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THE DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN MISSIONARY
is the Church in the United States organized for work-to fulfil the mission committed to it by its Lord and Master, Jesus Christ. If you are baptized you are a member of that Society. -The care of directing its operations is intrusted to a Board of Missions appointed by the General Convention.
These operations have extended until to-day more than 1,600 men and women-bishops, clergymen, physicians, teachers and nurses-are ministering to all sorts and conditions of men in our Missions in North and South America, Africa, China, Japan and the Islands.
The cost of the work which must be done during the current year will amount to $750,000, not including "Specials." To meet this the Society must depend on the offerings of its members.
ALL OFFERINGS should be sent to Mr. George C. Thomas, Treasurer, 281 Fourth Avenue, New York City. They will be acknowledged in THE SPIRIT OF MISSIONS.
MITE BOXES for families or individuals will be furnished on request.
THE SPIRIT OF MISSIONS tells of the MisPrice sion's progress and is fully illustrated. $1 per year.
THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN SOLDIER is the young people's paper, and ought to be in all the Sunday-schools. Weekly edition, 80 cents. Monthly edition, 10 cents.
OTHER PUBLICATIONS OF THE BOARD giving information in detail will be furnished for distribution free of cost, upon application. Copies of all publications will be supplied on request to "THE CORRESPONDING SECRETARY," 281 Fourth Avenue, New York City. ALL OTHER LETTERS should be addressed to "THE GENERAL SECRETARY," 281 Fourth Avenue, New York City.
Correspondence is invited.
A. S. LLOYD, General Secretary. LEGAL TITLE for use in making wills: "THE DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN MISSIONARY SOCIETY OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.'
"Old, poor, sick, cast out," is the lot of hundreds of clergymen. The pathos and distress of the situation can be relieved by the Church in loving relief and pension.
THE QUINQUAGESIMA OFFERING (FEB. 25).
The reminder of Christmas was framed for dioceses merged with the General Clergy Relief Fund and for rectors, churches and individuals throughout the United States, who elect to make contributions to the General Fund at Christmas. THE GENERAL CONVENTION RECOMMENDS AN OFFERING QUINQUAGESIMA, OR "THE SUNDAY NEAREST THERETO THAT MAY BE CONVENIENT."
CHURCHES AND INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE NOT CONTRIBUTED UPON DAYS APOTHER THAN QUINQUAGESIMA ARE PEALED TO BY THIS CARD TO SEND THEIR OFFERING.
Fifty-two dioceses out of eighty depend upon the General Clergy Relief Fund alone for pension and relief of clergy, widows, orphans. out of eighty receive Seventy-one dioceses more in pensions and relief for their beneficiaries from the General Fund than they contribute to it. This is worth thinking over.
If limitations as to locality, or sex, or fees, or retiring age had prevailed, the General Fund might have laid away a million dollars; but at the price of distress and bitterness and humiliation to thousands who have been helped. "Give us this day our daily bread."
Undesignated offerings relieve present need: "designations" go to "Permanent Fund," or "Automatic Pension at Sixty-four," and the like. The General Fund supplements help in all dio
There are beneficiaries in every diocese, shut out from the help of local funds by requirements as to year in diocese, seats in convention, continuous contributions, etc. These the General Fund must help, because the diocese canonically cannot. To help all in whom you are interested you must contribute to the General Fund.
THIS IS TO REMIND ALL WHO READ OF THE WORTHY OBJECT AND THE GREAT NEED.
Send for "A Plea for a Square Deal," and other circulars.
THE GENERAL CLERGY
The Church House, Philadelphia, Penn. ALFRED J. P. MCCLURE, Assistant Treasurer.
FACTS FOR CLERICAL EYES.
1. The CLERGYMEN'S RETIRING FUND SOCIETY has paid to several of the older annuitants an average of $1,056 each in return for $227 received from them for dues.
2. It has paid to the new annuitants whose names went on the list for the first time last November, an average of $81.56.
3. It has paid to every one on the list for the last four years more than all he has paid in sinc his connection with the Society.
4. It offers its benefits as a right to every
YOUNG PEOPLE'S DEPARTMENT.
Vichy," said Geoffrey, reaching over the
Geoffrey's Dime Invest- head of a more-than-commonly ragged and it eagerly.
unkempt newsboy to lay his check upon the
The next minute he had forgotten his
BY CAROLINE K.
ON'T you come down and
You're mistaken there, Holland. haven't an idea how to make myself agreeable to your interesting ragamuffins. I should be as dumb as an oyster before an audience of newsboys or bootblacks. That
Geoffrey procured the check and laid it on the counter, saying,
Hot chocolate for this boy." Wondering at his good fortune the boy watched the process of preparation, and when the cup was set before him, attacked
"Aren't you going to say anything to the gentleman for giving it to you?" the clerk demanded.
The spoon halted midway between the cup and the wide-open mouth; a flush in which his abundant freckles were lost to sight overspread his face, as he stammered,
"Much obliged, boss."
"I hope you'll enjoy it, Johnny. Good bye," and Geoffrey left him to enjoy it at his leisure. He evidently intended to make it last.
At the restaurant where Geoffrey usually took his 'lunch newsboys were permitted to run in and out, selling their papers to the crowd of business men that constantly thronged the place. Geoffrey did not find himself quite so much irritated by their cries and importunities as he had been used to do before the incident of the soda fountain, a week before. He sat leisurely glancing over an afternoon paper while he ate his lunch. As he raised his head, in turning the paper, a boy darted across the floor, with a grin of delighted recognition on his freckled face.
Take one, boss," he cried. "I'll give ye anny one in the bunch," and he ran over the titles of the papers he carried.
"Why, how-d'ye-do, Johnny. No, I thank you; I won't take one.' Geoffrey was only eighteen, and had not yet learned that there is sometimes more kindness in receiving than in giving.
The boy turned disappointed away. Two days later Geoffrey found his newsboy friend waiting at the door of the restaurant.
"Take a paper, boss," he urged. "I'll give ye one. "Mail,' Tullygram,' 'Ji
No, thank you, Johnny," said Geoffrey, with some annoyance at his importunity; "but I'll buy a 'Telegram.' He placed the price of the paper in the boy's reluctant hand, and again the freckled face was clouded by a look of disappointment. He was still near the door when Geoffrey passed out, and flushed with pleasure at his cheery salutation. "I wisht he'd let me give him suthin'," he muttered, as he watched admiringly until the tall figure had turned the corner.
After that he ceased to offer his papers, but was often there when Geoffrey came to lunch, and Geoffrey always deferred buying a paper until he had looked about for his little friend.
Are you doing a good business, Johnny?" he asked one day. as he dropped the change into his pocket.
'Bout as good as anny o' the fellers does. Better'n most," the boy replied.
"You must be a good business man then," said Geoffrey, and plunged at once into the news. A hesitating hand was laid on his sleeve.
Say, boss," said the boy, "my name ain't Johnny. It's Nick. They's a lot of the fellers answers to the name o' Johnny; but they's only one Nick in our gang, and him's me."
"Very well, Nick; I'll call you by your name," said Geoffrey; but Nick seemed not yet satisfied.
"Seems t'me," he said "s if we're pretty well acquainted now; we'd orter know each other's names."
So you'd like to know my name?" Nick nodded. "It's Geoffrey Landon. Will you remember that?
They ain't much resk o' me forgittin" it, Mr. Landon," and he turned away repeating to himself, "Mr. Landon, Mr. Landon."
Nick stood peering in at a florist's window. He often passed the shop, but had never noticed its contents much. They had a new interest for him now. His gaze roamed indifferently over masses of delicately-tinted roses, gay tulips and goldendaffodils. Suddenly his face was lit up with: a glow of pleasure.
" Them's the ones! " he exclaimed
"Them's the ones he always has into his buttonhole," gazing with delight at a bunch of pink carnations.
A lady leaving the shop caught her skirt in the door. In disengaging it she broke the stem of one of the flowers she carried. Breaking off the flower, she threw it on the pavement. Nick darted forward and rescued it from under the feet of a man who had almost trampled it. It was a pink
"It's jest the very kind! Ain't I in luck though!" he cried joyfully.
He turned again to the window and studied the bunches of violets that lay on the bed of moss in front.
Seems 's if it had orter have some o' that silver stuff around it," he said. With the flower in his hand, he strolled down the street, calling in a perfunctory way, "Tullygram,' 'Ji-nul,' 'Mail,' but all the while searching for something along the line of the store fronts. At length he found it-a slot machine that offered a choice of chocolate or chewing-gum.
Guess I'll take chune-gum; it lasts longer," he decided frugally, then-with sudden change of mind;-"No; I'll take chawclate. It kinder makes me think of him."
Suthin' yous won't say 'No' to, I reckon." replied Nick, offering his gift. It was warm in Nick's pocket and the flower had seen strange company there. Its crumpled petals, with yellowing edges, presented a dejected appearance. "It's jest your kind, ain't it?" he asked, with a quaver of doubt lest his offering should not prove all he had believed it to be.
For a moment Geoffrey feared he was going to laugh; then felt the laugh stopped in his throat by a feeling he had not had there since the day his pet puppy diedever so long ago, when he was a little chap. Yes, indeed," he cried, recovering himself. It's the kind I always wear-when I can get one. I can't always afford to buy one. He fixed the flower in his buttonhole while Nick looked on with beaming face. "Now, that looks fine. Doesn't it?
AID the little Black Cat,
"I will write a Valentine, And send it to Miss Pussy, And ask her to be mine."
He ran out in the rain,
Upon which to write.
The little Black Cat
"Hadn't the silver stuff orter show?" Nick asked.
Why, so it should," said Geoffrey. Removing the flower, he laid it on the lapel of his coat and fixed it there with a pin,the dingy foil entirely in evidence. "Is that right now? Nick drew back a step and surveyed it with tilted head.
That certainly do look stylish!" he exclaimed.
'What shall I have to do next, I wonder?" thought Geoffrey, as he stepped out into the street wearing his marvellous decoration. Nick nudged his chum, Jerry,
'D'ye see that there flower into his buttonhole? I guv him that. I did, so. My; ain't he just a corker!" and he trudged away down the street with shoulders squared and meagre limbs swinging in feeble imitation of Geoffrey's athletic stride.
A day or two later, during the hour when the newspaper business is dull, Nick was amusing himself by drawing on the pavement, in the shelter of the gateway of a downtown church, a marvellous chalk portrait of a man with a flower in his buttonhole. Quite absorbed was Nick in his work, with his tongue tightly held between his teeth, to secure greater accuracy in the lines that indicated the details of the costume.
But the trees were all bare
"Hello, Nick; what are you making there?" a voice called above him.
Nick's first impulse was to throw himself upon his work of art to conceal it from Geoffrey's eyes. But he braved the danger of recognition and explained stammering,'Just a-makin' a picture of a man."
"Yes, I see. And you've put a flower in his buttonhole. Do you like flowers?"
"I've been kinder noticin' 'em some, sence I seen yous have 'em on. Do yous like 'em much?"
Yes, very much." "So do I," Nick asserted.
BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN.
Geoffrey looked down at the tattered figure, at the face raised to his in such enthusiasm of admiration, and wished he could do something to requite the homage-something to deserve it. But what could he do? An idea flashed through his mind. It might be worth while to try that.
"Should you like to see a whole lot of flowers, and to hear some singing, Nick?" he asked.
Does it cost much to git in? "Not a cent. I'll take you." "If you'll take me, I'll go," said the boy. Then meet me right here to-morrow morning at ten minutes before eleven." Nick kept the appointment promptly; but when they turned in at the church gate he hesitated.
"Do yous go to church much?" he asked. Every Sunday," Geoffrey replied. "All right then, boss; go ahead; I'm wid ye."
It was Easter morning, but at this down
Then high overhead
He heard a little sound, And what do you think The Black Cat found?
A tiny gray pussy
Sat on every spot, All over the tree,
Where the leaves were not.
"You dear little Pussies," The Black Cat said, "I'll sing my verses
To you instead."
And all night long
'Neath the Pussy-Willow tree The Black Cat warbled His melody.
But poor Miss Pussy
From the little Black Cat,
town church there was not the Easter throng that crowded the aisles of fashionable churches in the upper part of the city. They had no difficulty in finding a seat from which could be had a clear view of the flower-decked chancel. Nick gazed about him with restless curiosity. But when the organ began to play in softened strains, his restlessness gave place to rapt attention. The choir boys filed in and took their places, singing the while. When the processional was ended, in spite of the hush, Nick pulled Geoffrey's sleeve and asked, in a conspicuously smothered voice,
Say, boss; is them kids all as good as they looks?"
"I hope so," Geoffrey answered, after a moment's hesitation in which he had decided that this was one of the occasions in which he might tell "the truth and nothing but the truth," while prudently refraining from telling the whole truth."
At the conclusion of the service, as the last of the chanting choir boys disappeared through the vestry door, Nick said, in a tone that expressed utter dejection,
"I couldn't never be like that."
"You might not be able to sing like them," said Geoffrey, "but you could be as good," well knowing that the problem was not so difficult as Nick supposed.
"I guess," said Nick meditatively, guess yous wasn't never in the newspaper business, was ye?"
"No. But why do you think so?" "If ye had, ye wouldn't think it such an easy job fer a newsboy to be good."
It isn't an easy job for anyone," said Geoffrey. But it's no harder than other things that you're not afraid to try. I can take you to a man who will help you and teach you. Don't you want to learn?"
Some of the fellers has asked me, but I don't go much on that sorter thing. didn't wanter go wid 'em."
"Would you go with me?"
"Sure!" with a look that seemed to offer to go through fire and flood with such a companion.
"I appear to be booked for a visit to Ben Holland's Settlement," thought Geoffrey, and made an appointment to meet Nick there on the following Tuesday evening.
Nick's appearance on that Tuesday evening showed a desire to do credit to his sponsor. His face had been scrubbed-almost back to the ears, a high-water line down his cheeks showing just how far the unwonted inundation had reached. It could hardly be asserted that his hair had been combed, but its surface had been plastered flat by a copious application of water, and the worst holes in his garments had been pinned together, a method of repairs that resulted in sundry painful surprises before the evening was over.
The newcomer was heartily welcomed and appeared to enjoy the evening. Geoffrey I was pleased to think that he had started his young friend in a career of much promise. When they were about to take leave he said to Nick,
HEN Susan came to herself she was in her own little white chamber, with her stepmother leaning her and Wolfe setting her leg, which was broken just at the ankle. Wolfe was given supper in the diningroom and his hostess ministered assiduously to his comfort. Mrs. Galbraith was too grateful for what he had done to consider social distinctions. What might not have happened had he not insisted on escorting Susan back! Had she been with Pintpot alone, the horse would have thrown her just the same, and she might now be lying dead beneath a gum tree. In fact, it was providential that Pintpot had absconded to the Blacks' camp. sides, Wolfe's manner and bearing influenced Mrs. Galbraith, and she quite realized that it would have been impossible for her husband to send him to the huts.
You're going to give Mr. Holland your name as a member of the Club, aren't you?" "Do yous come here reglar?"
Why, no; not often." "I'll come if you're a-comin'; but I ain't a-comin' to see one else. No,
siree! "It's too bad," Geoffrey said to Ben Holland. "I really thought you had caught him."
who can land him. He has given his ulti"It seems that there is no one but you matum. Won't you come and help us for his sake?"
* Copyright, 1906, by THE CHURCHMAN Co.
"Will you come regularly to the Club if come, Nick?" Geoffrey asked. Sure!" said Nick with unmistakable emphasis.
Will you come to the classes and learn -a lot of things you need to know?" Nick paled a little, but answered stoutly, "Yessir; 'pon me word 'onner!" land." "Then I suppose I'll have to come, Hol
The Lost Earl of Ellan.*
A Story of Australian Life.
By Mrs. Campbell Praed.
Geoffrey thrust his hands deep into his pockets as he strode along with bent head, pondering on the strange turn his affairs
"The poor little duffer is certainly giving me a pretty strenuous time living up to the returns of that dime investment of mine," he thought.
Mrs. Galbraith's heart by his ready response to Polly's friendly overtures.
Patsy put him into the Boss's chair in the veranda and gave him one of the Boss's cigars. As he sat smoking, the light in Susan's room flickered through the French windows and he caught glimpses of the white mosquito curtains while Mrs. Galbraith went softly in and out, watching the girl's restless slumber. Wolfe could picture her as she lay under the netting, her red-brown hair tossed on the pillow and the delicate oval of her face like that of some virgin saint outlined against it. He seemed to feel still the clinging hands round his neck and the weight of the slender form on his breast as she had lain unconscious in his arms, and he wondered that the memory did not now set his blood running more hotly. But he was curiously calm, considering the wild words which had fallen from his lips when he had kissed her hair. At this moment he felt within himself some surprise at that ebullition. In truth, it was not the woman herself so much as what she represented of the grace and poetry of life that had appealed to him so compellingly.
fresh; the sheets and mosquito netting spotless, and a woman's care was visible in all the simple arrangements.
He knew instinctively that he could make Susan love him. The strange thing was that he doubted whether she were capable of rousing him to an overwhelming passion. Then, too, the question rose in his mind whether he were morally justified in pursuing a game that he had started in the desperate impulse of selfretrieval.
When he had smoked his cigar, he asked permission to retire, and Mrs. Galbraith herself showed him a small skillion room behind the dining-room which was used as a bachelor guest chamber. The little room was exquisitely clean and
from which hung a flowering creeper that It had a window with a bough shade filled the place with exotic fragrance, and outside, a poinciana tree spread its sprays of blossom in the moonlight. How long it was since Wolfe had rested in so dainty a chamber!
Mrs. Galbraith brought night things from her husband's dressing room and with homely frankness begged him to ask for any clothing he might require out of the Boss's wardrobe. He was touched by her kindness, and thanked her with genuine feeling.
That is how Geoffrey Landon came to without you?" take up Settlement work.
"You make a homeless outcast very "I don't know how to express my grati much at home, Mrs. Galbraith," he said.
I'm afraid I
"Sure, there's no need for that, Mr. Wolfe. It's I that am grateful to you, and Su's father will be as well. should have made a mess of setting that leg and Mr. Galbraith's at the Boundary Camp and not intending to be back for a week. I hope you'll stop while he's away and see that the splints and bandages are all right. Can they manage at the Bore
"I'll ride over the first thing to-morrow and see how I can best arrange things," he answered; "and I'll come back and look to Miss Galbraith. The only danger is that I may have put on the bandage too tight, but it's a simple break, and if the leg is kept lying straight, there shouldn't be anything go wrong. I wouldn't advise her to stay in bed this weather. She'd be far better carried to a sofa in the veranda, and as for the bandagingthere'll be no need for more of that.for.a week or ten days anyway, provided it was done properly at first."
But he was almost sorry for having made light of possible surgical duties when he tasted the luxury of a comfortable bed and linen sheets. How easy it would be to turn gentleman once again! Ah, if he had only been able to stop and try his luck further at Yellaroi Diggings!
Now, he suddenly remembered the letter Susan had given him and which he had not opened. He got up, searched his pockets, re-lit his candle and read with some difficulty two badly written pages of dirty foolscap paper, the last of which
A BOY'S BREAKFAST. There's a Natural Food That Makes Its Own Way.
There's a boy up in Hoosick Falls, N. Y., who is growing into sturdy manhood on Grape-Nuts breakfasts. It might have been different with him, as his mother explains:
"My eleven-year-old boy is large, well developed and active, and has been made so by his fondness for Grape-Nuts food. At five years he was a very nervous child and was subject to frequent attacks of indigestion which used to rob him of his strength and were very troublesome to deal with. He never
seemed to care for anything for his breakfast until I tried Grape-Nuts, and I have never had to change from that. He makes his entire breakfast of GrapeNuts food. It is always relished by him and he says that it satisfies him better than the ordinary kind of a meal.
bore the signature "Richard Cross"otherwise Flinders Dick, the mate he had left in charge of their joint claim at Yeliaroi. The first part of the letter was discouraging as regarded the reef, which was pronounced "mullocky," but it appeared that Flinders Dick was prospect ing along the range with the promise of more hopeful results. Wolfe skipped a variety of ill-spelt technicalities concerning "blows" of quartz, "cross courses," "feelers," "dips," and so forth, for he wanted to get at some information he had asked from his mate. But Flinders Dick, like many uneducated people, plied through a good deal of personal detail before arriving at the gist of the matter.
"This is an exciting life," he wrote, "and suits me to a T. I wish I'd studderred for it as a youngster, instead of going after blooming cattle. It's a better paid line of business and fairly easy to learn. I can make a verry good attempt now at assaying a stone, but the percentage of mettle rather licks me."
Wolfe put things into working order at the Bore, and by lunch time was back at the head-station. Mrs. Galbraith met him with ill news of Susan. She was crying with pain; there could be no doubt the bandage had been put on too tightly. Again, Wolfe was led into the white maiden chamber and the bandage was taken off and replaced, which eased the sufferer. He made the most of initial difficulties and did not say again that there would be no need to remove the bandage for ten days. Susan's room was very hot-it had the morning sun, and the doctor, as Wolfe dubbed himself, recommended that she should be taken out to the veranda. He volunteered to carry her, and by and by did so, Mrs. Galbraith supporting the broken ankle on a pillow. They put her on a long cane chair at the shadiest and least frequented end of the veranda, where an Isabella grapevine made a shield against the glare. She looked tired and fragile in her long muslin wrapper, with her hair loosely knotted and her face almost as white as the pillows at her back. But a streak of vivid pink came into it when, recurring to the accident, she thanked him for his care of her.
Wolfe ran impatiently over sundry par-
"I can't remember very much about it
can always be uniform if you use Bor-
Thursday Island, for Flashed Sam is
He sat beside her, waving a. palmetto fan in a slow, rhythmic movement till her eyes closed and her regular breathing told him that she was sleeping. He went on fanning her, till presently Mrs. Galbraith returned, and between them they rigged up a mosquito net from the rafters of the veranda so that it fell over her chair,
sheltering her from flies and mosquitoes. Wolfe kept watch a little distance away, as Mrs. Galbraith had requested him to do.
It was nearly dinner-time before Susan did awake, refreshed and out of pain. Hearing the movement she made, he went to her and she smiled at him sweetly. "Oh, have you been there all this time? How kind of you."
"How kind of you-or rather your stepmother-to give me the chance of such a rest. I've been enjoying it to an extent that would seem ridiculous to most people," he replied.
"Well," she said, “Sinbad has done some good at any rate, if it is only giving you an afternoon's holiday. Mr. Wolfe, how long am I going to be a cripple?"
"That depends on yourself. If you are quiet and obedient between three weeks and a month."
"Your sister? Is she like you?" "Not in the least. Her photograph is in the drawing-room, on the top of the piano, if you like to look at it."
He did so later, and saw the likeness of a small dark girl with an irregular face that seemed scarcely comely in the photograph, which was not a good one. But the face was redeemed from plainness by its expression and by a pair of wonderful eyes. Oora's picture did not make any great impression upon him. She was too, unlike Susan, whom he admired more than any girl he had ever seen.
At dawn he was again on his way to Iron Bark Flat. This was what he had
arranged with Mrs. Galbraith in a consultation they had had about the work of the Bore. She wished that he should
spend his days there, returning to the head-station in the evening after he had
A Surer Way Out.
The "buttermilk fad," which its followers insisted was the cure for all the ills that human flesh is heir to, has pretty well had its day.
Buttermilk is a pleasant and healthy drink, but there are a whole lot of desirable things that it cannot do. A Ne, braska woman found something much more worth while. She says:
"Three years ago my stomach was in such a frightful condition that I could scarcely bear to take any food at all.
Indeed there was once that I went for fourteen days without a morsel of nourishment, preferring starvation to the acute agony that I suffered when I ate anything. And all this entailed upon me almost constant headaches and nervousness. My condition was truly pitiable.
"The doctor warned me that the cof
fee I drank was chiefly responsible for this condition, and ordered me to drink buttermilk instead. But I despised buttermilk and could not bring myself to use it.
"Then I was advised to try Postum Food Coffee. It has completely renovated and made over my whole system. The salutary effect on my poor stomach was simply marvellous, and that straightened out, the headaches, nervousness and other troubles soon vanished. For more than a year I have not felt any distress or pain, such as I once thought would kill me.
"I can truthfully say that Postum has brought me the blessing of the perfect health I enjoy, for I gave up medicines when I began its use." Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich.
There's a reason. Read the little book, "The Road to Wellville," in packages.