Decatur Democrat, Volume 36, Number 28, Decatur, Adams County, 30 September 1892 — Page 7

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T^yL^-IV\ \, s T/yr* CHAPTER X. T«nTin orrEiis conoiiatvlationr, “Hello, old follow! have you quite forgotten your friends, or ate your ■ thoughts so occupied with the fair Margaret that ins giiitlcant men like me can gain no entrance into the inner recesses Os your mind?" i Brian was sitting in the library, with his feet gracefully elevated, and'his mind deep in thought, and the < njoy- | ment of a cigar, wuen Bertie burst in upon him with this greeting. He jumped to his feet at. the sound of . the well-remombered voice, and making a grub for Bertie’s hand, wrung it lor some seconds in silence. “Bo it is really.you," ho said, when ho found his voice. “Declare! I wouldn’t have known you. Take a chair and make yourself at home. Had an idea you'd turn up." “Like a bad penny,” put In Bortle. , “By the way, that simile is about worn out. It should bo relegated to oblivion in company with the threadbare jokes of mothei s-in-luw and servant-girls. How’s ' the aivlne Margaret? You’re a lucky devil, old fellow. I know but one girl as good as Margaret.” “And who is she?” Bertie smiled knowingly and watched the smoke curling above his head, in meditative silence. “A secret just now,” he said after a pause. “B.ut to return to Margaret. She's a jewel worth the wearing. Thing have turned out fortunately for you, x tell you. I felt mighty sorry for you at one time, and Margaret seemed all cut up about It. The loss of the money would have been rather hard on you, i eh?” “Bather," agreed Brian, anxious to change the subject. “You haven’t told me yet when you arrived.” “ icsterday aiternoon, my boy. I descended upon the parental fold at a moment b g with late, as the poets say. I My respected father had olfered hi* fortune, not his hand, to my beloved cousin, and that impulsive young lady had refused It l.i a few choice but convincing words. A pitched battle seemed imminent, when my presence restored peace. Wheieupon my mild parent fell upon my ne k, metaphorically speaking, . and called for the fatted calf. “That is the history of my return.; Very touching, is it not? Now, I’m here in hopes that Margaret will invite me to dinner. Think she w.U?” “Perhaps," returned a laughing voice. Bertfe turned quickly, to see Margaret standing in the door. “Come in,” he cried, “I’ve walked two miles to see you.” “And get your dinner," she added, advancing into the room and taking the chair Brian offered her. “Thatadm.s- . slqn of yours is against you.” , “And your tongue’s as sharp as ever. I wonder If you treat poor Brian to the | unmerciful lectures that used to fall to my lot. I pity him from my heart. Even now he hasn’t a word to say for himself. Poor fellow!” “He does look meea,” responded Margaret, turning to Brian and endeavoring to draw him into the conversation. “I am afraid your sympatny doesn’t appeal to him. t nfortunaiely, pity is cheap. ” “That is why I-usually have such a supply on hand. I’ve always had two reasons for wishing to be your husband. Don’t turn up jour pretty nose, my dear; It spoils your beauty. As I was I remarking about my two reasons, one is because I’d always be sure of a good dinner, and the o'.her because I’d greatly enjoy the pleasure of taming such a . shrew. ” <J “Thanks for your-interest, sir. For your enlightenment I’H inform you that it is not wise to attempt impossible tasks. I have no wish to play c atherine to your Betruchio. Oh, Miss Hilton, I am so glad to see you. Won't you take my part? I’m qu te defenseless. Even Brian has sat hero quietly and allowed me to light my own battle's.” “That was too bad of Brian. I suppose he considered you equal to the occasion. ” “Just exactly, Miss H.lton," put in Bertie. “You know her of old. I’ve walked two miles to congratulate heron a certain coming event, and instead of accepting kindly intentions, she ” . “She thinks I m the one to bo congratulated,” put in Brian, awaking from a dream, as it were, and turning an inqu ring glance on Margaret’s crimson face. “I certainly didn’t intend to provoke discussion," she rejoined, slightly annoyed. “Miss Hilton brings us tidings of dinner, and Bertie, if you are not on | your best behavior, you shan’t have any.” “I am a saint from this moment,” said Bertie, as Margaret lowered her head to answer some comment of Brian's. “Well, Bertie, how long do you intend to stay “ asked Miss Hilton, as they placed themselves about the table. He laughed heartily. “That depends," he answered. “The uncertainty of the pater’s temper prevents any settled calculation. I hope it may bo several weeks, as I don’t care , to return to the city during this weather; I for if there’s a more forlorn place than New York in summer I’m not anxious to come across it. ” “It would never suit mo,” put in Margaret. “I believe 1 should find the very cobblestones dispiriting.” “It is a revelation to go through its tenement dis riets. I had occasion to do so the other (lay, and it soemed to me humanity literally swarmed around me. How can people, raised under such conditions, have the instmets of human beings." " Yet we are a rich and prosperous people. Our treasury overflows with its i surplus, and thousan Is of human bo- | Ings are starving. By wat lawof justice do you reconcile that?" “My dear .Margaret, your question suggests a subject tor a tariff debate. Ask the Colonel to discuss it with you.” "You speak too lightly, Brian. I know nothing of the tariff, but I do know that I my sense of justice is being continually outi aged. 1 not believe that some | should dine off of silver and gold and ! others want for bread. The p. orest creature was certainly born with some , rights. Don’t laugh, phase; I don't cons d r the subject amusing.” “Nor I, my dear,”remarked Miss Hil-' ton, with n reproving glance at Brian. "You ere so earnest, Margaret,” he flat J, byway of excuse*. “I pity those pour creatures, but I don’t believe in indisoriminato charity. It tends to increase pauperism. Money comes too easy, and the necessity for work is done away with." “Your rule may apply to others as iroll as the poor," was the half-scornful, ' ■■ ■ ■

reply. “I don’t think it hurts any human being to bo taught that humanity Is helpful and tender-hearted. It do- , grades no man to feci that others are considerately compassionate for his i woes and i.nd a pleasure In contributing Ito his liapp.ness. It was a slight action that changed the current of Jean VaiI jean's life. Aud the world is full of , ' Jean Valjeans waiting for their grain of encouragoim nt. No, Bertie, I am not charitable; jou may think so, but I do not. I have all that money can buy; I do not know an hour’s discomfort, or the want of oven a luxury, and because some of my plenty finds its way to the unlortunares I am lauded to the skies. It is a distorted Idea. When I read of a poor woman pledging the only thing of value she possesses to keep a poorer neighbor from being turned upon the i strouts, or when I hear of a starving -Feature sharing her crust with one who .as not oven a crust, I realize something of the charity which covereth a 1 multitude of sins, and when people praise me I fell as big a hypocrite as I thoso Pharisaical individuals whoso religion consists in going to church on Bunday and picking out the parts of the sermon they think their neighbors I should practice, and whose chanty begins with a subscription list and ends I with Bibles sent to the heathen. I don’t admire thoso people. Lot us talk of something else. I see your reproving eye, Miss Hilton, and I boo I Brian laughing, as usual. I wish he'd grow a little more sensible. What do I you say, Bortle?” | “Your earnestness reminds mo of Wilson. You remember him, Brian. Ho took his degree of medicine with you. Ho s made quite areputa'ion in his profession and any number of physicians of more years and longer piactice are glad to call him In consultation. He was always remarkable in his way. Brainy and ail that, liich, too." “Does ho practice in Now York?” asked Margaret. “Yes. He has no ehd of patients. Poor, most of them; but that’s his own fault. He’s a great hand tor going around in the tenement districts, curing people for nothing. Sometimes when ho finds neither lire nor food he not only provides both but makes the fire and , cooks his ir. visions in the bargain. Yes, he is a noble fellow. You should I meet him, Margaret. You and he would agree on many points.” “Brian has never mentioned him to mo. I should like to know him." “I had forgotten all about him,” said Brian, “though now I remember he took especial Interest in me when we were studying together. His grand prophecies have not been realized, I fear. Ho j always had very peculiar notions.” “If he conies up to Bertie’s description it is to be regretted that there are not more of his peculiar not.ons in the world. ’’ As she made this remark Margaret ' rose from the table, followed by Miss Hilton. And Brian asked Bertie for a game of billiards. “Don’t leave us too long,” cautioned Margaret. “Miss Hilton and I will grow mutually tired of each other’s society." i “Like ths pater and myself,” put in ' Bertie. “By the way, Margaret, speaking of charity, the pater is a very good old IcLow, though he tries to persuade others to the contrary. You’ll hear him discuss some poor chap in the strongest possible terms, and likely as hot you’ll I come to find out the fellow’s been enjoying his bounty all the time A queer chap, altogether.” he concluded, not i very respectfully. “Aurevoir, Margaret, Brian Is already grinning over his expected triumph.” CHAPTER XI. TUB COLON St. TAKES A HAND. Bertie’s hope was realized. No undue exhibition of temper on the part of his father had cut short his visit, and though several weeks had passed, he was apparently a fixture at The Cedars tor an ini definite period. He ma Ift the most of his opportunity for enjoying Alice’s society, aud the Colonel smiled grimly at his maturing plans. j But he was not of a vacillating char- ' actor, and as time went on, and matters had not reached a d. finite settlement, he began to consider the advisability of some action on his part. With this idea in view he came rather unexpectedly on Bertie and Alice injho sitting-room one morning. <■ He regarded them fixedly for a moment, and with a look of grim determination, and in words w ich fell with the force of a bombshell on the ears of his surprise d listeners, he exclaimed: “What under heaven are you two moping in here for? Confound me, if I understand such nonsense. For heaven’s sake, Bertie, h ,ve spunk enough to ask the girl to bo your Wife. When I was courting your mother I said—pla ;ue take that girl if she hasn’t run away. This comes of your ev. rlasting fooling. May tiie Lord give me patience with such young ninnies! Where’s she gone?" “I’ll find her, sir,” volunteered Bertie, borrowing his father’s determination of face and voice. He left the room with alacrity, and I pa-sing down the long hall looked into every room, but no Alice was to be seen. An open door leading into the garden suggested her possible mode of escape, and immediately he followed I the narrow path which led to a summer I ho se. A few rapid steps brought him up to the crouching figure. “Alice,” he called, with now gentleness in h s tones. “I’ll never forgive uncle, never!" she exclaimed, with her face still buried in her hands, and her voice hinting rather strongly of tears. | “Poor fatner, I don't think he doseries your ill-will. Look up, Alice, I have something to tell you.” “Bertie, if you don’t leave me I’ll hate you." , “It is very well to say that while your face Is covered, my dear, but fortunately I know you don’t mean it. My bird has been so coquettish and mocked me with so many swoet songs, that I am glad to see her caged at last. Now, as she per- , sistently-refusos to unclose her eyes to the beauty of my countenance, I shall proceed to take matters in my own hands.” I This threat Jie promptly carried out. ' Disregarding Tier resistance, he lifts 1 her blushin < face until he could look irito her drooping eyes. Then, apparently satisfied with his long, intent gaze, he d.ew her closer to him, and kissed her unresisting lips with a grave . tenderness. | “Alice, I was right; you do like mo a little.” A half hour later, Alice suggested the ! advisability of returning to the Colonel. Bertie acquiesced reluctantly. “Come in," called* the old gentleman, as they hesitated at the door. I "How many miles did you have to I travel to find Alice? You’ve been gone just thirty-five minutes, but I’ll forgive , you. Think you ve gotten ahead of the old man, eh? Wouldn’t have a wife of my choosing? Oh, no. Wanted an old mare to your liking. Humph! You empty pate, you’ve got the very girl I picked out for you. Think I have taste, eh? Well, she’ll lead you a dance. She's got the devil’s own temper, and you’re . about her equal, sir," I

• • • " •' » ' "I am your son," was the Imperturbable reply. “Yes, yes. Nobqdy’d think It, though. You’ll never have your father’s sense, boy. Corm' hero, you little coquette, and kiss your uncle. And, Bertie, you scnipp, If you don't give her everything she wants, I'll shoot you. Now clear put, both of you. You addle my bewildered brfiin.” . An clear out they did, with alacrity. During the days that followed Margaret and Alice saw a great deal of each 'other, but this constant companionship was fraught more of pain than of pleasure to Margaret, for the hoppy contentment which filled Al'ce's heart mocked her with the knowledge of something wanting in her own life. The pa'n was hidden in her own heart, but her ddftbts and fears found outward expression in nervous restlessness, a lack of definite purpose and lowness of spirits. Many times did she reproach herself severely for allowing such feelings to influence her; but, do what she would, she could not banish the vague pain with which she looked forward to the future. “It is not that I am unhappy," she told herself, “but ft is the possibility of what lies before me. ” One evening, during one of Brian’s periodical visits to Elmwood, eho went with him to take dinner at The Cedars. She found the evening thoroughly enjoyable, and for the time being she laid aside her depression and was in brilliant spirits. The Colonel, whose vein was particularly happy, kept her by his side and made himself especially entertaining. “You needn’t be jealous,” he said to Brian, “you’ll enjoy all her sweetness presently. No hope for us old fellows. You young ones manage jo shine us down and the girls like your handsome faces and forgot your empty heads.” Brian joined in the laugh raised at his expense, but when his eye mot Margaret’s ho was both surprised and perplexed at its peculiar expression. During the ride home ho found her gay spirits had given way to a moody silence, which he tried several times to break without much success. “I was hoping for a nice talk with you,” ho said at last rather desperately, “but you seem determined not to gratify me. You know that I return to the city to-morrow, too, and I won’t you again until I come to claim you for my own. My darling, if you could realize with what unspeakable joy I look forward to that time. But you are so cold I can’t understand you, Margaret. Sometimes I begin to fear you regret." “Don’t begin to think anything so devoid of sense, Brian. If I can’t believe in disinterested affection it isn’t my fault. Some one stole my faith from me.” She settled back in her corner with these words and wrapped her cloak more closely about her. “I am very cross, Brian," she added after a moment of self-reproach. “I don’t want to be cross to you. Flease remember that even when I forget it I am sorry I ever had a heart.” “Had, Margaret?” he repeated,brightening at once at her gentle tones. “Oh, don’t let us be doleful, please. Talk of something else.” After this outburst Margaret settled still further back in her corner, and Brian tried in vain to catch a glimpse of her face in the flickering light of the two carriage lamps. No further remark broke the silence, which lasted until they reached home. [TO BE CONTINUED.] Curiosities of Suicide. A recent dispatch from Roumania tells of a suicide club, the members of which were pledged to commit suicide as soon as their names should be drawn, th us-realizing Stevenson’s story lu actual life. The surviving members in Roumania, however, have all been placed in rigid confinement and will be tried on the charge of aiding and abetting suicide. It is a curious fa.t that Germans are the nation most prone to suicide and the form they generally choose is poison. As to sex three-quarters of the suicides in every country are males. The readiness of the Chinese to kill themselves is something remarkable. Travelers have said that for $5 a Chinaman will cut his own throat in the giver’s presence. Widows there publicly hang themselves as an honor to their husbands, issuing invitations to tneir friends to come and see the deed performed. In no single respect is the contrast between modern and early civilization more remarkable than in the attitude toward suicide. Among the Greeks, and still more among the Roman stoics, suicide was the privilege, and even duty, of the honorable man beset with difficulties. Indeed not to commit suicide was looked on as a coward’s act. At present law punishes all unsuccessful attempts, though it is difficult to 1 see on what logical grounds, and tho Greek, Roman and Anglican churches forbid the offices of burial to be used over a suicide's body. In England, lentil the time of George IV. the estates of the deceased were confiscated and the dead body buried on the public highway with a stake, thrust through it. Fortunately such monstrous legislation has been repealed. Phenomenal Growth. The progress of the South since Appomattox, says a Southern paper, has no parallel outside of romance. In 1865 we had no money, no credit, no hope. Many of our cities were in ashes, our plantations were wrecked, and our railways were worn out. Today we have a land of peace and plenty, 43,000 miles of railway, and our average percentage of increase of per capita wealth for the decade ending in 1890 was 100 per Cent. more, than that of New England or the central West. i We are drawing capital and we are .making capital. Ten years " ago we had 220 national banks; now we have 590. The percentage of the increase of our foreign exports is about five times the combined gain at the other ports of the country. A few days ago we showed by reliable stat sties that we have fewer failures with smaller liabilities in the South than in other sections. We showed, too, that in development and production our progress had been phenomenal, and that the growth of our diversified manufactures made a total during the last five years of over 17,000 new In. dustrles. 1 Now, take this fact: Since 1888 qur assessed property has increased $1,600,000,000 in value, according to the reports for 1890! When a section can accomplish so much in twentyseven years—starting with only battle-fields and ruins for assets—the outlook ought to be bright. The bad boy will be sorry when electrical tanning is universally adopted. ■i « - ’*■ .'-A .v-*u:., ,r- . ' ■ L

■ DR..TALMAGE’S SERMON. FIRST DISCOURSE SINCE RETURNING FROM EUROPE. I'ho Many of the Bible—Wonderful Anolent Loaming mid Sublime Poetry, but Moro Thun All tho Power ol God Unto Salvation. Talmage In tho Tabernacle. Dr. Talmage was ffrcetefi with a most generous and effusive welcome by a vast congregation, which assembled In tho Brooklyn Tabernacle to hear him preach his first sermon after his return from his European preaching tour. He announced that in a Sunday or two ho would give a sermon concerning his .stewardship In delivering in Russia, in behalf of the Christian Herald, the $:J5,0()0 worth of flour for tho starving. The subject to-day was ‘‘All lu All.” Text, Colossians ill, 11: "Christ Is all and In all." Returned after tho most eventful summer of my lifts. 1 must shortly and as soon as I recover from the sea voyage, give you an account of our mission ol oread to famine-struck Russia and ol my preaching tour through Germany, England, Scotland, and Ireland. But my first sermon on reaching hero must be a hosanna of gratitude ttPChrist, and from the text I have chosen 1 have found that the greatest name In the ocean shipping and from Liverpool to Moscow, and from Moscow to London and Edinburgh and Belfast and Dublin, is Jesus. Every age of the World has had Its historians, its philosophers, its thinkers, and its teachers. Were those histories to bo written there has always been a Moses, or a Herodotus, or a Xenophon, or a Josephus to write them. Wert there poems to bo constructed, there has always been a Job or a Hcniu to construct them. Wore there thrones lustrous and powerful to be lifted there has always been a David or a Caesar to raise them. Were there teachers demanded for the intellect and the hearts there has been a Socrates, and a Zeno, and a Cleanthes. and a Marcus Antonius com ing forth on the grand and glorious mission. Evqry age of the world has had its triumphs of reason and morality. There has not been a single age of the world which iias not had some decided system of religion. The Platonism, orientalism, stoicism, Brahminism and Buddhism, considering the ages in which they were established, were not lacking in ingenuity and force. Now, in this line of beneficentinstitu tions and of noble men there appeared a personage more wonderful than any predecessor. Ho came from a family without any royal or aristocratic pretension. He became a Galilean mechanic. He had no advantage from the schools. There were people beside him day aftei day who had no idea that he was going to be anything remarkable or do any thing remarkable. Y’et notwithstanding all this, and without any title of schol arly profession or flaming rhetoric, hf startled the .world wit h the strangest an nouncements, ran in collision with sol emn priest, and proud ruler, and with t voice that ran through temple and pal ace, aud over ship’s deck and mountair top exclaimed, “I am the light of th< world!” Men were taken all aback at the idet that that hand, yet hard from the use o: tho ax, the saw, the adz and hatchet should have the scepter of authority.anc that upon that brow,from whichthey hat so often seen him wipe the sweat of toll there should yet come the crown of un paralleled splendor and of universa dominion. YVe all know how difficult 1’ Is to think that anybody who was a school with us in boyhood has got to b< anything great or famous, and no won der that those who had been boys witl Christ in the streets of Nazareth au< seen Him in after years in the days o His complete obscurity should have beet very slow to acknowledge Christ’s won derful mission. From this humble point the stream o life flowed out. At first it was just i faint rill, hardly able to find its waj down the rock, but the tears of a weep ing Christ added to its volume, and i flowed on until by the beauty and green ness of the banks you might know th< path the crystal stream was taking. Oi and on, until the lepers were brough down and washed* of their leprosy, an< the dead were lifted into the water tba they might have life, and pearls of jo; and promise were gathered from tin brink, and innumerable churches gath ered on cither hank, and the tide-flow: on deeper and stronger and wider, unti It rolls into the river from under th, throne of God, mingling billow witl billow, and brightness with brightness and joy with joy, and hosanna with ho sanna. » I was looking at some of the painting; of the artist, Mr. Kensett. I saw som< pictures that ivere just faint outlines; ir some places you would see only the branches of a tree and no trunk; and it another case the trunk and no branches He had not finished the work. It wouk have taken him days and months per haps to have completed it Well, mj friends, in this woiid we get only th< faintest outline of wbat Christ is. I will take all eternity to fill up the pic ture —so loving, so kind, so merciful, s< great! Paul does not in this chapter sai of Christ He is good, or He is loving, o: He is patient, or he is kind; but in hi: exclamation of tho text he embrace: , everything when he says, “Christ is al and in all.” I remark in the first place, Christ i: everything in the Bible. Ido not cart where I open the Bible—l find Jesus In whatever path I start I come aftei 1 aWhile to the Bethlehem manger. Igt back to tho old dispensation and see t lamb on the altar and say, “Behold th< Lamb of God which taketh away tho sii of the world!*’ Then I go’and see tin manna provided for the Israelites in th< wjlderness, and say. “Jesus, tho breac of life.” Then I look at the rock which was smitten by tho prophet’s rod, and a: the water gushes out I say, “It is Jesus, the fountain opened for sin and. for un cleanness.” I go back and look at tho writings o Job, and hear him exclaim. “Iknowtha 1 I my Redeemer liveth.” Then 1 go tc I Ezekiel, and 1 find Christ presented then as “a plant of renown,” and then I turr ' over to Isaiah, and Christ is spoken ol I “as a sheep before her shearers.’’ Iti: I Jesus all tho way between Genesis anc ■ Malachi. Then I turn over to the New i Testament, and it is Christ in the para i ble; It is Christ in tho miracle; it is Chris: 1 in the evangelist's story; it is Christ ii 1 the apostle's epistles, and it is Christ in ! tjie trumpet peal of the Apocalypse. 1 know there are a great many people whe do not find Christ in the Bible. Here Is a man who studies the Bible a: a historian. Well, if you como as a his torlan, you will find in this book how the world was made; how the seas fled tc I their places; how empires were estab tlshed; how natioh fought with nation. ! javelin ringing against harbegon, unti , the earth was ghastly with tho dead. I You will see tho Coronation of princes, i the triumph of conquerors, and thi ' World turned upsidedown and back again ' and down again, cleft and scarred witl great agonies of earthquake and tempos) and battle. Jt is a wonderful history, putting to tho blush all others In the ac curicy of Its recital and In the stupen duous events it records. Homer and Thucydides and Gibbon could make great stories out of little events, but it tooK s ; Moses to tell how the heavens-and the earth were made in one chapter,' and tc v*

' give tho history of thousands of years upon two leaves. There urn others who como to tho Bible merely ns antiquarians. If you ccmo as an antiquarian, you will find a great many odd things in the Bible—peculiarities of mariner and custom, marriage and burial; peculiarities of dross, tunics, sandals, crisping pins, amulets and girdles and tinkling ornaments. If you come to look at military arrangements, you will find coats of mall and javelins and engines of war and clrcumvallatlon and encampments If you look for peculiar musical Instruments, you will find psalteries and shigionotiis I and rams’ horns. Tho antiquarian will I find In tho Bible curiosities in agricul- ! ture, and in commerce, and in -art, and i in religion tlrat will keep him absorbed a j great while. There are thoso who come i to this Bible as you would to a cabinet of curiosities, and you pick up this and say, “What a strange sword that Is!” and "What a peculiar hat this is!’’ and “What an unlooked for lamp that is!” and the Bible to such becomes a British museum. Thon there are others who find nothing in the Bible but the poetry. Well, if you come as a poet, you will find In this book faultless rhythm, aud bold imagery, and startling antithesis, and rapturous lyric, and sweet pastoral and instructive narra- ’ tivc, and devotional psalm; thoughts expressed in a style more solemn than that of Montgomery, more bold than that of Milton, more terrible than that of Dante, more natural than that of Wordsworth, more impassioned than that of Bollock, more tender than that of Cowper, more weird than that of Spencer. This great poem brings all the gems of the earth into its coronet, and it weaves the flames of judgment in its garland and pours eternal harmonies in its rhymth. Everything this book touches it makes beautiful, from the plain stones of the summer thrashing floor, and the daughters of Nahor filling the trough for the camels, and the fish pools of Heshbon, up to the psalmist praising God with diapason of storjn and whirlwind, and Job leading forth Orion, Arcturus and the ’ Pleiades. It is a wonderful poem, and a ’ great many people read it as they do Thomas Moore’s “Lalla Rookh.” and ’ Walter Scott's “Ladv of the Lak?,’’- and ’ Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade,” Theysit down and are so absorbed in looking at the shells on the shore that they forget to look off on the great ocean of God’s mercy and salvation. Then there are others who como to this book as skeptics. They marshal passage against passage, and try to get Matthew and Luke in a quarrel, and would have a discrepancy between what Paul and James say about faith and works, and tlvey try the account of Moses concerning the creation by modern decisions in science, and resolve that in all questions between the scientific-explorer and the inspired writer they will give the preference to the geologist These ’ men—these spiders, I will say—sue.k poison out of the sweetest flowers. They fatten their infidelity upon the truths which have led thousands to Heaven, and 1 in their distorted vision prophet seems to war with prophet, and evangelist with evangelist, and apostle wish apostle, and ' if they can find some bad trait of character in a man of God mentioned in that 1 Bible these carrion crows caw and flap 1 their wings over the carcass. Because they cannot understand how the whale ■ swallowed Jonah they attempt the more wonderful feat of swallowing the monster whale of modern skepticism. They I do:not believejt possible that the Bible I story should be true which says that the dumb ass spake, while they themselves ■ prove the thing .possible by their own utterances. : lam amused beyond bounds when I ; hear one of these men talking aboirt a > future life. Just ask a man who rejects ■ that Bible wftat heaven is, and bear him i befog your soul. He will tell you that 1 heaven is merely the development of the ! internal resources of a man; it is an efiloi rescence of the dynamic forces Vito a ■ state of ethereal and transcendental lucubration, in close juxtaposition to the 1 gver present “was,” and the great “to i be,” and the everlasting *’no.” Consid- ’ ering themselves wise, they are fools for ■ time, fools for eternity. : Then there is another class of persons • who come to the Bible as cQntroversial- > ists. They are enormous Presbyterians i or fierce Baptists or violent Methodists, t They cut the Bible to suit their creed in--1 stead of cutting their creed to suit the t Bible. If the Scriptures think as they ' do, well: if not, so much tho worse for i the Scriptures.' The Bible is merely the ■ Whetstone on which they sharpen the ) dissecting knife of controversy. They I come to it as a Government in time of ! war conies to armories or arsenals for i weapons and munitions. They have declared everlasting saj>against all other ■ sects, and they wanY so many broadswords, so many muskets, so many howi itzers.so many columbiads.somuchgrape ■ and canister, so many fieldpieces with i which to rake the field of dispute, for i they mean to get the victory though the i heavens be darkened with the smoke and the earth renu with the thunder. IVhat 1 do tfiey care about the religion of the . Jesus Christ? ’ I have seen some sueh men come back i from an-ecclesiastical massacre as proud ; of their achievements as an Indian warrior boasting of the number of scalps > he has taken. I have more admiration ■ fdr a man,who goes forth with his lists ■ to get the championship than I have for s these theological pugilists who make our > theological magazines ring with their I warcry. There are men who seem to think the only use of the sword of truth > is to stick somebody. There is one pas- ! sage of the Scriptures that they like better than all others, and that is this: • “Blessed be the Lord which teacheth-mv > hands to war, and my lingers to tight!” i Woe to us if we come to God’s wqrd as > controversialists, or as skeptics, or as i connoisseurs, or as fault-finders, or ! merely as poets! i Those only get into the heart of God’s I truth who come seeking Christ. Weli come all such! They will find him eomi ing out from behind the curtain of piophecv until Ho stands in the full light ■ of New Testament disclosure, Jesus, the Son of God, the Saviour of the world. They will find Him in table ; and in chronological calculation, in i poetic stanza and in Historical narrative, ■ in profound parable and in startling mirai cle. They will see Ilis foot on every’, sea, and His tears in the drops of dew on Ileri mon, and hear His voice in the wind and behold His words all abloom in the valley between Mount Olivet am Jerusalem. There are some men who come and walk around the Temple of Truth and . merely see tho outside. There are others who walk into tho porch and then go away. There are others wlto come in • and look,at tho pictures, but they knownothing about tho chief attractions of i tho Bible. It is man who comes and knocks at tho gate, saving, - “1 would see Jesus.” , For him the glori ies ot that book open, and ho goes in and finds Christ,and with him peace,pardon. life, comfort and Heaven. “All in all is Jesus” in the Bible. » I remark again that Christ is everything in the great plan of i We aro slaves; Christ gives (JeliveraltYce to the captive. Wo aro thirsty; Christ . is the river of salvation to slake our . thirst Wo aro hungry: Jesus cays, “I am tho, bread of life.” YYo aro con- • detuned to die; Christ says, “Save that man from going down to too- pit; I am the ransom.” Wo-are tossed on a sea of . troubles; Jesus comes over it, saving, , “It is I, bo not afraid.” We are in darki ness; Jesus says, “I am the bright i and morning star " Wo aro sick; Jesus

is the balm of Gilead. Wo aro dead; hear the shrouds rend and tho grave hillocks heave as Ho cries, “I am the resurrection and the life: that ho bolleveth In me. though lie wero dead, yet shall he live.” We wont justification; “Bein'? justified by faith, we have peace with God 'Jirough our Lord Josus Christ.” We want to exercise faith; “Believe In the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shall be saved.” I want to get from under condemnation; “There Is now, therefore, no condetr nation to them who aro in Christ Jesus.” The cross—He carried it The flames of hell—lib suffered them. Tho shame—s lie endured it The crown—He won It” Heights of heaven sing It, ami worlds of light to worlds of light nil round the heavens cry, "Glory,’ glory!” Let us go forth ami gather the trophies for Jesus. From Golconda mines wo gather the diamonds, from Ceylon banks we gather the pearls, from all lands and kingdoms we gather precious stones, and we bring tho glittering burdens and put them down at tho feet of Jesus and say: “All these are thine. Thou ale worthy.” We go forth again for more trophies, and into due sheaf we gather all tho scepters of the earth, of all royalties ami dominions, and then we bring the sheaf of scepters and put it down at tho feet of Jesus and sav, “Thou art King of kings, and these thou hast conquered.” And when we go forth again to gather more trophies, and wo bid the redeemed of aliases, the sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty, to come. We ask them to come and offer their thanksgivings, and the hosts of Heaven t ring crown and palm and scepter, and here by these bleeding feet, and by this riven side, and by this wounded heart cry, “Blessing and honor and glory and power be unto Him thatsitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb forever and forever!” Tell me ot a tear that he did not weep, of a burden he did not carry, of a battle that he did not tight, of a victory that he did not achieve. “All in all is Jesus" in the great plan of redemption, I remark again, Christ is everything to the Christian in time of trouble. Who has escaped trouble? We must all stoop* down and drink out of the bitter lake. The moss has no time to grow on the buckets that come up out of the heart's well, dripping with tears. Great trials are upon our track as certain as greyhound pack on the scent of deer. From our hearts in every direction there are a thousand chords reachingout binding us to loved ones, and ever anon some of these tendrils snap. The winds that cross this sea of life are not all a'aft. The clouds that cross our sky are not feathery and afar, straying like flocks of sheep on heavenly pastures, but wrath-ful-and somber, and gleaming with terror. they wrap the mountains in fire aud come down baying with their thunders through every gorge. The richest fruits of blessing have a prickly shell. Life here is not lying at anchor; it is weathering a gale. It is ! not sleeping in a soldier's tent with our arms stacked; it is a bayonet charge. We stumble over gravestones, and we drive on with our wheel deep in the old . rut of graves. Trouble has wrinkled your brow, and it has frosted your : head. Falling in this battle of life, is I there no angel to bind our wouhds? Hath i God made this world with so many things to hurt aud none to heal? For this . snakebite of sorrow, is there no herb i growing by all the ’.rooks to heal the poison? Blessed be God that in the Gos- ! pel we find the antidote! Christ, has bottled an ocean of tears.- How many thorns he hath plucked out of human agony! Oh, He knows too well what it is to carry a cross, not to help us carry ours! He k no'J’s too well wbat it is to climb the mountain, not to help us 'up the steep. He knows too well what it Is to be persecuted, not to help those who are imposed upon. He knows too well what it is to- be sick, not to help those who suffer. Ave, He knows too well wbat it is to die. not to help us in lour last extremity. Blessed Jesus, thou knowest it all. Seeing tby wounded hand, and thy wounded feet, and thy wounded brow, we are sure thou knowest it all. Oh, when those into whose bosom we used to breathe our sorrows are snatched from us, blessed be God, the heart of Jesus still beats, and when all other lights go out and the world gets dark, i then we see coming out from behind a Cloud something so bright and cheering, we know it to be the morning star ot the soul’s deliverance! The hand of care may make you stagger, or the hand of persocution may-boav.you dawii, dr the hand of disappointment may beat you back; but'there is a hand, and it is so kind., and it is so gentle that it wipeth all tears from all faces. Truly Terr.ble. “See here, Snooks, why is El Mahdi like the dividends announced by new mining corporations, and money made I in the autumn?’’ asked Tudarnsharp ql ! bis friend. “Give it up. Why is he?” said Snooks. “Because he’s a False Prophet.” “Well, but. I don't set ” “Why, ain't the moling dividend which is only made to sell the stock, a false profit ?” “Ya-a-as.” “Aid ain’t the autumn gains a Fall's profit?” “True, alas, too true,” sighed Snooks mournfully. “If, in my explanation you find any faults, prove it,” cried Tudartisharp triumphantly. “Enough, enough! exclaimed Snooks, with a wild gleam in his eyes, and he was a hopeless juaniac from that hour A Natural Mistaxe. At the Zoo a Mjest Walnut street dv.de was observed lounging in front of a i-ago coiiiaiv.ing some very fine specimens of monkeys. He was apparently enjoying the antics of the animals, when suddenly one ; of <ho'l»r,',cst stretched forth an arm, .in I seizing him by tho shoulder tore tiis cent sleeve badly. The (lr.de. uttering an imprecation, raised IJs ,cane to strike the animal, but the attendant interfered. “Phut's the matter wid yez?”he said; “would ycz sthrike the loikes of a little fellow like that?” “Certainly I would,” was the angry response; “leek, he has ruined mv coat.” “Ah, poor little chap, he meant no baruhi. He must have taken yez for his loug-losht brother and was lookin’ for a strawberry inarx on vour arm. Still They Come, Applicant—“ Here is a manuscript which 1 would like you to look over.” jlock-puHishere—“lt would’bfe useless. Wo only accept manuscripts from noted authois.” Applicant—“ But lam a noted author. My first book ran through many - editions.” Publisher—“Ah, indeed! Come in, my dear sir. Take a seat.” Applicant—”! am the author of ‘The Bread-Winners.’” Publisher— ‘Great J osephus 1 Anoth,; er one! Jim, call the dog."—Philadelphia Call. If you ever promise at all take care, at least, that it be to .nobody that may Uffer by trusting you. - ■ ' • • ' ►

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