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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.