Decatur Democrat, Volume 38, Number 49, Decatur, Adams County, 22 February 1895 — Page 6

CHAPTER XVI.-ContlnueU. Well did she recollect the sudden blaze of childish fury which had risen within her breast when Cecil, gaily taunting, had whispered about knights who loved an 1 rode away, ere his own resentment had been awakened by the prediction having been verfied. Cecil had been right, and she had been wrong—once. Who was to say which would be th® truer prophet now? Os one thing, however, Geraldine was clear', she very earnestly desired that Cecil Raymond should not be | aware of how far Bellenden had already gon©} how of ton the two had met,'and to what extent they had advanced in intimacy. She never mentioned to her cousin Sir Frederick’s name. She looked as unconscious as she could if he were casually referred to by others. And if she knew he were to be any place at any hour on the watch for her and ready to join her, she would sooner have given up the meeting altogether than have had on her other side the playmate of her youth. With a heavy heart she now preEared for a two days visit at Aunt [aria’s. She knew how it wou’d be when she got there. She could already hear her two aunts’ whisperings, and mark, the confidences interchanged and the plan of the campaign drawn up. For Mrs. St. George, having no cnildren of her own, and being well affected towards her nieces and nephews in general, and Cecil Raymond in particular, would t© only toe much overjoyed at being called in to assist him at this all-important juncture. Cecil would be paired off with his cousin at the dinner-table, in the boat, at the luncheon party, throughout the entire proceedings. .She could prophetically behold him carrying her shawl and fetching her parasol, waiting for her if she were behindhand, and waiting for no one else if she were [n front. She knew for what purpose be had bo ght a white cotton cover for his umbrella, and almost felt its shade before she had ever seen it unfurl ed. All proved correct—only too correct. It was Cecil here and Cecil there, just as had been anticipated. Cecil was directed to look after the Mount street luggage even at the railway station, and he took their tickets and found their compartment subsequently. He it was who sat on the box-seat of his aunt’s carriage, looking down backwards to point out this view and that as they whirled along the dusty lanes, and his hand was outstretched to help them to alight ere any assistance could be offered. Then the net was drawn still closer. Cecil was told off to show the cousin, who was a stranger, the beauties of the shady garden, with its cool retreats and rustling water banks. Cecil had to gather for her the evening buttonaunt’s flower bejg. Aad 1 ""Whit she declined, but escape fron the rest had been impossible. The next morning was a repetitior of the same She found her cousin ir the seat beside her at the breakfast table, and he followed her out intc the veranda directly the meal over. Before the very beginning of the fraj she was sick to death of it, of him, and of everyone. The lovely landscape around her had no beauty in her eyes. The blue, glittering river, winding its way between its willowy banks, with its usual re- . nose broken by the thousands of raih : bow-tinted holiday makers, all plying oar and sail for the same point—she scarce cared to look upon it. The warm hay-fields, merry with haymakers, with their background of solemn foliage, all one milky, gray-green hue inthe July sunshine—she beheld the fair scene as though it wereab. gbear. Silent and sullen she sat, scarce lifting her gaze from the water at her side, her large sunshade screening her from the observation of the rest, her thoughts elsewhere. Cecil was rowing, and looking his best in his nice new flannels. He was not altogether happy, poor fellow; he had a gnawing sense of being ungraciously met and repelled at every turn that day; and as until new he had never experienced any actual rebtifi'B, and had never been able to ascertain positively that his cousin had even wilfully avoided him -since excuse and explanation had always been so glib upon her tongue—the bed of roses he had proposed for himself in Aunt Maria’s Vine-covered cottage, was like to prove but a thorny couch. Somehow he had reckoned on Geraldine's being all his own. if he could once detach her from Bellenden. It had seemed to him that to Bellenden's baneful influence only, was due his cousin’s variable moods and slippery ways of late. She had been forever eluding him - sometimes on one acco nt, sometimes on another -he could not catch her tripping, but it had been so, as a fact, to whatever cause due. He thought, nay he felt sure, that Bellenden was at the bottom of it. Bellenden and he were now almost Openly antagonistic: had been fob the past fortnight: and_Gei*aidine, while affecting to perceive nothing, was, he could not but think, covertly Bellenden’s side. But if once he cppld undermine Bellenden s influence, and counteract the impression which he had apparently made afresh, he tho ght ho could! soon reinstate himself with the cousin. 1 That Sir Frederick was not seriously in earest, that he had no aim beyond standing well with one of the reigning beauties of the season and being seen in her train by those who chronicle i "such records, we must do young Ray- 1 mond the justice to say was his honest |

and deliberate conviction. His own feeling for Geraldine was of the calmest and steadiest. He had always been fond of.her —as a child ho had seen her open to improvement, and he saw her open to improvement now; but he admired and was attracted, and the fact that the match would be one to please his parents and sisters did not in any wise detract from its merits in his eyes, as such facts have been known to do. But Bellenden had in all probability no idea of a match at all. Bellenden was not a marrying man. He had a manner; it meant nothing. He had employed It with Ethel, and it had misled her and her mother. He was now making free with Geraldine, and she, foolish child, was once again falling into the snare. Was it for him to stand by and see his dear, sweet, loveable cousin thus trifled with? Assuredly not. CHAPTER XVII. “YOU ARE A PATIENT MAN, SIR FREDERICK. If Geraldine had only known what was passing in the young man’s breast! She fancied, as people have done, and will do to the end of time, that whatever might be her own doubts, and fears, afnotions and agitations, they were safely hidden in the innermost recesses of her heart, secure from every one's ken but her own. It was her one comfort that no one —not even her poor dear —dreamed of those nightlv musings and the daily struggle; arid that Cecil, Cecil of all people, Cecil, to whom she had so long been after her manner, subject, of whose opinion she still had a cold dread, and for whom she still entertained a certain uneasy respect, that Cecil should have made the tumultuous upheaval of her soul the subject for his calm, dispassionate dissection, would have been sufficient to let us see what it did do when the frightful truth burst upon her. All that day Cecil was on the watch. His hand was the one on which she had to depend for support, as she stepped ashore upon the green bank, so well known at Henley, where the favored few are permitted to excite the envy of the multitude, where they can feast spaciously and luxuriously, in tlye long, cool grass beneath the shade, unencumbered by the vulgar, i and where they can at ease promenade presently, unjostled by the clamorous, i Cecil was his cousin’s escort towards 1 the spot where Aunt Maria's wellI trained servants had already almost i completed their tempting arrange- ' ments. where the lamb, and chicken, and lobster, and salad, the salmon and cucumber, the pie and the pate were repeated up and down the snowy tablecloth, and where the champagne bottles were up to their necks in the icepails behind the tree. Geraldine's place was selected in the shadiest corner, behind which there was a niche: not yet to be filled up,but i into which some one would by-and by ! insert himself; some one who was so openly and palpably her cavalier for f the nonce, that none of the other young men of the party durst so much as offer her a piece of bread, although there was more than one present who would fain have done so. Did she want to go on the river, luncheon being over? Cecil’s own little cushioned boat was lying ready,and he would be too proud to take her. No? Would she prefer the Guards’ inclosure? The •'lsthmian'’ inclosure? The Hungarians were playing in the latter; but either inclosUre was open to her. Cyiljhad f ” p h " tV * ■ i Would she then see the next race rowed? If so, he would show her the . right place, the point from which a fine open view, unencumbered by house-boats, might be obtained? Oh, she was too tired to walk. Would she take a seat? There were seats in abundance among the trees; and to be sure there was a glare on the river, it would be cooler and pleasanter to get among the trees—even as he spoke, she had turned away from him with an exclamation. She had fancied she saw Bellenden. Previously, no idea of the extent and magnitude of the festival had entered into her mind, and she had supposed that, once there, she would have had no difficulty in being found by one minded to find her. A regatta was not ; a racecourse, she had argued; and sne had been at regattas before—having witnessed a few dull yachts cruising about in the Firth of Clyde, and stood among a few hundred spectators to see them come in —(which they never did,) but of the great regratta of the south, oi the crowd, the din, the confusion and strife, the Babel of tongues, the difficulty of movement, and the almost impossibility of meeting without previous appointment, she had had no sort of conception, while Bellenden had been e jially Ignorant. Had he ever been at Henley Regatta before he would have known, indeed, to confine his search within certain limits; but he had not learned his lesson, and had somehow picked up a vague impression that the ladies’quarter was near the bridge, on a large and thronged platform, ani finding none of the Raymonds there had somewhat disconcerted him. He had, however, proceeded with his search, scoured the water, assailed the inclosure, 1 peered over the decks of house-boats, and been everywhere and looked everywhere but in the one place where his dove had hidden herself, and in consequence he had of course searched and scoured in vain Finally he had given it up, and gone home in disgust, but meaning to have compensation in Mount street presently. Geraldine had evidently been kept from him by the Raymonds and St. Georges in collusion; either she had not been at the regatta at all, or she had been kept out of sight on purpose; in either of which cases there would be no sort of use in his going doWn again on the second day. The train had been a purgatory, the rush at the ticket .office, and the scramble tor a seat something to shudder at, the whole affair a noisy, vulgar, unremunerative day. He had not seen a thing, he had scarcely met a nerson he knew, he had never endured four fjours of greater martyrdom. Add, after all, very little would have been obtained, even if he had found

GeraMlne in her present MMMjr. The Raymonds were obviously holding her fast for the son and heir, ana she was ’for the time unattainable. II would have been but a word, or at most a brief half hour by her side-and that probably with Cecil, or some deputy bf Cecil’s on the other side. It would be but that if he went on the second day; and on the evening of the second day the ladies were to return to town. He decided to stop in town, and present himself in Mount street during that evening. ' ... The moment the decision had been arrived at, it assumed a form that made up for all the past. Bah! the idea of telling a love tale amidst the roar and riot of that horrid place, beneath a scorching sun, and surrounded by gaping crowds! True, She had meant to wait, and had hoped for the best —for some opening, some chance invitation which might lead to a twilight spent in Paradise, supposing Mrs. St. George, for instance, had proved to bo a goodnatured, hospitable woman, and be had gone back with the party to The lAwn. But this hope had faded away during the long, hot, fruitless search, ana at the close of the day he had felt himself a fool ever to have entertained it. The little balcony in Mount street, among th© bln© pots of field daisies, would do as well as, or better than th© banks of the Thames. .... So it would, and so it might have done, had tho lover not been anticipated. It was late for some people, early for others—in brief, it was past 9 o’clock when the announcement of Sir Frederick Bellenaen’s name made Geraldine start from the chair into which she had thrown herself towear out the remainder of a wretched day. She had not dreamed of his, or of anyone s coming in at that hour; and her hair had been unloosed, her hat, gloves, and parasol thrown down anywhere, and her handkerchief, wet through and through, allowed to drop by her side, as sne leaned her flushed faco upon her hand, thinking over all that had taken place. Granny had retired for the night, still more worn out and exhausted; for the family gathering had not been a success, and both sne and Geraldine had issued from it as it were, in disgrace. Her two daughters had alike resentfully held her at arm's length. Maria had subjected her to questions and comments, Charlotte to innuendoes. She had seen them interchange glances now and again on the reedptiog of her replies, and had by degrees come to grasp the situation in aU its details, and to penetrate into the secret of the displeasure which she had herself incurred. It had become plain that she was now understood to be unlavorable to the sisters 7 views. It bad become equally obvious that those views had met with some great and unexpected check. When the hour for departure had arrived; ■she and her charge had been suffered to leave without any of those cheerful prognostications and pleasant words and wishes usual on such 00i casions. There had been no little lov- ■ ing attentions and flatteries, and I scarcelj r even a respectable show of ' response to her own thanks and fare- ' I wells: instead, there had been an omiI nous silence, lowering looks, and cold . i kisses and Cecil had been nowhere to . I be found. I That had informed her of the whole ■ truth, and Geraldine,when tasked, had not even sought to deny it. Yes, it i was as grannv had surmised; Cecil, i foolish boy, had made himself ridicuj i ious and her very angry; ho had been I very rude, he —- “Rude;” Granny.might well open , her eyes. She had never known Ce- > cil Raymond rude in his life. What , should he be rue for now? ’ “Because I cpuld not agree with . I him. aadAfiam* Ml* 1 “that was why-w?h, that waff why, she had repeated, her t.osom heavinj ® at the recollection. / jj i “But, my dear, my darling, Ido no understand”—no wonder the poor oh ' lady had been mystified—“l under stand that Cecil, poor fellow, for whon I am very sorry”—(“poor, dear boy, . wish he had held his tongue," in'pa ’ renthesis) —“I understand that yot cannot care for him as he does for yoi ' but why should you have been to-sc I hasty with him? Why should you not i ; quietly and kindly have refused tc I listen ” . I “I did refuse to listen; but not until [ ' he had spoken-oh, not until I had 1 ■ heard him say such things ’’ and i upon this the poor child had wept and ' sobbed afresh, and no more had been ’ ■ forthcoming. J [TO BE CONTINUED.] ■ I •— - . . ' - SPOILED MACREADY’S ORATION I i An Unusually Strong Finch of Snuß Mads 1 the Corpse Sneeze on the Stage, j When Macready was a young pi an . classical drama in blank verse hqld the ; stage, says London Figaro. One of these was “2Emilius; or, the Fall of Rome.” .SSmilius was played by an actor named Pope, and the exigencies of the play required him to be brought on the stage on a bier, supposedly dead, and Flavius, acted by Macready, spoke an oration over the body. Pope was an inveterate snuff-taker, and just before going on one night he borrowed a pinch from one of the stage attendants. He was accustomed to a mild ifivigorant, but the borrowed tobacco was the fiery Welsh stuff. Pope was duly brought on the stage by the usual army of “supers,” and Macready began: “Thou last of the Romans, thy bleeding country calls thee in vain. Time and fortune may do their worst. Since thou—, —” Here, to Macready’s astonishment, Pope’s face began to work, and then came a sneeze from the dead Roman that shook the flies. Macready started as if shot, and the audience began to titter, but he went on: = “Since thou hast left us we are encompassed by enemies who ” Here the corpse began to show animation, and then came a succession of sneezes. Boiling over with rage, and j in a voice heard all over the house, j Macready muttered: “Drat your blood, sir, why don’t you do your sneezing off the stage?” The audience shouted and the scene ended by the corpse stalking off tc find and kill the nwi who gave him the enuff, "

OLD, YET EVER NEW. REV. DR. TALMAGE ON “THE GLORIOUS GOSPEL." fhouaanda Turned Away from the Academy of Music in New York—A Hugo Building Filled to Overflowing—Plain Gospel Talk. The Fountain of Life. Several thousand persona were turned away Sunday afternoon from the doors of the Academy of Music after the huge building had been filled to overflowing, the crowds having begun to assemble fully two hours before the time fixed tor opening the service. Rev. Dr. Talmage took for his subject "The Glorious Gospel," the text chosen being, “According to the glorious gospel of the blessed God. which was committed to my trust” I. Timothy 1, 11). The greatest novelty of our time is tho gospel. It is so old that it is new. As potters and artists are now attempting to fashion pictures and cups and curious ware like those of 1900 years ago recently brought up from buried Pompeii, and such cups and pitchers and curious ware are universally admired, so any one who ean unshovel the real gospel from the mountains of stuff under which it has been buried will be able to present something that will attract the gase and admiration and adoption of all the people. It Is amazing what substitutes have been presented for what my text calls “the glorious gospel." There has been a hemispheric apostasy. There are many people in this and all other large assemblages who have no more idea of what the gospel really is than they have of what is contained In the fourteenth chapter of Zend-Avesta, the Bible of the Hindoo, the first copy of which I ever saw I purchased In Calcutta last September. The old gospel is 50 feet under, and the work has been done by the shovels of those who have been trying to contrive the philosophy of religion. There Is no philosophy about it. It is a plain matter of Bible statement and of childlike faith. Some of the theological seminaries have been hotbeds of infidelity because they have tried to teach the “philosophy of religion.” By the time that many a young theological student gets half through his preparatory course he Is so filled with doubts about plenary Inspiration, and the divinity of Christ, and the questions of eternal destiny that he is more fit for the lowest bench In the infant class of a Sunday school than to become a teacher and leader of the people.’ The ablest theological professor is a Christian mother, who out of her own experience ean tell the 4-year-old how beautiful Christ was on earth, and how beautiful he now is In heaven, and how dearly he loves little folks, and then sfie kneels down and puts one arm around the boy, and, with her somewhat faded cheek against the roseate cheek of the little one, consecrates him for time and eternity to him who said, “Suffer them to come unto me.” What an awful work Paul made with the D. D.’s, and the LL. D.'s, and the F. R. S.’s when he cleared the decks of the old gospel ship by saying, “Not many wise men, not many noble, are called, but God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty.” The Gospel Light. There sits the dear old l ieologlan with bls table piled up with all the great books on inspiration and exegesis and apologetics for the Almighty and writing out his own elaborate work on the philosophy o' religion, and his little grandchild comin, up to him for a good night kiss he accidentally knocks off the biggest book from the table, and it falls on the head of the child, of whom Christ himself said, "Out of the months of babes and sucklings thou f; | tne ” I throne of the last judgment wants n< > I apologetics. Eternity wants no apologet I les. Scientists may tell us that nature t light is the "propagation of undulation: 1 I in an elastic medium, and thus set in vl - bratory motion by the action of luminou: i bodies,” but no one knows what gospe [ light is until his own blind eyes by th< ■ touch of the Divine Spirit have opened t< i see the noonday of pardon and peace. Sei ; entists may tell us that natural sound it • “the effect of an impression made on th< 1 organs of hearing by an impulse of the 1 I air, caused by a collision of bodies or bj I other means,” but those only know wha! the gospel sound is who have heard the voice of Christ directly, saying: “Thy sine are forgiven thee. Go in peace.” The theological dude unrolls upon the plush ol the exquisitely carved pulpit a learned discourse showing that the garden of Eden was an allegory, and Solomon’s Song a rather indelicate love ditty, and the book of Jo b a drama in which satan was the star Oor, and that Renan was three-quarters right about the miracles of Jesus, and that the Bible was gradually evoluted and the best thought of the disI ferent ages, Moses and David and Paul I doing the best they could under the circumstances, and therefore to be encourI aged. Lord of heaven and earth, get us I out Os the London fog of higher criticism! The night is dark, and the way is rough, and we have a lantern which God has put in our hands, but Instead of employing that lantern to show ourselves and others the right way we are discussing lanterns, their shape, their size, their I material and which is the better light, I kerosene, lamp oil or candle, and while we discuss it we stand all around the lantern, so that we shut out the light from the multitudes who are stumbling on the dark I mountains of sin and death. Twelve hunI dred dead birds were found one morning I around Bartholdi’s statue in New York harbor. They had dashed their life out against the lighthouse the night before. Poor things! And the great lighthouse of the gospel—how many high soaring thinkI ers have beaten all their religious life out I against it, while it was intended for only one thing, and that to show all nations the way into the harbor of God’s mercy and to the crystalline wharves of the heavenly city, where the immortals are waiting for new arrivals. Dead skylarks when they- might have been flying seraphs. > A False Idea. Here also come, covering up the old gospel, some who think they can by law and exposure of crime save the world, and from Portland, Me., across to San Francisco and back again to New Orleans and Savannah many of the ministers have gone into the defective business. Worldly reform by all means, but unless it be also gospel reform it will be dead failure. In New York its chief work has bees to give us a change of bosses. We bad a Democratic boss, arid now it is to be a RepubI lican boss, but the quarrel is, Who shall I be the [Republican ? Politics Will save the

cities the same day that satan evangelises perdition. Here comes another class of people who in pulpit and outside of It cover up the gospel with the theory that It makes no final difference what you believe or how you act —you are bound for heaven anyhow. There they sit, side by side, in heaven —Garfield, and Gulteau, who shot him; Lincoln, and John Wilkes Booth, who assassinated him; Washington, and Thomas Paine, who slandered him; Nana Sahib and the missionaries whom he clubbed to death at Cawnpur; Herod, and the children .whom he massacred; Paul, and Nero, who beheaded him. As a result of the promulgation of such a mongrel and conglomerate heaven, there are millions of people in Christendom who expect to go straight to heaven from their serngUos, and their Inebriation, and their suicides, when among the loudest thunders that break over the basaltic island to which St. John was expatriated was the one in which God announced that “the abominable and the murderers and whoremongers and sorcerers and Idolaters and all liars shall have their place In the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” I correct what I said when I declared the gospel was buried fifty feet deep. It is buried a thousand feet deep. Had the glorious gospel been given full opportunity I think before this the world would have had no need of pulpit or sermon or prayer or church, but thanksgiving and hosannas would have resounded In the temple, to which the mountains would have been pillars, and the blue skies the dome, and the rivers the baptistry, and all nations the worshipers In the auditorium of the outspread world. But so far from that, as I remarked in the opening sentence of thlpaermon, tho greatest novelty of our timji Jj, the gospel. And let me say to the hundreds and thousands of educated and splendid young men about to snter the gospel ministry from the theological seminaries of all denominations, on this and the other side of the seas, that there is no drawing power like the glorious gospel. "Him hath God lifted up to draw all men unto him. Get your souls charged and surcharged with this gospel, and you will have large audiences and will not have to announce, in order to assemble such audiences, a Sunday night sacred concert, with a brief address by the pastor, or the presence of “Black Pattis,” or creole minstrels, or some new exposure of Tammany, or a sermon accompanied by a magic lantern or stereopticon views. Glorious Good News. The glorious gospel of the blessed God as spoken of in my text will have more drawing power, and when that gospel gets full awing it will have a momentum and a power mightier than that of the Atlantic ocean when under the force of the September equinox it strikes the highlands of the Navesink. The meaning of the word “gospel" Is “good news," and my text saya it la glorious good newa, and we must tell it in our churches, and over our dry goods counters, and in our factories, and over our thrashing machines, and behind our plows, and on our ships' decks, and in our parlors, our nurseries and kitchens, as though It were glorious good news, and not with a dismal drawl in our voice and a dismal look on our faces, as though religion were a rheumatic twinge, or a dyspeptic pang, or a malarial chill, or an attack of pervous prostration. With nine “blesseds” or "happys” Christ began his sermon on the mount—blessed the poor, blessed the mourner, blessed the meek, blessed the hungry, blessed the merciful, blessed the pure, blessed the peacemakers, blessed the persecuted, blessed the reviled, blessed, blessed, blesscd, happy, happy, happy. Glorious good news for the young as through Christ they may have their coming years ennobled, and for a lifetime all the angels of God their coadjutors and all the armies of heaven their allies. Glorious good news for the > ramTtlieir courage rallied, and their vic ( tory over all obstacles and hindrance: . made forever sure. Glorious good newi I for the aged as they may have the aym i pathy of him of w;fiom St. John wrote “His head and hlsjhalrs were white lik< i wool, as white as show,” and the defen* I of the everlasting arms. Glorious goo< , news for the dying as they may have min Istering spirits to escort them, and opening gates to receive them, and a sweep ol eternal giolies to encircle them, and the welcome of a loving God to embosom them. The Text Is Right. Oh, my text is right when it speaks ol the glorious gospel. It is an invitation from the most radiant being that ever trod the earth or ascended the heavens to you and me to come and be made happy and then take after that a royal castle r everlasting residence, the angels of j God our cupbearers. The price paid for all of this on the cliff of limestone about as high as this seven minutes’ walk from the wall of Jerusalem, where with an agony that with one hand tore down the rocks and with the other drew a midnight blackness over the heavens, our Lord set us forever free. Making no apology for any one of the million sins of our life, but confessing all of them, we can point to that cliff of limestone and say, “There was paid our Indebtedness, and God never collects a bill twice.” Glad am I that all the Christian poets have exerted their j>en in extolling the matchless one of tnis gospel. Isaac Watts, how do you feel concerning him? And he writes, “I am not ashamed to own my Lord.” Newton, what do you think of this gospel? And he writes, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound!” Cowper, wtiat do you think of him ? And the answer comes, “There is a fountain filled with blood.” Charles Wesley, what do you think of him? And he answers, “Jesus, lover of my soul." Horatius Bonar, what do you think of him? And he responds, “I lay my sins on Jesus.” Ray Palmer, what db you think of him ? And he writes, “My faith looks up to thee." Fannie Crosby, what do you think of him? And she writes, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine." But I take higher testimony. Solomon, what do you think of him ? And the answer is, “Lily of the valley.” Ezekiel, what do you think of him? And the answer is, “Plant of renown.” David, what do you think of him? ’ And the answer is, “My shepherd.” St. John, what do you think of him ? And the answer is, “Bright and morning star.” St. Paul, what do you think of him? And the answer comes, “Christ is all in all.” Do you think as well of him, O man, O woman of the blood bought immortal Spirit? Yes, Paul was right when ho styled it “the glorious gospel.” And then as a druggist, while you are waiting for him to make up the doctor’s prescription, puts into a bottle so many grains of this, and so many grains of that, and so many drops of this, and so many drops of that, and ths latonnixturo takon,

though aonr ar bitter, restores to healthy, M Christ, the divine physician, prepared this trouble of our lifetime, and that appointment, and this prescription, andL that hardship, and that tear, and we musti take the intermixture, yet though It be aT" bitter draft. Under the divine prescript tion it administers to our restoration ami spiritual health, "all things working to 4 gather for good.” Glorious gospel! I And then the royal oastie into wbloM we step out es this life without so much a* soiling our foot with the upturned eartw of the grave. “They shall reign foreveß and ever." Does not that mean that ymß are, if saved, to be kings and queens, ui>W do not kings and queens have castles? Bu« the one that yeu are offered was for tlnr-B ty-three years an abandoned castlel though now gloriously Inhabited. Ibero Is an abandoned royal castle at Amberl India. One hundred and seventy years ago a king moved out of it never to return. But the castle still stands in Indescribable grandeur, and yoa go through brazen doorway after braoen doorway, and carved room after carved room, maunder embellished celling after embellished celling, and through halls preciops Stow ed Into wider halls precious stoned, amj on that hili are pavilions deeply dyed an« tasseled and arched, the fire of colored gardens cooled by the enow of white architecture, birds in arabesque so natural te life that while you cannot hear their voices you imagine you see the flutter oft their wings while you are passing, wallsl pictured with triumphal procession, roomrt that were called “alcove of light” an« “hall of victory,” marble, white and! black, like a mixture of morn and night J alabaster and mother of pearl and lacquotfl work - I Btandlng before It, the eye climbs f(ou| step te latticed balcony, and from latticed balcony to oriel, and from oriel to archl and from arch to roof, and then descend! on ladder of all colors and by stairs of ped feet lines to tropical gardens of pomd granate and pineapple. Seven stories 4 reeptendeat architecture. But the nry< caotle provided for you, if you will onll take it on the preacribed terms, is grandel than all that, and, though an abandoned castle while Christ was there achieving ( your redemption, is again occupied by thd “chief among ten thousand," and sonxj of your own kindred who have gone mi and waiting for yon are leaning from tfisi .balcony. The windows of that castlel look off on the King’s gardens where im-l mortals walk linked in eternal friendship,l’ and the banqueting hall of that castle hall princes and princesses at the table, and! the wine is new wine of the kingdom,” and the supper is the marriage sup- ' per of the Lamb, and there are fountains ' into which no tear ever fell, and there is music that trembles with no grief, and the light that falls upon that scene is ' never beclouded, and there is the kiss of [ those reunited after long separation. More nerve will we have there than now, or wo would swoon away under the raptures. 1 Stronger vision will wo have there thaa now, or our eyesight would be blinded by ' the brilliance. Stronger ear will wo have I there than now, or Under tho roll of that! minstrelsy, and the clapping of that ac1 clamation, and the boom of that hallolu- ! jah we would be deafened. Worth the Ransom, , Glorious gospel! You thought religion j was a strait-jacket; that it put you on the limits; that thereafter you must go cowed i down, No, no, bo. Itjs to be castellated. 1 By the cleansing power of the shed blood . of Golgotha* set your faces toward the » shining pinnacles. Oh, It does not matter . much what becomes of us here-for at th:, longest our stay Is short—ls we can only ’ land there. You see there are so many! 1 do want to meet there. Joshua, my fir r vorite prophet, and John among the evan- ’ gelista, and Paul among the apostles, and j Wyciif among tho mariym, and Bourda- .. loue among the preachers, and Dante r the and Havjjtodun* 111 dHW^itlcS - mlised since- 1 they left o- many darlings of the heart, their absence as sometimes almost unbearable, and, menrs tioned In this sentence last of all because a- I want the thought climacteric, our blesse, ed Lord without whom we could never te reach the old castle at all. He took our w place. He purchased our ransom. He ■d wept our woes. He suffered our stripes, i- He died our death. He assured our resuri- rectloa. Blessed be his glorious name :f forever! Surging to his ear be all the an,e theme! Facing him be all the thrones! n Oh, I want to see it, and I will see it the day of hie coronation. On a throne already, methinks the day will come when . in some great hall of eternity all the na--1 tiona of earth whom he has conquered by his grace will assemble again to crown r him. Wide and high and immense and * upholstered as with the sunrise and sun- '' sets of a thousand yeara, great audience . room of heaven. Like tbs leaves of an Adirondack forest the ransomed multit tudes, and Christ standing on a high place surrounded by worshipers and subjects They shall come out of the farthest past led on by the prophets; they shall corn: r out of the early gospel days, led on by th< apostles; they shall come out of the con turiea still ahead of us, led on by cham j pions of the truth, heroes and heroinel yet to be born. I ’ And then from that vastest audlencl . ever assembled in all the universe theifl > will go up tl)e shout: “Crown binfl , Crown him! Crown him!" and the Fatfl , er who long ago promised this, his onfl begotten Son, “I will give thee the heatfl j en for thine inheritance and the uttennofl , parts of the earth for thy possessionfl : shall set the crown upon the forehead y J • scarred with crucifixion bramble, and afl . the hosts of heaven, down on the levefl > and up in the galleries, will drop on thefl I knees, crying: “Hail king of earth! Kinfl i of heaven! King of saints! King «f sfl raphs! Thy kingdom is an everlastinfl kingdom, and to thy dominions there shafl be no end! Amen and amea! Amen aufl amen!" 9 Alexander Dumas says he has outfl ' lived the taste for most things thafl mo®ey can procure. The chief pleasl uro of his life now is meditation, whlclfl he indulges by taking long walks iifl the fofest of Marly. M. Dumas Is notfl a white-haired old man, but his oltfl age is vigorous. He lives with his infl valid wife at bls country place neafl Mqrly on the SIOO,OOO or so realize® by the sale of his collection of picture® Nero was mentally and morally ® pervert. He was unspeakably , de® graded in his vices,and bis eruoltie® were of tho most atrocious character® He seemed to delight In viclousnes® purely for its own sake. He butchere<® all hls best friends, including hl® mother, and finally committed sulcid® on learning that the Senate issue® orders for hie arrest, ■ - ■