly ad¬
dressing him as "Parasite!” It bears the stamp of a group, and it demands
a definite sum of money on pain of death. At an hour mentioned, the agents
of the group eail, and the manager almost invariably pays, entering the sum
in his ledger under the heading “office expenses.” If he refuses to pay, he
is quite sure to be shot, stabbed, or disembowelled within a day or two. If
he attempts to betray the agents, all his family share his fate.
This pursuit of wealth on a basis ot' murder is conducted with such
businesslike accuracy that the manager in due course receives a stamped
balance-sheet showing the expenditure of his contribution.’ The items en¬
tered in the cash account are generally the purchase of arms and an assas¬
sination, ubt no vouchers are possible in such cases, and it is generally sup¬
posed that champagne and other carnal delights ought to figure in the outlay.
I am not sure whether such charges as to the misappropriation of involuntary
contributions are true or not, but where money is so easily obtained the temp¬
tation must be considerable. In self-protc-etion most of the richer managers
and owners have mustered gangs of hired assassins, each of whom is pledged
to murder at least one person named, if anything happens to his employer.
Some go further, and publish in the morning papers the names and addresses
of those who will be immediately slain if they are murdered themselves, and
such advertisements give a new and varied interest to the local “agony col¬
umn.”—Harper’s Magazine.
V?
• • The • • £
k Place for Business Cares
By H. J. Hap good.
d! ON’T carry your office In your hat, and if you do, take your
hat off in the house. The man who brings his business
! of home the with demon him called is apt Worry. to find He himself will worry the inescapable and fret through victim
his meals, and is liable to suffer from the disagreeable habit
* of lying awake at night. His wife and children—if there be
! any children in the world unfortunate enough to have snch
a father—will find him more and more of a bore every day.
If a man carries his business in his hat when he goes
to the club Ills friends will soon steer clear of him. He will find himeslf
lunching alone, with no companions other than his papers and memoranda.
To say the least, such companions by no means aid digestion. Business is
a poor partner for a man’s leisure hours.
You will see this workaday-all-the-time-man in the theatre scratching busi¬
ness memoranda on the back of his program, or figuring up his bad accounts
on the table-cloth in a public restaurant. He will be dragged off to the
country by his family, who fully determine he shall have two weeks’ vacation.
He no more than gets off the train than he seeks a long distance telephone
station and calls up the office. He spends the evening writing letters to his
employes, and telling them a thousand and one things to do which they
would have brains enough to do anyway. The next day he sends a couple of
telegrams, and calls up the office again. The third day, afraid that the busi¬
ness by this time has gone to smash, he takes the first train to the city.
There is no rest for such a man. Just so long as lie carries his office
in his hat he will keep his hat on all the time, and the cares of his business
press heavily on Ills mind. Some one ought to search him body and soul
when he leaves his office every night, and snatch from him every detail of
business worry.
*
The Minister
and v
1
The Bankei
By die Tleo. William E. Barton, of the Oak Park
(III.) Congregational Church
UDGED by commercial standards, these two men have little
Z enough in common. They appear in different columns, if at
J all, in the lists of Dun and Bradstreet. And it would be idle
c to deny that the contrast goes further. Yet each is, in a
^ priest. For has not every noticed that solem
+ way, a one
* nity, that sense of awe and mystery, with which men enter
^ ^ bank? It is if they said: “We standing in the
«a as are
outer court of the temple of the great god, money. Behind
this curtain of iron bars and plate glass and mahogany are
those who receive our offerings, and lay them on his altar, and who deign to
intercede with him for measured blessing in answer to our prayers and col
lateral.” Bankers and ministers have very much in common. They stand
apart from all other professions as representing public confidence. If a bank
fails it shakes public confidence more than if a dry-goods firm assigns, the
amount of liaiblities being equal. If a minister goes wrong it shakes public
confidence as the fall of a lawyer or doctor does not! In the world of com¬
merce the banker .represents what the minister stands for in the realm of
ethics, Each is the exponent of an ideal, and each either exalts or degrades
that ideal. The banker who has held other men to strict account in the mat
ter of their financial obligations, the minister who proclaims honesty and
virtue and spirituality, have need to tremble lest, having preached to others,
they themselves should become castaways.
Just Filler.
• i What did you mean by this poem?”
inquired a delegation of admirers.
“I didn’t mean anything,” answered
the great poet, frankly. ”1 wrote that
poem for a monthly magazine. I did
not expect it to be published in a
book collection.”—Louisville Courier
Journal-.
Government experts are investi¬
gating seaweed with the object of de¬
termining its economic value.
Everything Else.
Yeast—Have you ever seen the sun
come up at sea?
Crimsonbeak—No; hut I guess I’ve
seen everything else come up! —
Yonkers Statesman.
Sinqe its establishment the Depagt
ment tinted of Agriculture has cost the
States more than $200,000,000.
It has given employment at different
.tp,t5S,000 experts and profess
issued 17,675 publications.
it ••
— ‘ » **
... .
THE DUKELET.
“Who are those people on the shore.
Implored the duke’s fair bride;
little _
“My creditors, my creditors,” the
duke replied. sad.
“What makes you look so sad, brtde;^ so
Implored the duke’s fair the
“I’m dreadin' what J’-e got to face,
little duke replied. 'em, and
“For my tailor’s there among
he'll clamor for his hundred pay; and nis
My hatter weighs two
fist is hard, they say; things . before .___
1 wish had settled .
your pa
we sailed away, me at „
For they’ll all be jumpin' on
the landin'!”
“What makes them have that hungry
look?” implored the duke s youn e
“They’ve bride; they’ve waited
waited long, replied.
long,” the little duke shake his
“What makes that tall man duke _ young
fist?” implored the s
"He wants’his cash, he wants his cash,
the little duke replied; 'l purchased
“He’s the man from whom
the engagement ring you wear,
For I told him that your father was a
He’s multimillionaire; Samson was
as strong, they say, hair, as
before he lost his when
And I’m dreadin’ what’ll happen
we’re landing!”
What makes the crowd increase so
fast?” implored the duke s sweet
* bride; creditors,” the
4 More creditors, more
trembling duke replied. rude, rude?”
“Why do they seem so sweet so l.. briae; ..
implored the duke's canaille, the
“Because, alas, duke they replied; are
trembling make the
“Your pa was cruel hard to
dot he gave so small, d have
If I should settle witli them we
nothin’ left at all; gangw-ay—try to
Address 'em from the
stand ’em off till fall—
Or they’ll do tilings that may shock
us at the landin’!” Record-Herald.
Chicago
AA:A&:AiA. ^ A ^A’Aa
AN INTERLUDE.
By R. RAMSAY.
Love for an hour or a day, sir,
Will do for a girl of Japan.
Elizabeth had been humming the
half-bitter song that never would
suit her voice. (Only a gay thing like
Kitty Marshall could imitate the flip¬
pant way that was the right way to
sing it.) Breaking across its refrain
she heard a sudden clatter of horse’s
hoofs.
She listened a minute, while the
pages fluttered down from the piano
and the song died on her lips. A slight
color tinted her pale, handsome face
as she walked to the window, and,
leaning her arms on the sill, looked
down, smiling.
/‘Bobby,” she called.
He tried to smile, riding past in a
desperate hurry; but she saw the fury
in his face. In another minute he
had burst into the room as if shot
from a catapult—las way. There was
no ringing of bells with Bobby. He
and Miss Lancaster had known each
other all tlielr lives, and he came to
her as he would to an elder sister in
all his straits ana rages.
“What’s the matter?” she asked,
holding out her hands to be shaken.
“Another quarrel?'
He rushed at her and squeezed them
tightly.
“It’s all over!” he cried.
<< Tell me about it,” she said compas¬
sionately, but hardly startled. It was
not the first time Elizabeth had had
to patch up a quarrel between Bobby
and the girl on whom he had fixed
his fancy. After half-an-hour’s com¬
forting he would ride back to make it
up. . .At least, that was what had
always happened until tonight.
“She’s such a baby,” he cried, plung¬
ing into the heart of things. “I can’t
make her understand—I can’t make
her see—No, Elizabeth, it’s no good
saying it’s half my fault”
“All your fault, Bobby,” she inter¬
rupted, mildly.
“That’s your kind-heartedness, but
if you saw her—if you only heard her!
It’s enough to drive a fellow mad.
So I said I wouldn t stand it. And so
she said, as we couldn’t agree, hadn’t
we better part—and—and-” He was
beginning to stammer.
“My poor boy,” said Elizabeth, “she
did not mean it.”
“Well, I told her it was the only
wise thing she had said since we had
been engaged. And then she laughed.
And I said, ‘What are you laughing
at?’ And she saiu, ‘At you.’ ”
He broke off, almost choking with
anger, and there was a solemn pause.
A hush had fallen over all the garden,
and the last bird was singing painfully
in the trees. Elizabeth smiled half
sadly, half tenderly, there was nothing
in all the world as motherly as her
face.
“Don’t, Bobby, don’t” she said, lay¬
ing her hand on his. He started.
“Don’t what?" he asked, hoarsely.
He had been staring at the floor, but
now he lifted his eyes to hers, hot, ex
cited and very -oung. (He was three
IT, bUl *
had learned liaise, tilings , and he
would be a boy to the very end, as she
knew). “Do you think I mind? It
was an awful mistake, and I’m a con
foundedly lucky fellow to have got out
of it in time. Because—”
He caught her hands again impul
sively, and gazed right into her eyes.
“Because I’ve found out that I was
a fool, Elizabeth—you’re the dearest
soul in all the world—and you can’t be
angary. You’ve forgiven me so-much;
all my life you’ve had to a»d
forgive'toe things. You’ll forgiv^ ^me’ j
that? I know it’s confounded cheek,
but I will say it—It was just a ridicu¬
lous fancy I had for Kitty, I know
now it was you I loved all the time.’’
Elizabeth grew suddenly white as
death. The quaint, old-maidenly.
motherly air forsook her, and left her
undefended.
“I’m sure of it,” he went on eagerly.
"But just because it’s been always so,
I didn’t understand, That was why I
couldn’t agree with her. There was
something wanting, something wrong
—always—always! And 1 was a blind
ass and did not guess! M
“Don’t be so rash,” sha said, with a
little sad smile of yearning; but, alas!
it was hard to be prudent while her
heart beat so fast. Her voice, un
steady, pleading, took cn a quick ring
of triumph.
“Why, Elizabeth—jou—you—it’s in
your eyes!”
He flung his arms around her pas¬
sionately, and she felt the clasp tight¬
en until his heart neat wildly against
her cheek. Her eyes weer shut under
strange hot kisses, and for a little
while she was dumb.
“Bobby, are you mad?” she mur¬
mured at last, breathlessly, lying up¬
on his breast.
“Mad? he cried, “1 was mad, my
darling. When I mink how dear and
kind.you’ve always been, comforting,
helping me all my life—my dearest,
my guardian angel—1 can’t imagine
how I could ever dream—oh, you don’t
know what a heavenly rest it is to find
out that. I’m in love with you!”
“My boy—my boy!” she said, wist¬
fully, looking up in his face. Her
eyes were dim with tears and fear and
wonder.
“I’ll go to your father at once,” he
said, stammering. "Elizabeth, do you
hear? I’m going to—to—to tell him.
I want all the world to know that I’m
yours, and you are mine. . . I want
them all to see”—
“No,” she said. “Don’t go tonight.
Perhaps—tomorrow.”
“Why,” heaskedimpatiently; and she
tried to smile bravely up at his eager
face. He believed that he loved her
then. . . . All, yes, he believed it.
Dared she not—
“I want to keep it to myself, to¬
night,” she said. “Ah, my dearest, you
don’t know—you can’t guess what it
means to me. Have patience, and let
me have it to dream tonight with all
but myself shut out.”
He laughed, unwillingly giving in to
her whim; ana she pushed back the
hair from his hot forehead. He was
hardly able to undertake a solemn
palaver with Mr. Lancaster (who was
a J. P., and gruff) in the present whirl
of his brain.
“Well, I’ll ride over tomorrow morn¬
ing—with the—witli the early bird,” he
said gayly. “Elizabeth, will you be
awake? I’ll be up with the lark to
come and claim you.”
They looked into each other’s eyes—
he with gallant laughter, and she all
wistful.
“Good-by,” she said.
“Good night, you mean, It’s never
to be good-by.”
“Kiss me, then, Bobby, and say good
night.”
She went with him to the door, and j
watched him ride away under the
darkened trees. Her eyes were dazed
with happiness, but the wild flush was
already , ... dying . , her cheek—lading , , . .. . .
in in
to its haughty pallor.
On (he stair she met her mother,
and paused to let her pass. Mrs. Lan
cester looked her her curiously.
“Has anybody—Elizabeth, who has
been here?”
Elizabeth saw the sharp glance at
her transfigured face.
“Only Bobby.”
And then she reached her own room
and fell cn her knees, hardly praying—
what dared she ask?—her heart filled
with the rash happiness that had come
to her. It was all hers for one night,
at least, and she would go to sleep
with his kiss burning on her cheek.
Bobby did not come in the morning.
The day after there came a letter,
impulsive, boyish, and—like him.
Dear, dear Elizabeth—You were
right—you are always right! I find it
was -all my fault and my poor little
girl was not to blame. I can’t think
how I could have been such a brute.
But she has forgiven me, though I
don’t deserve it—and it’s to be in Sep¬
tember, because when we’re married
we can’t possibly quarrel like that, you
know. And, she says, will you be a
bridesmaid? I was quite off my head
last night. How you must have
laughed at me! But I’ll never forget
your kindness, my guardian angel.
She says the bridesmaids are to be
dressed in pink-
“His guardian angel!” said Eliza¬
beth, with a bitter smile. “I wonder
he does not ask me to be his sister!”
Alas and again alas!— New York
EVe “ lnS
—___
.
Fretful Dad.
“This son of mine is always up to
something.”
“Boys will be toys.”
“I wouldn’t object to that. But he
wants to take a female part in a col- ‘
lege play.”—Kansas City Journal.
----
“Hair cut, French or English style,
6 cents. Franco-Britisli style, a great
success, same price,,” says a notice ex¬
hibited by a Shepherd’s,..Bush- •{■LOh-, 1
don) barber. *
Stinbatj-^cfeof
INTERNATIONAL LESSON COM.
MENTS FOR SEPTEMBER 13.
Subject: David Made King Over J„.
dali and Israel, 2 Sam. 0.1 -
5:1-3—Golden Text, 2 Sam. .”:io
—Commit 2 Sam. 5:4, 5.
TIME.—1055-104S B. C. PLACE.
—Hebron.
EXPOSITION. I. David Anointed
King Over Judah in Hebron, l-4a.
David at this period of his life seems
to have taken every step in simple de¬
pendence upon the guidance of the
Lord (cf. ch. 5:19-23; 1 Sam. 23:”
4, 9, 12; 30: 7, S), and thus he made
nc false steps. 1-Ie obtained God’s
guidance by asking for it (cf. Ja?
1:5,7). He trusted in the Lord with
all his heart, and leaned not to his
own understanding, in all his ways he
acknowledged the Lord, and He di¬
rected his paths (cf. Prov. 3:5, 0)
Doubtless the mind qf the Lord was
ascertained by consulting the Grim
(cf. Nu. 27-21; Ex. 28:30, R. y.
marg.;1 Sam. 23:2-4, 9-12). No one
knows just how the stones in the
breastplate mad.e known the mind of
God, and it is useless to speculate
about it. We have in these days a
better way to find the mind of God,
by the written W r ord and by the
guidance of the living Snirit. of Cod
(Isa. 8:20; Ps. 119: 105-130; Acts
8:29; 16:6, 7). The name of the
city to which God bade him go up is
significant, for Hebron means fellow¬
ship, and David began his conquest
of the land in fellowship with God.
That is where we must all first go.
if we wish to enter upon a life of con¬
stant victory. Many of us are not
conquerors as David was simply be¬
cause we have never gone up to
Hebron. It was in this city that
David was first anointed king of Ju¬
dah (v. 4), and afterwards king of all
| Israel. The one who would enter
upon a life of kingly authority and
power must go up to Hebron (Jno.
15:4-16). David did just as the Lord
directed him. He did not go alone,
but took his wives with him. They
had been partners in his rejection and
persecutions, and now were to be
partners in his glory. Just so those
who have shared with Jesus Christ in
His rejections and sufferings "shall
share with Him in His glory (cf. Lu.
22:28, 29; 2 Tim. 2:12; Ro. 8:17,
IS). Of course, it was not right for
David to have two wives, not accord¬
ing to God’s original ordinance con¬
cerning marriage (Gen. 2:24; Matt.
19:4-9), hut we must in justice to
David remember that there was not
the clear light in his day upon this
subject that there is in our day. Men
must be judged by the light that they
possess. At this point in his career
David was seeking to serve God with
a whole heart. All types are neces
sarily imperfect, especially types
where men are types of Christ, yet
the wives of David are types of the
church, the bride cf Christ (cf. Eph.
5:25-32), to at least this extent that
the church will share with Christ in
Plis reign just as she has shared with
Christ in His rejection (cf. Rev. 19:6
9). These who now came into power
with David had been in sore distress
before they came to David, “in dis¬
tress,” “in debt” and “bitterness of
soul” (1 Sam. 22:2, R. V., mar &• or ).
Those who now rally around Christ,
and who will hereafter enter into
glory with Him, are largely of the
same class, These men dwelt close
to David (cf. Jno. 14:3; 1 Thess.
4:17).
ii. David and the 3Ien of Jabeshi
gilead, 4b-7. The action of Davie
might seem piece of shrewd strat¬
egy, but everything points to absolute
sincerity in the matter on David’s
part (cf. ch. 1:13-16, 17-27; 4:5-12).
David in the greatness of his soul
really honored Saul as his rightful
sovereign (cf. 1 Sam. 24:4-8; 26:7-
11). His nobility of heart led him to
do the very thing that was the most
politic, There is no policy so wise as
that to which a generous heart
prompts a man. David wishes for
the men of Jabesh-gilead the high¬
est form cf prosperity, blessedness
from the Lord. They had shown
kindness unto Saul, and now Jehovah
would show “kindness and truth”
unto them. What we sow we also
reap. God treats us as we treat our
fellow-men (Matt. 5:7; 6:14,15; 7:1,
2; 2 Tim. 1:16-18)’. David did not
content himself with wishing that
Jehovah might reward their kind¬
ness, but he undertook to reward it
also. There are many whose generos¬
ity towards others exhausts itself in
pious wishes. As they had been
strong and valiant for Saul while he
lived, David expected them to be val¬
iant for him now that Saul was dead
and he had been anointed in Saul’s
stead.
III. David Anointed King Over
Israel in Hebron, ch. 5:1-5. After
seven years and a half of waiting, at
last the whole nation recognized
David as the divinely chosen king.
; !ley °ught have seen lon vVl 3 ‘
Swart A go"-s d X W “SU
David, they now recognized him as
their bone and flesh (v. 1), and the
one who had led them out and
brought them in to victory. Bette:
y et> they recognized him as the on
^hom Jehovah had appointed to fee.
ove/thJm. "israeHs rejeJung^ i
real David to-dav, but the time
coming when all Israel will recognize
Him (Zeeh. 12:9,. 10;. 13:1; Rom.
11:25, 26). The league they made
with David was before the Lord. The
only covenant that is of any real value
is the one that is made in the Lord’s
presence and for His glory.