LOST CHORDS

To the long line of martyrs waiting at the gate comes the Reverend Dr. Fiske of Omaha, Nebraska, and affixes himself to the train without further parley. Mr. Fiske has, like much of the existing world, written a book. The book's title is "Voices of Gold". With the pride of a father in his first-born, and a pardonable wish to instill variety, or even bite, into the Sunday evening service, he has recently filled in the space between the offering and the third hymn with readings from his book.

"I had rather write a book than write sermons," was Dr. Fiske's reply to queries of the deacous and elders. But, though he went on to say that the book was based on the experiences of a young, unsophisticated minister, and that his purpose was only to maintain interest in his meetings, the conservative board voted angrily for good old gospel sermons, and read its ultimatum to him. There was no escape. Another baton is dropped before it can even be handed on; the old-time religion scores a coup the voices of gold, once ringing melodiously on Sunday evenings, are stilled, and their author must meekly resume the old, old path.