Decatur Democrat, Volume 35, Number 36, Decatur, Adams County, 27 November 1891 — Page 2

JOHN WHITE’S THANKSGIVING. •Thanksgiving!—ter what?" —and he muttered a curse—•For the plainest of food and an empty purse; For a life of hard work and the shabbiest clothes? But it’s idle to talk of a poor man’s woes I Let the rich give thanks it is they who can; There is nothing in life for a laboring man." Bq said John White to his good wife Jane. And o’er hot face # stole a look of pain. •Nothing, dear John?” 7 and he thought again; Then glanced more kindly down on Jane. •I was wrong,” he said; “I'd forgotten you; And Pre my health, and the baby, too.” And the baby crowed—’twas a bouncing boy— And o’er Jane’s face came a look of joy; And she kissed her John as he went away; And he said to himself as he worked that day: •I was wrong, very wrong; Til not grumble again, I should surely be thankful for baby and Jane." a face at the Window 1 ill ii^£sTWiW' ou ’ RE ,ate to_ night, Moses,” 111 IH /// said Hannah kIIWAi Morand, bustling - upto prepare the iiir ?/ A simple evening - Ij k . band, returning 'I 1 from his day’s toil I I on the evening be1 iflLI 111 f o ro Thanksgiv? M i in ?’ entered the rW) ' “Late? yes—no. It V ssSiflK 1 Who is in the wing to-night, Ha n - nah?” “The wing of the house? Nobody—r y ' -x ' who shoukWxbe > there?” \, •I thought I saw a face at the window, as I passed—a pale face with something j white wrapped around it!” / Hannah dropped the blue-edged plat* ter in her hand—it shivered into fragments on the edge of the brick h'aartja. “Nobody has passed this threshold, Moses, since 3 o’clock this afternoon!” “It’s very strange,” said Moses, passing his hand thoughtfully across his brow. “Give me the candle, wife; my eyes are getting old, but they ain’t very often mistaken this way. ” He went through the long, dark passage way into the one story wing which extended out in a westward direction from the old farmhouse —a room where apples were stored in roomy bins, and piles of seed-corn lay like gold on the floor, and butter-nuts were stacked in great splint baskets. “There’s no one here,” he said, after elevating the candle and glancing keenly around the chilly apartment, “and I might ha’ know’d it Come, wife—we're a couple of old fools for our pains—let’s go bnck and eat our suppe\” Hannah followed her huMjand back into the cheerful but the color did not return to her cheek and lips, “Moses,” she said, in a low tone, “I know it's foolish to remember such old world stories—but—there was a tale about a ghost that haunted this bouse years and years before we bought it! And, Moses, it was always a pale face at the window, with grave-clothes wrapped around its lace!” “Nonsense!” “Listen to me, Moses; that warn’t all. It never appeared except on the eve of freat trial and ihisfortune. Oh, Moses, d ha’ given all my year’s butter money cheerfully if you hadn’t seen that pa'e face at the window!” “Hannah,” said the old man, almost irritably, “you are too absurd. Do you suppose the Lord ’ll trust his children’s welfare to ghosts? What would I’arson Buckaiew say to such notions?” Mrs Morand dropped her head and said no more, but the weight still rested on her heart and spirit, it was evident. •Moses,” she said,-suddenly, “did you remember to bring me one o’ those big ’ ipj _-vVds j - THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. yellow pumpkins? To-morrow’s Thanksgiving Day, and I don’t fairly think the day is kept if I don't have turkey and pumpkin pie.” Moses sighed. “Thanksgivin' Day ain’t what it used to be to us, Hannah,” he said, sorrow- I fully. “When. the children sat round our board and the house was full of ■ merry voices, I felt to be thankful in I my heart. Now we are alone in our old : age. Four lie buried in the churchyard j —four as, likely children as ever played | round a New England hearthstone—Aand Harry, the youngest and likeliest of ’em all, he ran away to sea six years ago, come next April, and if the billows es the salt sea hadn t been rolling over 1 his brown curls long ago, we should ha’ had tidings of him.” So the old couple sat, side by side, while the pine logs burned down into red, gleaming embers, and the candle guttered low in its brass socket Ten o’clock! the tall old timepiece tolled it off with slow distinctness, and as the last stroke died away there was a low “tap-tap” at the door. And without waiting for it to be swered the door swung open and a tall, bronzed man strode In. “Neighbor Morand, I’ve come to help you keep Thanksgiving!” he said, ■ gruffly. “You are welcome, friend,” said the old man, in a puzzled voice, but Hannah's shrill scream interrupted him. “Father, it’s our boy, our Harry. Father, don’t you know his eyes and his ! Voice!" And Harry Morand clasped both the ■ old people in his arms, and cried and laughed by turna “I’n had a hard time of it, father.” he said; “shipwrecked and made captive and weather-bound, but I kept my foes steadily turned homeward, and fev •• '• /•- •

here X am at last. And I’ve earned money, too, father, to lift the curse of poverty off the old homestead at last!” He threw a bag of jingling gold pieces on the table as he spoke, and caught his mother once more to his breast. “And now we’ll keep such a Thanksgiving to-morrow as the old house never knew before!” he cried. “Pile on the logs, mother —make the old cavern of a fireplace all aglow! Great heaven! how I have pined for this fireside all these weary years!” And Moses looked mischievous'y across at the beaming face of his helpmate. “1 guess your ghost told the wrong side of the story to-night, Hannah,” he said. “Do hush, father!” said Mrs. Morand, blushing scarlet in spite of herself. And so the starry hours of Thanksgiving Eve died into the peaceful frosty freshness of Thanksgiving Day itself. “Give me the apples, mother. I’ll pare ’em myself,” said Harry Morand, perching himself lawlessly on the kitchen dresser. “Shades of epicures, how splendidly the turkey is browning And. mother, be sure you don’t put too much milk and eggs into the pie. I like the old fashioned pumpkin’s taste.” “Harry, what a rattleboy you are,” said the proud mother, dusting the sifted flour from her hands, while Farmer Moses, lifting his spectacled eyes over the edge of the newspaper, admonished them to “make haste if they didn’t want to be late at church. ” All of a sudden there was a rustling sound among the dead leaves of the threshold—footfalls on the well-worn door stone—and a loud imperative knock at the panels, from which the brass knocker had long since dropped away. Moses Morand rose and opened the door. He recognized the village constable and two of his neighbors. “Walk in, friends.” said the old man, “walk tn and sit up by the fire. Wife, draw a pit her of cider and bring some o’ them russet apples. • The men looked at each other with strange, disturbed faces. “Thank’ee, neighbor, but we can’t stay—we’ve come on a bad business.” said the eldest one. “Constable, you’d better do your business at once. ” The constable stepped forward and laid his hand on Harry Morand’s shoulder. “I arrest this man,” he said, huskily, “on the charge of murder!” The shriek that burst from Hannah Morand’s lips well nigh filled the room. Moses gave one step forward, and then stopped, with clenched hands and set teeth. “Harry, tell ’em it's false! Tell ’em you're inno; ent!” he faltered. “False! of course it is,” said the young man, tossing ba k the chestnut curls from his frank, open brow “It is some unaccountable mistake -some confusion of persons. I a murderer! Do I look like it, friends?” ’James. Colt, the elder of the two neighbors, faltered a little. “There surely must be some mistake, constable,” he sad, doubtfully “This man don't carry the mark of Cain on his brow!” “Nonsense. ” whispered the constable, “you’d never do for a lawyer, Mr Colt Who was with the murdered man when he was last seen alive? What do all them gold coins on the table mean? Why the case couldn’t be plainer if it were all writ out before your face and eyes. Prisoner, if you have a y preparations to make, be spry about 'em I’ve got to be at the county jail in one hour!” “But stop a minute.” said Harry. “Whom have I murdered? When? I have surely a right to hear the story of my own crime!” Jonas Colt shook his grizzled head. “It s no use trying to brazen it out, Harry Morand,” he said, “but I’ll tell your father the whole story. Your son, Moses, came on from Portsmouth last night, with 3 sea captain—an Englishman—with a pocket full o’money, and a head scant o’ brains, or he never would ha' wasted of his riches so, with strangers all around him They traveled together—they waked side by side away from Caleb Corson’s tavern —and at 8 o'clock last night they were seen together at the entrance to the Hollow Woods. This morning wo find the Englishman’s body stark and stiff, with a bloody wound across the throat and his pockets turned inside out. and we find your son here with ‘ a bag of foreign gold!” “It is my own honest earning!" spoke out Harry, indignantly. “And as for the Englishman, I left him just where you go into the woods, and he called after me that he would be in the village again to-morrow.” “What time did your son arrive here last night?” asked Colt, turning to Moses Morand. “The clock had just struck ten. ” “And where were you, young man, between the hours of eight and ten?” sternly demanded the constable. Harry reddened a lit le. “I walked down to Josiah Wynne’s. Ellen Wynne was my betrothed wife six years ago. ” “Did you stay there long?” “I did not stay there at all. The house was locked up, and the family absent ” “Did you meet any of your friends going or coming?” “No.” The constable shook his head. “Young man, it is a lame story—you will hardly prove an alibi ” So the Thanksgiving which had dawned so bright over the reunited family became dark with the shadow of an awful suspicion—%n u,nsyllabled dread—before the noon-day sun had risen into the heavens! Ai d Hannah Morand, sitting by the desolate fireside, with her face bur ed in both her hands, was ready to cry with the mother of old: “What good shall my life dome!" “Why. neighbor Hanner! what’s the trouble?” It was a crooked, yellow-faced, little peddler who accosted Mrs. Morand, at the same time 1 isurely unstrapping his pack ana laying it on the floor beside I him. Hannah knew him well—he was a frequent visitor in these parts. “But you needn’t tell me, ” he said, “I ' calculate I know it all—and a black ! business it looks to be—looks, I say! j For ’taint nothin’ but looks! Now listen I to me, neighbor, I warn t calculatin’ to I stop and tell you the story afore I went j on to the county court, but 1 can’t stand a mother’s tears, any way you can fix it. Listen, I say! Harry didn t murder that man, and I know who did!” “Who? For heaven's sake, tell me I who?” “Now be quiet, neighbor Hanner, and let me tell my story my own way, or it will never be told at all! You see I was ploddin’ through the woods last night with my pack on my back—it’s a short cut from Raynham road through them woods—when who should I see but a young feller wh’stlin’ and stridin’ along gayer than a y lark, bays Ito myself, says I, ‘if that ain't Moses Morand’s son, Harry, that ran away to sea six y ars ago, I’m mistakin’!’ And I shod starin’ I at the trees where he disappeared as it I j expected him to c me ba k again, when 10, and behold! I heard a chokin’ kind of a cry in the ot'<er direction. ‘I d n’t like that sound,’ savs I to myself, so I put as fast as I could in the way the cry ! seemed to cc.me from. I “But I’m old and stiff, and the wood ' was full of unde brush, and it was a co.isid’rable spell afore 1 found myself in the little o- en glade, where a man lay dead, or dying, with another man—a pale, crouch!a’ little fel.ow—feelin’ in his pockets! 1 could jest see bls face by the light laatarn Mandin* on the

J ground—a livid, eager, pinched kind o’ face. I sot up such a halloo as never j was, but it’s a lonely spot, and I don’t s’pose a livin’ soul heard me. Anyhow the little creetur jumps as if he had been shot, and sknrried away like a rabbit over the dead leaves. I jest stopped a minute to make sure the poor : chap on the ground was dead, and then ; I ran like wild-fire arter the little .villain. It was all I could do to keep him I in sight, and I couldn’t all the time j do that. Once I did think I had lost . him: bnt when I came opposite the I wing o’ your house, neighbor Hanner, I see his ugly face at the window, syith a white handkerchief tied round the < head!” Hannah gave a low cry, but she did not interrupt the messenger of good tidings. “Well, then I knowed how it was, plain enough. He had discovered that I was on his track, and thought he’d ; double on me so, but I warnt to be I fooled that way, so I jest slipt under the winder and drawed the big outside bolt on the door. ‘And now,’ says I, ‘l’ll jest set on the fence opposite, and I’ll watch till daylight’ I could ha’ called Moses, but while I was callin’ him my bird would ha’ flown. So just as soon as ’twas daylight I undrawed the bolt and went boldly in; but don’t you believe he was gone!” “Yes, but ’ “Now you hush, neighbor Hanner! Yon better b'lieve I was clear frustrated then. Wai, I jest put back to the village i arter Constable Jones, but he was gone. , So I got Tom Myers, and we come back, I slick as mice, and jest went the whole length and breadth of your wing. And sure enough, in he come, there wss a trap-door, and that trap-door led down into a cellar, and the cellar was the trap that held our mouse!” “Was he there?” “He was there, huddled up in the corner, with his bloody clothes and his stained hands, and the silk handkercher full o* queer-lookin’ gold coins that had tempted him to commit the crime. And he can’t speak a word of English, only foreign gibberish—and there he Is now, and Tom’s a takln’ care he don't cut and run, fend that reminds me I’d ought to be on my way to the county jail arter the constable!” So the crooked peddler instinctively shouldered his pack and trudged away, leaving Hannah Morand bewildered and giddy, but oh, how indescribably happy! “I knew my boy was innocent!” she murmured, with clasped hands. “I knew ■ It—but somehow it seemed as.if heaven I and earth had conspired to blacken his future!” ; Giacopo Orto made full confession of I his guilt—in fact, it would have been 1 useless to have thought of denying it i under all the circumstances. He had i been cook on board the vessel commanded by the Englishman—a little bark, plying between Palermo and Portsmouth —and his greed had been awakened by the gold so recklessly displayed by his I master. Traveling by the same mail from Portsmouth, he had steadily kept his eye on the coveted wealth, and finally tracking his master into the woods, he had committed the fatal deed. Os course he was at once committed, and all due measures taken to insure a decent burial of the unfortunate sea can- , tain’s remains. . Harry Morand spent Thanksgiving by , his own friends after all; and the crooked | peddler was made a welcome guest in I the glad home circle. “For if it hadn’t been for you, old fellow," said the young man, cheerily, “I should have had but a dismal Thanksgiving of it!” “And now, wife,” said Moses, “what do you th nk about ghosts?” “If it wasn’t a ghost, Moses, it was something quite as bad,’’said Hannah, diligently polishing her spectacles. A Warning. Turkey—Say, young man, do you expect to celebrate Thanksgiving? Young man—No—o, I—l dess not! Turkey—Well, all right; I just wish to remark that a “word to the wise is sufficient. ” —Smith, Gray and Co.’s Monthly. Cranberry Sauce. The eagle is our national bird all the year except on Thanksgiving.—Philadelphia News. A Thanksgiving turkey should be eaten with thankfulness and winter squash.—Dansville Breeze. The base-ball season Is over now, to be sure; but the man who loses his turkey on Thanksgiving Day will be out on a fowl.—Boston Post. The hotel waiter who was presented with a Thanksgiving turkey by a patron ■ of the dining-room called it “a fowl tip. ” | —Boston Courier. I Nevek forget to be kind to dumb an- • Imais. A few extra handful of corn | thrown to your turkeys these cold • autumn days may make you feel a great - deal happier by'Thanksgiving.— Puck. One can go through from Paris to Constantinople now without a change of I cars. We mention the fact for the in- : formation of those in this country who expect to go to Turkey on Thanksgiving Day.—Rochester Post-Express. Shakspearean Relles. Some interesting relics of Shakspeare, hitherto unknown to the public, have been brought to light at Stratford-on-Avon by William Winter, who found them at Gloucester, where they have been in the family of a Mr. Fletcher. Mr. Fletcher was a collateral descendant of Shakspeare and inherited the articles, with documentary proof of their genuln'eness. I They are a jug with a metal lid, and ! a stout cane of Malacca wood, just such a stick as it was fashionable to carry in' Queen Elizabeth’s time. These articles are now preserved at Stratford in glass cases. An Informal Repast. •I suppose," said Mrs. Brown, "you ; would like me to wear a new dress at i this Thanksgiving dinner you are going to give?” “Can’t afford it,” growled old Brown. “As long as you have the turkey well dressed you will pass muster. "—Judge. Love of country produces among men I such examples as Cincinnatus, Alfred, Washington—pure, unselfish, symmetrical; among women, Vittoria, Colonna, Mdme. Roiand, Charlotte Corday, Jeanne d’Arc—romantic, devoted, > tarveloua — Lamartine. Think hot that morality Is ambulatory; that vices In one age are not vices if in another; or that virtues which art , under the everlasting seal of right reai son may be stamped by opinion.—Sir 1 Thomas Browne.

DR. TALMAGE’S SERMON.! - - - HE PREACHES ABOUT PAUL IN THE CITY OF ATHENS. A Woad«rftal Oration Batbra tba Orqak WMa Maa Whicb Told Thom tho Groatoat Troths Tholr Ears Bad Ever Listened To. Given Up to Idolatry. The sermon is the sixth of the series Dr. Talmage is preaching on the subject, suggested by his tour in Bible lands. His text was taken from Acts xvti, 16, “While Paul waited for them at Athens his spirit was stirred in him, when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry.’* It seemed as if morning would never come. We had arrived after dark in Athens, Greece, and the night was sleepless with expectation, and my watch slowly announced to me one and two and three and four o’clock, and at the first ray of dawn I called our party to look out of the window upon that city to which Paul said he was a debtor, and to which the whole earth is debtor for Greek architecture, Greek poetry, Greek eloquence, Greek prowess and Greek history. That morning in Athens we sauntered forth armed with most generous and lovely letters from the President of the United States and his Secretary of State, and during ail our stay in that city those letters caused every door and every gate and every temple and every palace to awing open before us. The mightiest geographical name on earth to-day is America. The signature of an American President and Secretary of State will take a man where an army could not. Those names brought us into the presence of a most gracious and beautiful sovereign, the Queen of Greece, and her cordiality was more like that of a sister than the occupant of a throne room. No formal bow, as when monarchs are approached, but a cordial shake of the hand and earnest questions about our personal welfare and our beloved country far away. But this morning we passed through where stood the Agora, the ancient market place, the locality where philosophers used to meet their disciples, walking while they talked, and where Paul, the Christian logician, flung many an impertinenrapicurean. The market place was the center of social and political life, and it was the place where people went to tell and hear: the news. Booths and bazaars welre set up for merchandise of all kinds, except meat; but everything must be sold for cash, and there must be no lying tbout the value%f commodities, and the Agoranomi who ruled the place could inflict severe punishment upon offenders. The different schools of thinkers had distinct places set apart for convocation. The Platoeans must meet at the cheese market, the Decelians at the barber shop, the sellers of perfumes at the frankincense headquarters. The market place was a space 350 yards long and 250 wide, and it was given up to gossip and riierchandise and lounging and philosophizing. All this you need to know in order to understand the Bible when it says of Paul, “Therefore disputed he in the market daily with them that met him.” You see it was the best place to get an audience, and if a man feels himself called to preach he wants people to preach to. But before we make our chief visits of to-day we must take a turn at the Stadium It is a little way out, but go we must The Stadium was the piece where the foot races occurred. Paul had been out there no doubt/ tor he frequently uses the scenes of that place as figures when he tells us, “Let us run the race that is set before us,” and again, “They do it to obtain a corruptible garland, but we are an incorruptible.” The marble and the gilding have been removed, but the high mounds against which the seats were piled are still there. The Stadium is 680 feet long, 130 feet wide and held 40,000 spectators. There is to-day the very tunnel through which the defeated racer departed from the Stadium and from the hisses of the people, and there are the stairs up which the victor went to the top of tbe hill to be crowned with the laurel. In this place contests with wild beasts sometimes took place, and while Hadrian, the Emperor, sat on yonder height, 1,000 beasts were slain in one celebration. * But it was chiefly for foot racing, and so I proposed to my friend that we try which of us could run the sooner from end to end of this historical ground, and so at the word given by the lookers on we started side by side, but before I got through I found Paul meant when he compares the spiritual race wlth the race in this very Stadium, as he says, “Lay aside every weight.” My heavy overcoat and my friend’s freedom from such incumbrance showed the advantage in any kind of a race of “laying aside every weight.” We come now to the Acropolis. It is a rock two miles in circumference at the base and 1,000 feet in circumference at the top and 300 teet high. On it has been crowded more elaborate architecture and sculpture than in any other place under the whole heavens. Originally a fortress, afterwards a congregation of temples and statues and pillars, their ruins an enchantment from which no observer ever breaks. No wonder that Aristides thought it the center of all things—Greece, the center of the world; Attica, the center of Greece; Athens, the center of Attica, and the Acropolis the Center of Athens. Earthquakes have shaken it; Verres plundered it. Lord Elgin, the English Embassador at Constantinople, got permission of the Sultan to remove from the Acropolis fallen pieces of the building, but he took from the building to England the finest statues, removing them at an expense of 8800,000. A storm overthrew many of the statues of the Acropolis. Morosini, the genera), attempted to remove from a pediment the sculptured car add horses of Victory, but the clumsy machinery dropped it and all was lost. The Turks turned their buildings into a powder magazine where the Venetian guns dropped a fire that by explosion sent the columns flying in the air and falling cracked and splintered. But after ail that Dime and storm and war and iconoclasm have effected, the Acropolis the monarchs of all ruins, and below it bow the learning, the genius, the poetry, the art, the history of the ages. I saw it as it was thousands of years ago. I had read so much about If and dreamed so much about it, that I needed no magician’s wand to restore it. At one wave of my hand on that clear morning in 1889 it rose before me in the glory it had when Pericles ordered it and Ictinus planned it and Phidias chisled it and Protogines painted it and Pausanlas described it Its gates, which were carefully guarded by the ancients, open to let you in, and you ascend by sixty marble steps the propylaea, which Epamlnodas wanted to transfer to Thebes, but permission, I am glad to say, could not be granted for the removal of this architenural miracle. In the days when ten cents would do more than a dollar now, the building cost 82,300,00a See its five ornamented gates, tho keys entrusted to an officer for only one day lest the temptation to <0 in and misappropriate the treasures be too great for him; its celling a mingling nt blue and scarlet and green, and the walls abloom with pictures utmost ia thought and coloring. Yonder le>

temple to a goddess called “Victory Without Wings.” But we cannot stop longer here, for there is a hill near by of more interest, though it has not one chip of marble to suggest a statue or a temple. We hasten down the Acropolis to ascend the Areopagus, or Mars Hill, as it is called. It took only about three minutes to walk the distance, and the two hill tops are so near that what I said in religious discourse oh Mars Hill was heard distinctly by some English gen tiemen on the Acropolis. * This Mars Hill is a rough pile of rohk fifty feet high. It was famous long before New Testament times.* The Persians easily and terribly assaulted the Acropolis from this hilltop. Here assembled the court to try criminals. It was held in the nighttime, so that the faces of th* judges could not be seen, nor the faces of the lawyers who made the plea, and so, Instead of a trial being one of emotion, it must have been one of cool justice; but there was one occasion on this hill memorable above all others. A little man, physically weak, and his rhetoric described by himself as contemptible, had by his sermons rocked Athens with commotion, and he was summoned either by writ of law or hearty invitation to come upon that pulpit 6f rock and give a specimen of his theology. Paul arrived in answer to the writ or Invitation, and confronted them and gave them the biggest dose that mortals ever took. He was so built that nothing could scare him, and as for Jupiter and Athenia, the god and the goddess whose images were in full sight on the adjoining hill, he had not so «much regard for them as he had for the *ant that was crawling in the sand under his feet. In that audience were the first. orators of the world, and they had voices like flutes when they were passive and like trumpets when they were aroused, and I think they laughed in the sleeves of their gowns as this insignificant looking man rose to speak. In that audience were Scholiasts, who knew everything or thought they did, and from the end of the longest hair on the top of their craniums to the end of the nail on the longest toe they were stuffed with hypercriticism, and they leaned back with a supercilious look to listen. As in 1889, I stood on that rock where Paul stood, and a slab of which I brought from Athens by consent of the Queeu, through Mr. Trlcoupis, the Prime Minister, and had placed In yonder memorial wall, I read the whole story, Bible in baud. What I have so far said in this discourse was necessary in order that you may understand the boldness, the defiance, the holy recklessness, the magnificence of Paul’s speech. The first thunderbolt he launched at the opposite hill—the Acropolis—that moment all aglitter with idols and temples. He cries out, “God who made the world.” Why, they thought that Prometheous made it, that Mercury made it, that Apollo made it, that Poseidon made it, that Eros made it, that Pandrocus made it, that Boreas made it, that it took all the gods of the Parthenon, yea>\ all the gods and goddesses of the Aeropolis, to make it, and here stands a man without any ecclesiastical title, neithei aD. D./mor even a revererfd, declaring that the world was made by the Lord of Heaven and earth, and hence the inference that all the splendid covering of the Acropolis, so near that tho people standing on the steps of the Parthenon could hear it, was a deceit, a falsehood, a sham, a blasphemy. Look at the faces of the auditors; they arc turning pale, and then red, and then wrathful. There had beeen several earthquakes in that region, but that was the severest shock these men ever felt. The Persians had bombarded tbe Acropolis from the heights of Mars Hill, but this Pauline bombardment was greater and more terrific. “What,” said his hearers, “have we been hauling with many yokes of oxen for many centuries these blocks from the quarries of Mount Pentelicum, and have we had our architects putting up these structures of'unparalleled splendor, and have we had the greatest of all sculptors, Phidias, with his men chiseling away at those wondorous pediments, and cutting away at these friezes, and havo we taxed the nation’s resourses to the utmost, now to be told that those statues see nothing, hear nothing, know nothing?” Oh, Paul, stop for a moment and give these startled and overwhelmed auditors time to catch their breath! Make a rhetorical pause! Take a look around you at the interesting landscape and give your hearers time to recover! No, he does not make even a period or so much as a coion or semicolon, but launches the second thunderbolt right after the first, and in the same breath goes on to say. “God dwelleth not in temples made with hands.” Oh, Paul! Is not deitv more in the Parthenon, or ifiore in the Theseum, or more In the Erechtheium, or more in the temple of Zeus Olympius than in the open air, more than on the hill where we are sitting, more than on Mount Hymettus out yonder, from which the bees get their honey? “No more!” responds Paul, “He dwelleth not in temples made with hands.” But surely the preacher on the pulpit of rock on Mars Hill will stop now. His audience can endure no more. Two thunderbolts are enough. No, in the same breath he launches the third thunderbolt, which to them is more fiery, more terrible, more demolishing than the others as he cries out: “Hath made of one blood all nations.” Oh, Paul! you forget you are speaking to the proudest and most exclusive audience in the world. Do not say “of one blood.” You cannot mean that. Had Socrates and Plato and Demosthenes and Solon and Lycurgus and Draco and Sophocles and Euripides and Eschylus and Pericles and Phidias and Miltiades blood just like the Persians, like the Turks, like the Egyptians, like the common herd of humanity? “Yes,” says Paul, “of one blood, all nations.” Surely that must be the closing paragraph of the sermon. His auditors must be let up from the nervous strain. Paul has smashed the Acropolis and smashed the national pride of the Greeks, and what more can he say? Those Grecian orators, standing on that place, always closqd their addresses with something sublime and climacteric, a peroration, and Paul is going to give them a peroration which will eclipse in power and majesty all that he has yet said. Heretofore he has hurled one thunderbolt at a time; now he will close by hyrling two at once. The little old man, under the power of his speech, has straightened himself up and the stoop has gone out of his shoulders, and he looks about three feet taller than when he began, and his eyes, which were quiet, became two flames of fire, and his face, which was calm in tbe Introduction, now depicts a whirlwind of emotion as he ties the two thunderbolts together with a cord of inconsumable courage and hurls them at the crowd now standing or sitting aghast —the two thunderbolts, of Resurrection and Last Judgment. His closing words were: “Because He hath appointed a day which He will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom He bath ordained, whereof He had given assurance unto all men in that He hath raised Him from the dead.” Remember those thoughts were to them novel and provocative; that Christ, the despised Nazarene, would come to be their judge, and they should have to get op out of their cemeteries to stand he-

fore Him and take their eternal doo*. Mightiest burst of elocutionary Dower ever heard. The ancestors of some of those Greeks had heard Demosthenes in his oration on the Crown, had heard ASschines in his speeches against Timarchus and Ctesiphon, had heard Plato in his great argument for immortality of the soul, had heard Socrates on his deathbed, suicidal cup of hemlock in hand, leave his hearers in emotion too great to bear: had tn the theater of Dionysius, at the foot of the Acropolis (the ruins of its piled up amphitheater and the marble floor of its orchestra still there), seen enacted the tragedies of JEschylus and Sophocles, but neither had the ancestors of these Grecians on Mars Hill, or themselves, ever heard or witnessed such tornadoes of moral power as that with which Paul now whelmed his hearers. At those two thoughts of Resurrection and Judgment, the audience sprang to their feet. Some moved they adjourn to some other day to hear more on the same theme, but others would have torn the sacred to pieces. The record says, “Some mocked.” I suppose it means that they mimicked the solemnity of his voice, that they took off his impassioned gesticulation, and they cried out: “Jew! Jew! Where did you study rhetoric? Yen ought to hear our orators speak! You had better go back to your business x>f tent-making. Our Lycurgus knew more in a minute than you will know in a month. Say, where did you get that crooked back, and those weak eyes from? Ha! Ha! You try to teach us Grecians! What nonsense you talk about when you speak of Resurrection and Judgment. Now, little old man, climb down the side of Mars Hili and get out of sight as soon as possible.” “Some mocked.” But that scene adjourned to the day of which the sacred orator had spoken—the day of Resurrection and Judgment. As in Athens, that evening in 1889, we climbed down the pile of slippery rocks where all this had occurred, on our way back to our hotel, I stood half wav between the Acropolis and Mars Hill in the gathering shadows of eventide I seemed to hear those two hills in sublime and awful converse. “I am chiefly of the past,” said the Acropolis. “I am , chiefly of the future,” replied Mars Hill. The Acropolis said: “My orators are dead. My are dead. My poets are dead. My architects are dead. My sculptors are dead. I am a monument of the dead past I shall never again see a column lifted. I shall never again behold a goddess crowned.” - Mars Hill responded: “I, too, have had a history. I had on my heights warriors who will never again unsheath the sword, and judges who will never , again utter a doom, and orators who will never again make a plea. But my influence is to be more in /he future than it ever was in the past. The words tha£ missionary, Paul, uttered that exciting day in the hearing of the wisest men and the populace on my rocky shoulders have only begun their majestic roll; the brotherhood of man, and the Christ of God, and the peroration of Resurrection and Last Judgment with which the Tarsian orator closed his sermon that day amid the mockinc crowd, shall yet revolution- , ize the planet. O Acropolis! I have stood here long enough to witness that your gods are no gods at all. Your Boreas could fiot control , the winds. Your Neptune could not manage the sea. Youl Apollo never evoked a musical note. Your god Ceres never grew a harvest Your goddess of wisdom, Minerva, never knew the Greek alphabet Your Jupiter could not handle the lightnings. But God whom I proclaimed on the day when Paul preached before the astounded assemblage on my rough heights is the God of music, the God of wisdom, the God of power, the God of mercy, the God of love, the God of storms, the God of sunshine, the God of the land, and the God of the sea, the God over all, blessed forever.” Then the Acropolis spake and said, as though in self defense, “My , Plato argned for the immortality of the , soul, and my Socrates praised virtue, and my Miliades at Marathon drove back the Persian oppressors.* “Yes,” said Mars Hill, “your Plato laboriously guessed at the immortality. 1 of the soul, but mv Paul, divinely in--1 spired, declared it as a fact straight ( from God. Your Socrates praised virtue, but expired as a suicide. Your Miltiades was brave against earthly foes, yet died from a wound ignominiously gotten in after defeat But my Paul challenged , all earth and all hell with his battle shout, ‘We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers 01 the dark- , ness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places, and then on the 29th of June, in the year 66, on the road to Ostia, after the sword of the headsman had* given one keen stroke, took the crown of martyrdom.’” As that night in Athens I put my tired head on my pillow, I thought what struggles the martyrs went through in order that in our time tbe Gospel might have full swing; and I thought that night what a brainv religion it must be that could absorb a «ero like him whom we have considered to-day, a man the superior ot the whole human race,the infidels but pygmies or homunculi compared with him; and I thought what a rapturous consideration it is that through the same grace that saved Paul, we shall confront this great apostle and shall have the opportunity, amid the familiarities of the skies, of asking him what was the greatest occasion of all his life. He may say, “The shipwreck of Mellta.” He may say, “The riot at Ephesus.” He u\ay say, “My last walk out on the road to Ostia.” But I think He will say: “The day I stood on Mars Hiil addressing the Indignant Areopagites and looking off upon the towering form ot the goddess Minerva, and the majesty of the Parthenon, and all the brilliant divinities of the Acropolis. That account in the Bible was true. My spirit stirred within me when I saw the city wholly given up to idolatry!” < Tree Felled by God. jo a supernatural agency the ignorant of all countries attribute the mysterious, or occurrences for -which they cannot see the cause. It was during • night-march in the Caribbean Mountains, that this fact was brought home to me with great force. We were surrounded by darkness, except the small space lighted up by our torches. Suddenly there boomed through the forest a thunderous sound, accompanied by a shook as of a slight earthquake. Then all was still as death. Startled, I seized my guide’s arm and demanded the cause of the noise. He replied, with a shrug, that it was a tree felled by God, and crossed himself devoutly. A tree felled by God! A monarch old and weather-beaten, that had outlived centuries of storm and hurricane, only to fall .in the dead of night, when the breeze stirring would not have awakened a bird. Is there not something awfully grand in this? Something that causes a thrill of awe, and makes us regard with veneration the great Being who created all these -wonders, which to us are so great,-to Him so small? It fell so close that, as it went crashing through the smaller trees with the force of a thun-der-bolt, the wind created by its fall

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