tendent. "He knows exactly what he has to do. We are on a gradual grade now, where the track has been washed by the recent overflow; we will soon be across it."

When 1206 was fairly across the weak stretch of track it jumped like a racehorse. It was the first jar felt during the trip on the eastern division. The section of firmly ballasted track was covered with the speed of a hurricane and the train shot out on to the bridge without diminution of velocity. The tangent from the bridge was followed by some curves winding around the bottom hills and then the heavy fog of the city turned the day into night again. The officials looked at their watches.

"There's only one way he can make it," said Hartwell. "Do you think there will be much travel in North St. Louis this early?"

"Of course there will be some," returned the superintendent, "but they will open the bell-valve and take the chances."

Along the winding, wiggling track, around the lumber yards, machine shops, glue works and factories the fearful speed of the limited was maintained with deathlike tenacity. At one crossing a team escaped annihilation by almost the width of a hair. The driver did some vicious talking and a policeman who was standing on a saloon corner wrote something in a book. With the rush of a whirlwind the limited ascended the elevated road along the levee front, started a thousand echoes in the windowless warehouses, clattered past the foul-smelling tenements, where the week's wash was spread out to dry and gather soot, and then took one strand of the spider's web to the south of Union station, followed it to where a blue-capped man stood by a switch target and then backed into the dark station.

"Gentlemen," said the superintendent, calmly, as the party arose; "our time here is 7:05; it is now 7:03."

Hartwell said nothing but pulled out a check book and wrote something rapidly. Then he tore off the slip and handed it to the superintendent.

"Here's a check for $200," he said tersely. "Give it to your engineer with my compliments."

"It is no use, Mr. Hartwell," said the superintendent; "he won't take it."

"Won't take it?" said the president, in some surprise.

"No, he won't. You see, Felix is a curious sort of fellow. When I got your message I knew he was the only man we had at the division who could turn the trick for you. He won't accept a favor from anybody. He don't drink or use tobacco in any way; I've never heard him utter an oath or an untruth. When he

began work on our division the boys called him 'the Quaker.' Now he is known as 'the emergency man.' Whenever we have a gilt-edge piece of running to do under hard circumstances we call on him. He has never failed me. I believe his capability is a direct result of his good habits and a correct philosophy of life." -The Ram's Horn.

Ethel and the Cactus.

BY MARY RUTTER.

One afternoon old Mrs. Smith called and brought her a present of a cactus in a pot. It was the very queerest plant that Ethel had ever seen, nothing but a fat, green stalk with fuzz and prickers all over it, and two queer little sprouts that stuck out like arms, near the top.

"What is that funny thing, mamma?" asked Ethel, when Mrs. Smith had gone. "Is it a flower?"

"Yes," said mamma. snake cactus.

"It is a rattleDon't touch it, Pussie." "Why not, mamma?" said Ethel. But mamma, after setting the flower-pot on the window sill, had gone to talk with cook about dinner.

Ethel looked at the cactus and wondered why mamma and Mrs. Smith thought it was pretty. She also wondered why mamma had told her not to touch it. Mamma ought to know that she was a big girl and would not hurt it.

Very cautiously she pressed one of the green arms. It was very stiff and pricked her a little. Then she ran into the nursery and brought Augusta, her doll, to see the strange plant.

Augusta had on a little pink silk bonnet, and, just for fun, Ethel took the bonnet from Augusta's head and gently tied it on the head of the cactus.

How funny it looked! Quite like a doll with a green face and two green arms. "If it only had a frock!" thought Ethel.

She ran and fetched a little white organdie skirt that belonged to Augusta and tied it round the cactus' waist. Then she had to laugh, the sight was so funny.

"She looks like a real dolly," thought Ethel. "What shall I name her? Let me see, Dorinda is a nice name. I'll call her Dorinda."

By this time Ethel had forgotten all about what mamma had said, or perhaps she was so interested in what she was doing that she did not let herself think.

She set Augusta down by Dorinda and then brought her other dollies, Gladys, Sophia Dorothea and Paul Curlyhead, and played at dancing school on the window sill.

Paul was the only boy, so he danced in

turn with the ladies. He waltzed with Sophia Dorothea and two-stepped with Gladys and with Augusta.

When it came Dorinda's turn Ethel did not know what to do, as Dorinda could not move.

"Poor little girlie, you'll have to sit out this dance," she said.

But just then a hurdy-gurdy man outside began playing "Whistlin' Rufus." That was too much for Ethel. Taking in each of her own hands three of Paul's rubber fingers and one of Dorinda's green arms she gaily caught up the funny pair to dance them along the window sill.

Crash! Dorinda's flower-pot rolled over and over and fell to the floor, while Paul bounced down on his rubber face and landed beside her. Dorinda was so much heavier than she had looked and the

Suddenly a bad fairy whispered to her. This fairy reminded her that just across the hall in her Uncle George's room, lying on his dressing table, were two beautiful ivory-backed hair brushes, with his monogram in dark blue on the back of each one.

Ethel hesitated. She knew that it would be very wrong to touch these brushes and besides, dear Uncle George had promised to bring her something nice in his pocket when he came home that night. But, on the other hand, she hated to think what mamma would say when she found that her little daughter had disobeyed her. Tiptoeing softly into Uncle George's room, she snatched one of the brushes, and hurrying back to the scene of action quickly knelt down and began to brush.

In two minutes she had brushed all the

green arms pricked so dreadfully, that Ethel had to let her drop.

Ethel's fingers smarted with pain, but she did not mind that. She was so afraid that Dorinda was hurt. But Dorinda was not hurt. Her flower-pot was not even cracked and she held up her pink head and stretched out her green arms as stiffly as ever.

But, oh dear! The earth was all gone from the flower-pot and spilled all over the floor. What would mamma say? Ethel considered for a moment and then a naughty idea came into her head.

"If only I could brush it up," she thought, "mamma would never know anything about it."

She looked for a brush but could not find one. She tried to brush with her hands, but they pushed the earth deeper and deeper into the rug.

Robt. B. Jordan, Photographer. earth into a piece of newspaper and carefully slipped it back into the pot. Then she beat the brush hard on the arm of a chair and put it back on Uncle George's dressing table.

She was very well satisfied with her work. She had patted the earth down hard in the pot and the cactus really did not look as if anything unusual had happened to it. But her conscience pricked hera little, especially when she thought of Uncle George and her fingers had begun to smart badly and had grown very red and puffy.

Somehow, playing with her dolls did not seem fun any longer, so she spanked them all and put them to bed. Then she sat down on the window sill and looked out of the window at her red swing and wished that it was pleasant so that she could go out.

After what seemed a long time, nurse came in and brought hor some milk and some bread and butter. Ethel was just going to drink her milk when crash! down went the glass, breaking in a thousand pieces and spilling the milk all over her frock. She had let it fall because her fingers felt as if someone were sticking a million little needles into them.

"Mercy on us!" said nurse, "what's the matter?"

"Oh, I just dropped the glass," said Ethel. "Listen, nurse! What's that?"

It was Uncle George's voice in the hall, calling to Ethel. Oh, dear! Had he found out? Ethel did not dare to run and meet him. Hastily slipping into the clean, white frock that nurse held out before her, she went into the nursery closet and shut the door.

The closet was not like most closets. It was large and had a window in it, and long shelves where Ethel kept her toys.

Ethel took out her bear puzzle, and, sitting down on the floor, began putting it together. Her fingers itched very badly, and she kept rubbing them on her frock, which only made the pain sharper.

By the time she had put together the bear's head and forelegs she was very miserable, indeed. Her head ached and her hands felt worse than they had the time that she held the lighted firecracker until it went off. She wished with all her heart that she had never touched the cactus.

And suddenly, to complete her unhappiness, the door opened and there stood Uncle George!

"Why, Pussie," he said, "what are you doing in here?"

"Just playing with my bear puzzle," answered Ethel, without looking at him. "Well, it's almost dark now. Don't you want to leave the puzzle awhile, and come and see something nice that came home in my pocket?"

"Ye-es. But, oh! uncle, dear, I feel so sick! I want to go to bed!"

Uncle George took Ethel in his arms and carried her out into mamma's sitting room, where the candles were lighted.

"Oh, darling! What is the matter?" cried mamma, when she saw Ethel's white face and red, puffy hands.

"I don't know," said Ethel, faintly. "I guess I've got the measles or or the rheumatism.'

Just then papa came in, and when he saw Ethel's hands he telephoned for the doctor.

Dr. Brown was a jolly, red faced little man, and usually, when he came to see Ethel, he told her so many funny stories that she half forgot that she was ill. This time, however, after he had looked at her very carefully and felt her pulse, he

merely said, gravely, "Little girl, what have you been doing with those hands?" At this, poor Ethel could bear it no longer, and burst into tears.

"Oh, mamma!" she sobbed. "I'll tell you, but don't make me tell him. It's a secret!"

So Dr. Brown went down into the library to talk with papa, while Ethel, with many tears, told mamma how naughty she had been.

Of course mamma forgave her, and when, a little later, she told Uncle George about it, he forgave her, too, and even smiled a little bit when he thought she was not looking.

Ethei's hands were full of little thorns that had come from the cactus, when she caught it up. Dr. Brown had to rub some dark, sticky stuff on them and bind them up in linen bandages.

For a whole week Ethel could not move her fingers. Nurse had to feed her with a spoon and cut out paper dolls, and tell stories to amuse her.

But when she was better Uncle George showed her the nice thing that had come home in his pocket. It proved to be a beautiful new doll, and she named it Dorinda, after the cactus Dorinda, which she never played with again.—Modern Women.

My Pa and I.

My pa, he didn't go down town
Last evening after tea.
But got a book and settled down
As comf'y as could be ;

I tell you I was offul glad
To have my pa about,
To answer all the things I had
Been tryin' to find out.

And so I asked him why the world
Is round instead of square,
And why the piggies' tails are curled
And why don't fish breathe air?
And why the moon didn't hit a star,
And why the dark is black,
And jest how many birds there are,
And will the wind come back?

And why does water stay in wells,
And why do June bugs hum,
And what's the roar I heard in shells,
And when will Christmas come?
And why the grass is always green,
Instead of sometimes blue?

And why a bean will grow a bean,
And not an apple, too?

And why a horse can't learn to moo,
And why a cow can't neigh?
And do the fairies live on dew,

And what makes hair grow gray? And then my pa got up, an' gee! The offul words he said!

I hadn't done a thing, but he
Just sent me off to bed.

-Council Bluffs Nonpareil

circus, a hippodrome, and immense gardens. Its buildings were decorated with paintings, mosaics, statues, sculpture and precious marbles, cared for and served by gardeners, butchers, bakers, cooks, waiting women, valets and all the innumerable host of necessary slaves.

A rural domain at the fifth mile-stone on the Appian Way three miles in circumference-its ruins have yielded many marbles to the Vatican Museum.

An estate on the northern coast of Sicily tilled by 8,000 slaves.

Estates in Africa, Numidia, Mauritania, in Great Britain, in Spain, and in Gaul, with enough slaves to cultivate them. Her yearly revenues, it is estimated,

66

Melania and her husband were both Christians and wished to follow literally the Saviour's precept: Go and sell all that thou hast and give to the poor and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." They, therefore, resolved to devote their immense possessions to the cause Christ.

of

History records that during the fourth and the beginning of the fifth century after Christ certain patrician Roman families amassed enormous wealth. Melania's fortune surpassed all others and consisted of a villa on the Coelian at Rome which inclosed porticoed courts, a

amounted to scores of millions of dollars. They may well have exceeded the civil list of any emperor or potentate who ever lived, and were probably greater than any other woman ever possessed.

It is not known what use Melania made of her wealth before she decided to rid herself of it; her biographer begins his story only when she had so resolved.

Melania found it very difficult to follow the command of her Master; public opinion, custom, and above all the law of the empire forbade. The Roman law then prohibited, except under certain restrictions, the alienation of real estate. Then when this husband and wife decided to obey Christ's command they were minors and they could not sell their real estate

without a decree, ratified by the Roman senate.

At the instigation of a brother-in-law the slaves of the property on the Via Appia rose in insurrection, insisting that they preferred slavery with its sure maintenance to freedom with uncertain future, and they were only pacified when made over to the brother-in-law with a gratuity of three gold pennies apiece.

How hard it was to become poor! An imperial edict alone could overcome the opposition of relatives, of the law, and of the senate. This Melania secured through the favor of Serena, who was a niece of the Emperor Theodosius and his adopted daughter; the wife of Stilicho and the mother-in-law of Honorius, the son and successor of Theodosius. For many years Stilicho and Serena had been the actual rulers of the western half of the Roman empire.

Public rumor, which had been busy with Melania's future, blaming or praising as prejudice or religious bias swayed, had aroused the queen's curiosity, and its object had been several times bidden to the imperial palace, commands which had invariably been disobeyed. In the spring of A. D. 404 the disobedient one remembered that the imperial power could unmake as well as make laws and could smooth her difficult road to poverty.

Accompanied by her husband, several bishops, and Gerontius, who chronicles the event, she went to the Palatine. Her train included slaves bearing many and costly presents, the customary offerings to the powerful and their court. Closely veiled and wearing a dress of very cheap material, the suppliant said to those who remonstrated with her:

"I shall not uncover the head which I have covered for Christ's sake; I shall not change the garment which I have put on for my Saviour's glory."

Her humility had its immediate reward, for Serena herself came forward to meet and greet her, seated her at her side on the golden throne, and calling her court around her, said:

"Behold this woman, who could be surrounded by all that wealth could buy, yet for Christ's sake renounces all the vanities of the world."

Serena herself declined the gifts offered to her, and forbade any of her courtiers or servants to accept any. At her request the emperor at once gave orders to the rulers of his provinces to sell Melania's estates and remit the proceeds to her.

"We were all stupefied with amazement," comments Gerontius.

Melania and her husband left Rome before Alaric captured it, and went to their Sicilian estate. The troubles of the times

delayed the sale of their possessions for years. At fast as they could they spent their wealth in building and endowing churches, monasteries, nunneries, hospitals and endowing and adorning their altars with vessels of gold and of silver.

They relieved the necessities of thousands of the poor and needful, sending vessels and messengers with money and necessaries for them and to the hermits and monks of Egypt, Jerusalem and Antioch. After 27 years of continuous effort they had at last reduced their once colossal fortune to the remnant of a small estate in Spain. They then went to Jerusalem, where they ended their days and were buried in a monastic retreat which they had built and endowed.

Gerontius never could give the number of slaves that Melania at one time owned, but stated that in two years 8,000 were liberated. He states that her annual income was 120,000 pounds weight of gold, equal to more than 30,000,000 of United States gold coin; and, taking the purchasing power of specie in the sixth century A. D., fully equal, it is estimated, to $175,000,000 today.-Washington Post.

Socialism and the Church.

BY THE REV. CHARLES STELZLE.

When the average socialist speaks of the Church he becomes hysterical. To his mind, no other man has a right to an opinion which differs from his own. If that opinion does differ from the one which he holds for the time being, the holder of it is, according to that socialist, a "grafter," a "tool of the capitalistic class," a "weakling," a "hypocrite." When discussing such an unfortunate, the average socialist writer will dip his pen in vitriol and figuratively burn him at the stake. Granting for the moment that the man he is abusing is intolerant, he himself is too intolerant to tolerate intolerance, although he expects to find that virtue in the man whom he is "roasting." If the reply is made that the socialist who does these things is not representative of true socialism, then I answer that neither is the churchman who practices similar methods, representative of the Church, although there are occasions when both the socialist and the churchman may be justified in vigorously protesting against the words and actions of a particular individual who may be on the other side.

Just as the socialists insist that their movement today must not be judged by the mistakes of their predecessors, so the Church of today has a right to demand that it shall be judged by its present attitude toward particular problems and