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-struck three, for the hours had ficwn in the place of judgment, and now the impression began to deepen that there was not an hour to be lost. He must telegraph, and the office at Kilbogie would be open at five o'clock to dispatch a mail, and they would send a wire for him. It would be heavy walking through the snow, but the moon was still up, and two hours were more than enough.

As he picked his way carefully where the snow had covered the ditches, or turned the flank of 2 drift, he was ever grudging the lost time, and ever the foreboding was deeper in his heart that he might be too late, not for the opening of Kilbogie post-office, but for something else he knew not what. So bravely

had he struggled through the snow that it was still a quarter to five when he passed along sleeping Kilbogie; and so eager was he by this time that he roused the friendly postmaster, and induced him by all kinds of pleas, speaking as if it were life and death, to open communication with Muirtown, where there was always a clerk on duty, and to send on to that southern city the message he had been composing as he came down through the snow and the woods:

"It was not I. I could not have done it. Forgive my silence, and send a message before Sunday, for it is my first sacrament in Drumtochty. Your affectionate friend,

"JOHN CARMICHAEL."

It was still dark when he reached the manse again, and before he fell asleep he prayed that the telegram might not be too late, but as he prayed, he asked himself what he meant, and could not answer. For the Celt has warnings other men do not receive, and hears sounds they do not hear.

It was noon next day, the Saturday before the sacrament, and almost time for the arrival of the preacher, before he woke, and then he had not awaked unless the housekeeper had brought him this telegram from "Mistress Harris, St. Andrew's Settlement, Mutford, E.:"

"My son Frederick died this morning at He was eight o'clock of malignant fever. conscious at the end, and we read your telegram to him. He sent this message:

Long ago I knew it was not you, and I ought to have written. Forgive me, as I have forgiven you. My last prayer is for a blessing upon you and your people in the sacrament to-morrow. God be with you till we meet in the marriage supper of the Lamb!""

The text which Carmichael took for his action sermon on the morrow was, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them who trespass against us." and he declared the forgiveness of sins with such irresistible grace that Donald Menzies twice said, "Amen!" aloud, and there are people who will remember that day unto the ages of ages.

A SUNSET IN JANUARY.

The shadows lie across the glistening snows,
Like violet banners streaming from the west;
For now, the chariot wheels of Phoebus breast
The sky's soft waves of mingled gold and rose-
Quiver and are engulfed. Less fiercely blows

The chill wind sprung from Washington's white crest;
And down the hill, with twilight quickened zest,

The coasters flash in two swift darting rows,
Vibrant the air with laughter and with singing;
A pause-the Angelus rings softly clear;
Within the city countless lights are springing;
A distant spire turns to a silver spear;
On heaven's high wall the Evening Star is swinging--
Love's beacon-warning that Sleep's ship draws near!
-Francis Bartlett.

THE EMPTY CHAIR.

HE chair of the master is empty. But his work is not yet ended. The reforms he inaugurated, the public opinion he moulded, the influence he had upon the minds and lives of menworks like these are never ended. We may fold the hands that wrought them in peace, but the impetus they have given men is felt to the farthermost shores of time. For seventeen years Hugh Price Hughes stood at the helm of The Methodist Times. With six or seven exceptions he wrote the leader every week of all these years. "A great preacher, a great reformer, a great editor, a man abreast of his day," says one of his brethren in a memorial pamphlet, it is too early to speak of his work for Methodism; but I believe that, under God, he, and one or two associated with him, lifted Methodism to a higher level, sent her forth equipped more bravely for the fight, and that the Forward Movement he championed has made it possible-nay, probablethat Methodism will be the Church of the

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twentieth century." Certainly no Nonconformist preacher since the death of Punshon has had so much space accorded him by the English dailies. Probably his best known work is the founding of the West London Mission, with all the various missions to which it gave birth throughout the world. It was his hand that made itself felt in the National Free Church Council. It was he who, to a large extent, liberalized the mind of English Methodism, and led his Church forth "into a larger place."

His health, it is true, had not been of the best for some years, but with his vigour, his animation, his strenuous life, the fact was little apparent to the world, and the passing away of the foremost preacher of Methodism, after but a few hours' illness,* came - as a shock to Christendom. Only in death was the soldier's armour removed; he fought up to the last hours in the forefront of the battle.

On Sunday evening (the night before his death) he delivered one of

After a meeting he walked with a "sister" of the Mission, who wished to consult him, was seized with apoplexy on the street, and was conveyed home in a cab, but died within an hour without regaining consciousness.

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Denney's book, "The Death of Christ." In it he reveals everywhere the broad catholicity of mind, the evangelical spirit that dominated his life. He agreed with Mr. Denney that the words of the revival hymn,

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Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe," had the root of the matter in them. In this spirit of humility he was called into the presence of his Lord.

It takes a great man to maintain his greatness in the eyes of those who serve him daily, and in this connection we would place among the highest tributes to his memory the heartfelt sorrow of his staff at the loss of their chief. They sorrow as children bereft of a father, as soldiers whose leader is fallen in battle.

The Rev. W. E. Seller speaks touchingly of his last cycle ride with him only the week before. They took a

run of twenty miles together, and Mr. Seller says he seemed overflowing with good spirits, and believed he had twenty years of work before him. They discussed the topics of interest, as the Education Bill and the needs of Methodism.

It is interesting to note how this forceful life was directed into evangelical lines. In his youth it was his ambition to be a scholarly preacher, but at his first Sunday night service a number of conversions took place, and he says, "God shunted me on to that line, and I have been running on it ever since. I was called upon to decide whether I should follow my literary ambitions or seek souls, and I thank God that I chose the saving of men."

His success was doubtless due in a large measure to his optimism. He feared nothing, faltered at nothing. Moreover, from a child he had kept thoroughly in touch with the world. As a mere boy he loved to pore over the newspaper and discuss topics of world-wide interest. Says a writer in The Review Reviews: "No

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matter what subject he had intended to speak about on Saturday, he will discard it on Sunday for that which is more up-to-date. He will be abreast of the times, whoever else may care to lag behind." Into his life of little more than half a century was surely crowded more of doing than into four-score years for ordinary men. The Times fittingly applies to him the lines from Browning he had used in one of his last editorials:

"One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,

Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,

Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,

Sleep to wake."

LAST RITES.

The burial of Mr. Hugh Price Hughes was most impressive. The funeral service was held in that Wesley Chapel from which the body of the founder of Methodism was borne to its resting place in the rear of the building. Representatives of all the Protestant Churches of Great Britain, of both Houses of Parliament, of the universities, and of many public bodies, paid their tribute of love and reverence to his memory, and the Earl and Countess of Aberdeen sent a lovely wreath. Mark Guy Pearse, his faithful colleague for many years,

conducted the service at the grave. Mrs. Hughes, her two sons and daughters, flung a bunch of violets upon the coffin. Mrs. Hughes' wreath bore the touching words, "To Hugh from Katie: 'I have fought the good fight.'"

Dr. Lunn and Guy Pearse preached impressive memorial sermons at St. James' Hall, multitudes assembling five hours before the time of service. Generous tributes to his noble life and character were given in many of the London churches, including St. Paul's Cathedral and St. Michael's, Highgate, where the Bishop of London expressed the sympathy of the national church for their Wesleyan brethren.

Throughout the kingdom in Methodist churches everywhere memorial services were held. The leading London journals, Catholic and Protestant, Jewish and Christian, High Church and Low Church, had words of striking appreciation. Mr. Percy W. Bunting, M.A., editor of The Contemporary Review, will, for the time, assume the editorship of The Methodist Times. Mark Guy Pearse, who was to have sailed for the West Indies, cancelled his passage to preach without stipend at the morning service at St. James' Hall till permanent arrangements are made. Nearly two thousand telegrams and letters of sympathy were received, including this cablegram from Canada : "Canadian Methodism mourns with British Methodism the death of Hugh Price Hughes.-Carman."

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THE GREAT CAMPAIGN.

Never has such an important and successful campaign been waged in Canada as that which reached its climax on December 4th. The temperance leaders used the pulpit, the platform, and the press for the public enlightenment. They sowed the country knee-deep with prohibition literature, as did Neal Dow in Maine, and by song and cartoon, figures of fact and figures of rhetoric, waged the great moral campaign.

The liquor interests fought with desperation, for their craft was in danger. They appealed to the most sordid and selfish interests of the people. The prohibitionists appealed to the patriotism, the humanity, the better instincts of the community.

The liquor interest shrank from no fraud, ballot-stuffing, and personation of the absent and the dead. The most significant feature was the change of sentiment in the cities. The fifteen cities of Ontario-where the liquor interests are the most concentrated and powerful-to the surprise of both parties, gave a majority of 2,294 in favour of prohibition. Toronto led the van by a majority of 1,531. The growth of prohibition sentiment may be measured by comparison with the vote of 1898, when Toronto recorded a majority of 4,137 against a less stringent act, a change of nearly 2,000 votes.

The vote of 176,000 for prohibition, against a minority of 91,000, was a surprisingly large one when all the circumstances are taken into account. The temperance people have so often been asked to vote that small wonder some of them considered that their

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verdict was already sufficiently corded, and, in view of the impossible conditions imposed, refused, we think unwisely, again to register their will. Dr. Ross is understood to say that he is yet unconvinced that Ontario is ripe for prohibition. Sir Oliver Mowat, eight years ago, on a similar plebiscite and a similar vote, with four members of his Government declared that the vote was such a striking mandate that so soon and so far as he could enact prohibition he would do so. Yet, under conditions vastly more difficult, as large a majority has been registered, but our Premier thinks the country is not yet ripe.

Then, in the 1894 vote, 12,402 wo

men voted for the Act, against 2,246 against it. Now the woman vote was excluded, and a vote 20,250 larger than that which was pronounced to be so large and emphatic, is demanded. If Dr. Ross' advisers in the Cabinet prevented him from carrying out his pledge, he should get rid of them and keep his promise made to the people of Ontario. If the vote had been permitted under the same conditions as in 1894, we believe that far more than even the 20,000 additional votes required would have been recorded. One of the most extraordinary features was the overwhelming preponderance of prohibition votes in some of the constituencies; in one it was seven to one, in another nine to one.

The prohibitionists thank God and take courage, and, in the words of Dr. Potts, will be "up and at it again." The saloon in Canada has got its notice to quit. The rising tide of popular sentiment will soon sweep it away.

WHAT NEXT?

This emphatic verdict of the people is a mandate to the Government of Ontario not to trifle with the best interests of the country. These votes must be weighed as well as counted. While all who voted against prohibition are not in favour of the saloon, yet every rough and tough that hangs about the saloon, that parasite on our civilization, we may be sure was against prohibition. The handful of respectable merchants and bankers who allowed themselves to be hypnotized by the spell-binder of the liquor interest into signing a manifesto against prohibition may be very honourable men themselves, but they were in very bad company. Mr. Spence asked one of them if he had read the act before he signed the petition. He confessed he had not. "If you had," said Mr. Spence, "you never would have signed it." The Government must do something to relieve the situation. The saloon is discredited everywhere. No political party dare longer ally itself with the drink traffic or be dragged at its chariot wheels.

The Government must give us further legislation, more restriction, better control of the drunkard-making trade. The liquor traffic is ever the lawless, God-and-man-defying institu

tion which no chains can fetter. The penalties for law-breaking should be increased from a nominal fine to a very severe one for a first offence and imprisonment without option of a fine for a second. The saloon should be closed not merely at seven o'clock on Saturday night, but every night. The screens and curtains and shutters, behind which it conceals its deadly work, should be removed. Every other trade, the butcher's, the baker's, the grocer's, the mercer's, exhibits its wares and courts publicity.

The sa

loon alone shuns the light because its deeds are evil.

That great statesman, the Honourable Adam Crooks, by a single stroke of his pen, abolished more bar-rooms than the whole of those that would have been wiped out by the Liquor Act of 1902, and not a hint was suggested as to compensation. If the present Premier would only rise to the height of similar statesmanship, he might win name and fame in the history of Canada.

A STEP HIGHER.
A NEW YEAR'S STORY.
BY MAUDE PETITT, B.A.

HE lights had not yet been turned on, but the darkness was gathering fast. It was New Year's Eve. Oscar Hamilton sat alone in the music-room of his mansion home. His beautiful young daughter had just glided from the organ-stool, and the silence she left behind her seemed sweetened and vibrant with the echoes of her music. The shadows were thickening in the corners of the room, and creeping up over the organ-pipes, forming themselves in weird, fantastic, shapeless things.

There was a sound of hurrying feet through the halls. It was an hour of preparation. For there was to be a party and much merry-making in the Hamilton mansion to-night. But the master of the house sat apart for awhile he was thinking-thinkingthinking. And it was New Year's Eve. The sounds of preparation below reached the music-room only in muffled, softened confusion, forming a background to his dreams.

It was on New Year's Eve that he had first come to the city, a mere lad in coarse clothing, seeking a way to fortune. That was twenty-three years ago, but his vision of it to-night was clear and undimmed. He could see the snow falling as he tramped the side streets, grip in hand, looking for a third-rate boarding-house. He had started in a subordinate position in a carpet factory, but the gates had opened before him year by year. To

day he was chief partner in the firm. He had shown a marked aptitude for the business. His carpets were in all the up-to-date stores of America.

He had married a wealthy woman years ago, who inherited the house of her father. Refined by nature, he had taken easily the outer impress of the refinement around him. His wife was by no means a heartless devotee of fashion. He had got with her wealth a loyal and loving heart as well.

But to-night he was not thinking of the life around him here. He saw something in the darkness-an old, weather-worn house, a few acres of land behind it, a little stable, the smoke curling upward from the kitchen chimney, an old man, bent but cheery, shovelling a road through the snow to the stable, where the little Jersey cow was lowing at her hay.

Oscar Hamilton saw it all in the shadows. It was the home of his father and mother. He could see the winter sun setting clear and red across the white Muskoka world. And yonder was the white tower of the little Methodist church. They would be holding a watch-night service there tonight as they used to years ago. His old father would be praying for the incoming of the glory of the Lord.

Oscar Hamilton lowered his head as he thought of it all. It was not that he had been a heartless son, he told himself. He had written home always. He sent them money every few months. In fact, that was all

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