Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 6, Decatur, Adams County, 26 April 1895 — Page 10

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CHAPTER ll.—(Continued.) "How goes it, fair cousin?” said Marsden, who was the last to enter. It is quite thirty-six hours since I saw yon; 1 suppose nothing strange has occurred in the interval? You shall have your puppy to-morrow. I told Stubbs to bring him over; do not feed him too well.’ “What a pretty place,” said Mrs. Ruthven, looking out on the lawn. “But the view is a little limited, is it not, Mr. Marsden? You must feel rather triste, my dear Miss L’Estrange, shut up here after the freedom of life abroad?” “Life is much freer here, I assure you. I can go in and out as I like; and I find so much to do, the day is not long enough.” “When yon are a little older, and ambition begins to wake,” said Mrs. Ruthven, with a caressing smile, “you will sigh for a wider sphere —and, no doubt, find it.” “Ah!” exclaimed Nora, her heart overflowing with a vague, delicious, unaccountable sense of pleasure, “I believe I am incapable of ambition. Why should 1 trouble about anything beyond my present state? I have all I want, all I can possibly wish for; if I need a little change I can travel awhile —but always with the delicious sense of having a home ready for me. I look upon myself as a very lucky girl.” Mrs. Ruthven laughed lightly, with a tinge of mockery. “I have at least seen One contented individual,” she said, throwing a languishing glance to Marsden, who came to her side. “I am glad to have been able to introduce you to a happy valley, which the princess, its possessor, does not pine to leave,” he said. A tempting tea table was spread with toast and hot cakes, and the conversation grew lively, and even noisy, as the prospects of the ball were discussed. At last the evening began to darken, and Lady Dorrington proposed their returning. “You look pale and weary,” said Mars"den, in a low voice to Mrs. Ruthven; “stay here, and I will send the pony carriage over for you.” “Oh, thank you! I shall manage to walk back.” Adieus exchanged, the party set forth, Nora and Bea accompanying them as far as the bridge. When half way across, Marsden exclaimed: “Excuse me a moment—l quite forgot a message for Mrs. L’Estrange,” and he turned quickly, overtaking Nora, who was alone. "Be sure you send for what flowers you require, Nora,” he said. “I told the gardener not to cut any till he knew what you wanted.” “You are reallj’ too good, squire. Your guests will want them all. I have what I need at home.” “Then I will select for you myself. See that you wear mine, if you prefer Winton’s— “Why, Mr. Winton would never dream of offering ony one flowers,” said Nora, laughing; “go and take care of Mrs. Ruthven,” and she ran away into the house, reaching it in time to say'good-by to Winton, who was about to start on his homeward walk to Oldbridge. Mrs, Ruthven was very tired, she said, aud therefore silent, but in reality sho was asking herself, over and over again, what it was that Marsden went back for. She deeply distrusted Nora. CHAPTER 111. Both Mrs. L’Estrange and her stepdaughter tittered exclamations of surprise and admiration as they entered the hall of Evesleigh Manor House on the night of the ball. The ladies of Brookdale came early, they wished to see the rooms before the crowd assembled. “Lady Dorrington is in the white drawing room,” said the butler, opening the first door on the left. This was the smaller of the two drawing rooms, and was as bright and beautiful as lights, flowers and groups of plants could make it. Lady Dorrington, in velvet and diamonds, stood in the center, with nearly all the house party,- re-enforced by several gentlemen) Nora had not seen before, gathered round her. Directly the butler announced “Mrs. and Miss L’Estrange,” Marsden came forward, shook hands very cordially with Mrs. L’Estrange, and let her pass on to Lady Dorrington; then stopping Nora, to whom he showed a programme, said, “I have put down my name for waltz, number eight,” pointing out the word “Clifford,” written in ink against that number; “you cannot alter it, you see.” “I shall not want to alter it,” returned Nora, looking up with a smile. “I fancy you are the best dancer here.” She was struck with the expression of his eyes. They were fiercely bright, and had a certain indescribable look of intense! resolution, while his face was white, and the veins in his forehead showed distinctly; otherwise he was strikingly handsome and distinguished. Evening dress suited him well. - ■* “Mrs. and Miss Saunders, Captain Lethbridge, Mr. Winton,” were announced in rapid succession. Lady Dbrringtou went forward to. receive them. “My severe duties are about to commence,” said Marsden, who still held the program, which he now put into Nora’s ' hand, managing to catch and press it as he did so. “I look to you for my reward by and by." “I wonder,” thought Nora, looking after him as he went to greet his guests, “if the squire is ever in earnest?” Her conjectures were interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Ruthven, who came in from the room beyond. She looked radiant and fairy-like in soft satin gnd delicate lace, and absolutely ablaze with jewels. “I never saw anything like her jewels," said Nora to Winton, who had taken his stand beside her. “I should like to know their real value, and what they cost old Guthrie,” be returned. “I fancy there are some curious stories attached to these fine things.” Here Mrs. Ruthven wms straight to

I where they stood, followed by a neat, ac- ' curately dressed, keen-eyed man, « “Ah! good evening, Miss L’Estrange. Isn’t this a pretty room? Really, the decorations are in admirable taste, I must compliment you on your dress, if you will forgive me," she said, looking keenly at Nora from head to foot, with a comprehensive glance. . “I am infinitely flattered, Mrs. Ruthven," .exclaimed Nora, with a pleased smile and a slight blush; “your approbation is a compliment—ps to you, you are quite too dazzling. I never saw anything like your rubies before. I confess I should like to see all your jewels one day.” “You shall, if you like. Meantime, here is. Captain Shirley, waiting for the introduction I promised him. Captain Shirley— Miss L’Estrange.” “May I have the honor of the first dance, Miss L’Estrange?” he asked, with a low bow and an air of repressed eagerness. “With pleasure.” She handed him her card. Having inscribed his name, he hesitated, and said, with a snjilo of entreaty: “Dare I ask for the second waltz,?” “Very well,” returned Nora, with a little laugh at his imploring tone. “I assure you, Captain Shirley is a capital partner,” put in Mrs. Ruthven. Then addressing him, she added: “The rooms are filling rapidly. Give me your arm, and I will join Lady Dorrington. He shall return directly, Miss L’Estrange.” “Well,” .said Winton, who had exchanged a nod of recognition with Shirley, “I think you might have given me the first quadrille, any idiot can walk through a quadrille!” “You know I could not ask you,” said Nora, glancing up into his eyes with a bright, amused sparkle in her own. “And as you said nothing about it, I never thought you would deign to dance.” “I don't suppose you ever gave me a thought, and you are right; I have stiffened too much and too soon into elderly ways to be a fit partner for a creature like you.” “Mr. Winton,” with an air halfjmocking, half kindly, “will you do me the honor of dancing the first quadrille?" and she handed him her program, from which he perceived that the first dance was a waltz, the second a quadrille. Mark Winton flushed through his suntanned skin as he returned the correct reply: “Most happy! Where shall I find you?” he added eagerly, as he saw Shirley returning. “Here, I shall return to this room,” and she was gone. " Mrs. Ruthven’s triumph began with the dancing. Though some of the country grandees were present, the host opened the ball with her, and he had never before been so charming, or so devoted in his attentions; he explained with an amusing air of martyrdom the cruel necessity for his taking the Marchioness of Blankford, an immensely stout, talkative woman, with gray hair and mustache, to supper; but there was no escape. Mrs. Ruthven had never felt so secure, so elated. What wonderful luck hers was, to be ardently in love with the right man! Meantime, the guests poured in, and dancing had begun with great spirit. “I feel as if I ought to look for you and offer you my arm,” said Nora, as Winton rose to give her his seat beside Mrs. L’Estrange, when Shirley brought her back. “Having asked you to dance, I should act the role completely.” “I will excuse you.” “Why do you not dance, Helen?” she resumed. “Lord Dorrington tells me you refused him peremptorily.” “It would not be becoming in the chaperon of a great grown-up daughter to dance,” returned Mrs. L’Estrange goo.d humoredly. “You must give me a quadrille, Mrs. L’Estrange,” said Winton, “for the sate of ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ I don't think I have danced since the old rectory days, when you used to be my partner—you remember?” “1 do, indeed!” A quick sigh caught Nora’s ear, and she noticed the soft, sad look which stole over her stepmother’s, countenance. Mrs. L’Estrange was a email, elegant, but somewhat colorless woman, with pale-blue eyes, and pale-brown hair, a pretty figure, and very soft, quiet manners; she could talk well when roused, but had always the air of preferring to be stil] and silent. “She has hud a trying life!” thought Nora, while Winton said, “Well—l will come and look for you presently.” Then he gave Nora his arm, and they took their places. “I think you must have danced more than you admit,” said she, when the quadrille was over. “You made very few mistakes!” “I watched my neighbors, evolutions are not difficult. No; don't go back yet; you will be snapped up by your next • partner. Who is it, Lethbridge?” “No, a friend of the squire’s, who introduced him, .Lord Alfred Harcourt.” “I don’t think be will amuse you! Have you been in the conservatory yet? It is really very pretty.” “No!” yielding to his movement in that direction. Winton-led her into the hall, where numerous groups sat and stood about, down the passage before mentioned to the buL set, and then across the breakfast room as yet unoccupied, where card tables were set forth, into the conservatory. This was dimly lighted by silvery lamps among the foliage, and freshened by the splash of a couple of fountains. The fragrance qf the flowers, the cool stiffness, after the noise and heat of the ball room, were most welcome. “This is lovely, indeed!” cried Nora, “none of the balls I was at in London were half so beautiful.” “How many did you go to?” asked Winton. “Three,” she replied; “you like accuracy.” “It, is essential. What is this place at the end?” “Let us explore!” cried Nora. A door which let out to the terrace had been replaced by a deep red velvet curtain, which, looped to one aide, gave admittance to a Turkish tent, draped with rich, mellow-colored Oriental stuffs, to*

. - "■ . 1-ipsni tennixed with gold. A divan with embroidered cushions occupied one side, and a stained glass lantern swung from the center, while a long mirror opposite the door reproduced the charming effect of the interior. “This is admirably done," said Winton, looking round. “No doubt Mr. Marsden line bad it done to please Mrs. Ruthven, and remind her of her Eastern life!" “I don't suppose that would give her any particular pleasure,” said Winton dryly. “Are you sometimes taken with ill-na-tured fits?” asked Norn, looking up into his eyes. “Never,” he replied, emphatically, “I am always generous, just and reasonable! Will you sit down, and allow me to enlarge a little further on iny own admirable qualities? The cushions are soft and comfortable." “I must not, however Interesting the subject! My partner will be looking for me —nnd " Without a syllable of remonstrance, Winton gave her his arm, and they began to retrace their steps, “When the waltz is over we must bring Helen to see this beautiful tent,” snid Nora. “Tell me, Mr. Winton,” sho went on after a short pause, “was Helen ever young and merry, and thoughtless, like me, for instance?" “Never like you," quickly; “I with she had been, for her own sake. She never had your buoyancy or vitality; but sho was bright once, and full of feeling; she had hard lines for some time after her father’s death. I often used to wonder how she was getting on, poor dear little soul, and was glad to find her as happy as she is." “Ah! Miss L’Estrange, where have you been hiding yourself?" cried Lord Alfred Harcourt, meeting them In the doorway of the refreshment room. “I have been looking everywhere for you; this Is our waltz." Winton resigned her to the new claimant and was almost immediately buttonholed by an old officer who had known him in India. It was some time before he got back into safe anchorage beside Mrs. L’Estrange; with Nora he did not get a word till later, as she only returned at intervals to be immediately carried off again by a fresh partner. Mrs. Ruthven, bland, smiling, attentive to all with whom she came in contact, was nevertheless keenly watchful of her host and his doings. He had opened the ball with her, and then his duties kept them apart until the fifth or sixth dance. “At last!” exclaimed Marsden, coming up to the sofa where she sat talking to Lord Dorrington, who speedily effaced himself. “At last I have a moment’s liberty, and I hope you can give me the next. It is a waltz. I have watched you floating around the room with sundry incapables unable to do justice to the rhythm of your fairy feet, till I cursed In my heart, though obliged to give good words with my tongue! Let me see your card. ‘Sir George Brocklehurst,’ may I go and dispose of him? Yes, do let me promise and vow three, or thirty-three, things in your name. I must have this waltz with you!” “I give you carte blanche,” replied Mrs. Ruthven, with downcast eyes, almost overpowered with an intoxicating sense of delight nt his tone. “Here ho comes.” “My dear fellow,” cried Marsden, addressing him, “will you do me a very great favor? I have only this one waits free till nearly the end of the evening; will you resign your great privilege of dancing it with Mrs. Ruthven in exchange so many?—two dances after supper—may I say two, Mrs. Ruthven?” Mrs. Ruthven bowed with a gracious smile, saying: "Perhaps Sir George has not so many disengaged.” “With Mrs. Ruthven’s approval, I can refuse nothing to my good host,” returned Sir George, a tali, thin, pompous man, with a profound belief in his own importance. “A thousand thanks! Now let me provide you with another partner.” “Thank you, no! I do not much cere for dancing in the abstract.” A low bow. “Tho first and second dance after supper, then.” He wrote them solemnly on his card, and disappeared. “Then, ' jre goes the Marshal Niel waltz! DoiiT let us lose time. Come, belle Nourmahal! May I presume to call you so?” said Marsden in a low tone as he gave her his arm and they walked into the ball room. “Certainly in your shining golden gown nnd flashing jewels, you suggest the Light of the Harem.” He put his arm around her, and they whirled away into the crush of dancers. (To be continued.) What Esau Hunted. “About noon we saw a beast standing on a mountain top looking down at us. When we saw It we drought that it was a camel, but Callnus said that the beast was a rhinoceros or unicorn. It bath a horn set in the midst of Its foreheads four feet long, and whatsoever it Witts at it runs him through and pounds him against the rocks. It is said by writers on natural history that lhey place a young virgin in his way; whereat he pots away from him all bls fierceness, and lays down his head, aud Is held thus entranced until lie be taken and slain.” Thus wrote that delightfully naive observer, Father Felix Fabri, who visited Sinai 400 years ago. Modern pilgrims who have followed in his footsteps with their eyes open will at once recognize that the animal he saw was the bedan, or Sinaitic ibex, which gazes down ou passing caravans from the tliffs which tower .above their toute. He is seldom visible to them unless bls shapely figure happens to be silhouetted ou the sky line.. 'this wild goat Inhabits the mountains on either side of the Red Sea and the steep gullies of Moab,, and Is the only representative of the deer or goat bribes in these regions. Esau doubtless hunted it, and those few sportsmen who have followed his example will not be surprised that the uncertainties of tho chase cost him his birthright—The Nineteenth Century. Governor O. Vincent Coffin, of Connecticut, is said to be the best-dressed executive that the State has had for many years. He must have other good qualities, as he is very popular with the clerks and employes at the capitol at Hartford. - . ' The Christian should never go where It would throw a damper over thing* to mention the name of Christ , *

TALMAGE’S SERMON. ELOQUENT DISCOURSE AT THE ACADEMY IN NEW YORK. • ■—■»!■■ ■■■!■■■ ■■ The Great Preacher on Influence, Temptation nnd the Wiles of the World- Story of the Good An«el nnd the Bntl. After the Battle. There is no diminution in the vast numbers that assemble from Sunday to Sunday in the Academy at New York to listen to the eloquent sermons of Rev. Dr. Talmage. Lnst Sunday he chose for his subject "After the Battle," the text selected being I. Samuel xxxi., 8, “And jt came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen *in Mount Gilboa.” Some of you were at South Mountain or Shiloh, or Ball’s Bluff, or Gettysburg, on northern or southern side, and I ask you if there is any sadder sight than a battlefield after the guns have stopped firing? I walked across the field of Antietam just after the conflict. The scene was so sickening I shall not describe it. Every valuable tiling had been taken from the bodi.es of the dead, for there are always vultures hovering over and around about an army, and they pick up the watches and the memorandum books, and the letters, nnd the daguerreotypes, and the hats and the coats, applying them to their own uses. The dead make no resistance. So there are always camp followers going on and after an army, as when Scott went down into Mexico, as when Napoleon marched up toward Moscow, ak when Von Moltke went to Sedan. There is a similar scene in my text. Where Saul Lay Dead. Saul and his army had been horribly cut to pieces. Mount Gilboa was ghastly with the dead. On the morrow the stragglers came on to the field, and they lifted the latchet of the helmet from under the chin of the dead, and they picked up the swords and bent them on their knee to test the temper of the metal, and they opened the wallets and counted the coin. Saul lay dead along the ground, eight or nine feet in length, and I suppose the cowardly Philistines, to show their bravery, leaped upon the trunk of his carcass and jeered at the fallen slain and whistled through the mouth of his helmet. Before night those cormorants had taken everything valuable from the field. “And it came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen in Mount Gilboa.” Before I get through to-day I will show you that the same process is going on all the world over and every day, and that when men have,fallen satan aud the world, so far from pitying them or helping them, go to work remorselessly to take what little there is left, thus stripping the slain. There are tens of thousands of young men every year coming from the country to our great cities. They come with brave hearts and grand expectations. The country lads sit down in the village grocery, with their feet on the iron rod around the redhot stove in the evening, talking over the prospects of the young man who has gone off to the city. Two or three of them think that perhaps he may get along very well aud succeeo, but the most of them prophesy failure, for it is very hard to think that those whom we knew in boyhood will ever make any great success in the world. The Battle of Temptation. But our young man has a fine position in a dry goods store. The month is over. He gets his wages. He is not accustomed to have so much money belonging to himself. He is a little excited and does not know exactly what to do with it, and he spends it in some places where he ought not. Soon there come up new companions and acquaintances from the barrooms and the saloons of the city. Soon that young man begins to waver in the battle of temptation, and soon his soul goes down. In a few months or few years he has fallen. He is morally dead. He is a mere corpse of what he once was. The harpies of sin snuff up the taint and come on the field. His garments gradually give out. He has pawned his watch. His health is failing him. His credit perishes. He is too poor to stay in the city, and he is too poor to pay his way home to the country. Down, down! Why do the low fellows of the city now stick to him so closely? Is it to help him back to a moral and spiritual life? Oh, no; I will tell you Why they stay; they are Philistines stripping the slain. Do not look where I point, but yonder stands a man who once had a beautiful home in this city. His house had elegant furniture, his children were beautifully clad, his name was synonymous with honor and usefulness, but evil habit knocked at his front door, knocked at his back door, knocked at his parlor door, knocked at his bedroom door. Where is the piano? Sold to pay the rent. Where is the hat rack? Sold to meet the butcher’s bill. Where are the carpets? Sold td get bread. Where is the wardrobe? Sold to get rum. Where are the daughters? Working their fingers off in trying to keep the family together. Worse and worse until everything is gone. Who is that going up the front steps of that house? That is a creditor, hoping to find some chair or bed that has not been levied upon. Who are those two gentlemen now going up the front steps? The one is a constable, the other is the sheriff. Why do they go there? The unfortunate is morally dead, socially dead, financially dead. Why do they go there? I will 101 l you why the creditors, and the constables, aud the sheriffs go there. They are some on their own account, and some on ac x count of the law stripping the slain. Crowded All Hie Life. An ex-member of Congress, one of the most eloquent men that eVer stood in the House of Representatives, said in his last moments: “This is the end. I am dying —dying on a borrowed bed, covered by a borrowed sheet, in a house built by public charity. Bury me under that tree in the middle of the field, where I shall not be crowded, for I have been crowded all my life.” Where were the jolly politicians and the dissipating comrades who had been with him laughing at bis jokes, applauding his eloquence and plunging him Into sin? They have left. Why? His money is gone, his reputation is gpne, his wit is gone, his clothes are gone, everything is gone. Why should they stay any longer? They have completed their work. T*>“y have Stripped the slain. I There Is another way, however, of doI Ing that same work. Here is a man who, • through bis aln, is prostrate, He ac- . ' - '.J rOffW- ~

knowledges that he has done wrong. Now is the time for you to go to thnt man and say, "Thousands of people have been as fnr astray ns you nre and got buck." Now is the time for you to go to that num nnd tell him of tho omnipotent grace of God—that is sufficient for any poor soul. N«w is the time to go to tell him how swearing John Bunyan, through the grace of God, afterward came to the celestial city. Now Is the time to go to that man and tell him how profligate Newton < ame, through conversion, to be u world renowned preacher of righteousness. *Now is the time to tell thnt man that multitudes who have been pounded with nil the Hails of sin nnd dragged through nil the sewers of pollution nt Inst have risen to positive dominion of moral power. Yon do not tell him that, do you? No. You say to him: “Loan you money.' No. You lire down. You will have.Jo go to the dogs. Lend you a dollar? 1 would not lend you five cents to keep you from the gallows. You are debauched. Get out of my sight now. Down. You will have to stay down.’* And thus those bruised and battered men nre sometimes accosted by those who ought to lift them up. Thus the last vestige of hope is taken from them. Thus those who ought to go and lift nnd save them nre guilty of stripping the slain. The point I wnnt to make is this: Sin is hard, cruel and merciless. Instead of helping a man up it helps him down, nnd when, like Saul nnd his comrades, you lie on the field, it will come nnd steal your sword nnd helmet and shield, leaving you to the jackal nnd crow. Satan's Work. But the world nnd sataifdo not do nil their work with tho outcast and abandoned. A respectable impenitent man comes to die. He is flat on his back. He could not get up if the house was on fire. Adroitest medical skill and gentlest nursing hnve been a failure. He hns come to his, last hour. What does satan do for such a mail? Why, he fetches up all the inapt, disagreeable nnd harrowing things in his life. He says: “Do yod remember those chances you had for heaven and missed them? Do you remember all those lapses in conduct? Do you remember all those opprobrious words and thoughts and actions? Don’t remember them, eh? I’ll make you remember them.” And then he takes all the past mid empties it on that deathbed, as the mailbags are emptied on the post office floor. The man is sick. He cannot got away from them. Then the man says to satan: “You have deceived me. You told me that all would be well. You said there would be no trouble at the last. You told me if I did so and so you would do so and so. Now you corner me, mid hedge me up, and submerge me in everything •• evil.” “Ha, ha!” says satan. “I was only fooling you. It is mirth for me to see you suffer. I have been for thirty years plotting to get you just where you are. It is hard for you now. It will be worse for you after awhile. It pleases me. Lie stil), sir. Don’t flinch or shudder. Come, now, I will tear off from yon the last rag of expectation. I will rend nway from your soul the last hope. I will leave you bare for the beating of the storm. It is my business to strip the slain.” While men nre in robust health, and their digestion is good,' and their nerves are strong, they think their physical strength will get them safely through the last exigency. They say it is only cowardly women who are afraid at the last and cry out for God. “Wait till I come to die. I will show you. You won’t hear me pray, nor call for a minister, nor want a chapter read me from the Bible.” But after the man has been three weeks in a sick room his nerves are not so steady, and his worldly companions are not anywhere near to cheer him up. and he is persuaded that he must quit life. His physical courage is all gone. Too Late. He jumps at the fall of a teaspoon in a saucer. He shivers at the idea of going away. He says: “Wife, I don't think my infidelity is going to take me through. For God’s sake, don’t bring up the children to do as I have done. If you feel like it, I wish yon would read a verse or two out of Fannie’s Sabbath school hymn book or New Testament.” But sntnn breaks in and saysr “You have always thought religion trash andr a lie. Don’t give up at the last. Besides that you cannot, in the hour you have to live, get off on that track. Pie as you lived. With my great black wings I shut out that light. Die in darkness. I rend away from yoir that last vestige of hope. It is my business to strip the slain.” A man who had rejected’ Christianity and thought it all trash came to die. He was In the sweat«>f a great agony, and his wife said, “We had better have some prayer.” “Mary, not a breath of that,” he said. “The lightest word of'prayer would roll back on me like rocks on a drowning man. I have come to tfie hour of test. I had a chance, but I forfeited it. I believed in a liar, and he has left me in the lurch. Mar?, bring me Tom Paine, that book that I swore by and lived by, and pitch it into the tire, and let it burn aud burn as I myself shall soon burn.” And then, with the foam on his lip and his hands tossing wildly in the air, he cried out: “Blackness of darkness! Oh, my God, too late!” And the spirits of darkness whistled up from the depth and wheeled around and around him, stripping the slain. Sin is a luxury now. It is exhiliration now. It is victory now. But after awhile it is collision. It is defeat. It is extermination. It is jackalism. It is robbing the dead., It is stripping the slain. Give it up to-day—give it up. Oh, how you have been cheated on, my brother, from one thing’ to another! All these years you have been under an evjl mastery that you understood not. What have your companions done for you? What have they done for your health? Nearly ruined it by carousal. What have they done for your fortule? Almost scattered it by spendthrift behavior. What have they done for your reputation? -Almost ruined it with good men. What have they done for your immortal soul? Almost insured its overthrow. On to Shipwreck. You are hastening on toward the consummation of all that is sad. To-day you stqp and think, but it is only for a moment, and then you will tramp on, and at the close of this service you will go out, and the quessßqpwin be, “How did you like the sermon?” And one man will say, “I liked it very well,” and Another man will say, “I didn't like it at. all, ’’ .but neither of the answers will touch the tremendous fact that, if impenitent, you are going at thirty knots an hour toward shipwreck. Yea, you are in a batjle where ?ou will fall, and while your surviving relatives will take your remaining estate, a®4 the cemetery will take your body, the mmengers of darkness will take your

soul nnd coms and go about you Many are crying out, "I admit I am slain—l admit it.” On what battlefield, my brothers? By whnt weapon? "Polluted Inuiginutlon,” one mnu. ‘ln* toxicatiug liquor,” says another man. "My own hard heart," says another man. Do you realize thin? Then I oome to tell ■ you thnt the omnipotent Christ Is ready to walk across this battlefield nnd revive and resuscitate anil resurrect your dead soul. Let him take your hand nnd rub away the numbness; your head and bathe off the aching; your heart and stop its wild throb. Ho brought Lazarus to life; he brought Jalrus* daughter to life; be brought the young man of Nuln to life, ( and these nre three proofs anyhow thnt ho can bring you to life. . When the Philistines came down on the f field, they stepped between the corpses, * ■ nnd they rolled over the dead, and they took nway everything that was valuable, and ho it was with the people that followed after the armies at Chancelloraville, and at Pittsburg Landing, and at Stone River, and at Atlanta, stripping the slain, but the Northern and Southern women— God bless them!—came on the field with basins and pads and towels and lint and cordials and Christian encouragement, and tho poor fellows that lay there lifted up their arms and said, "Oh, how good that does feel since you dressed It!" nnd others looked np and said, “Oh, how you make me think of my mother!” and others snid, "Tell the folks at home I died thinking about them,” aud another looked up and said, "Miss, won't you sing me • verse of ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ before I die?” And then the tattoo was sounded, and the hats were off, and the service wai read, "I am the resurrection nnd the life," and in honor of the departed the musketi were loaded and the command “Present! Fire!" And there was a shingle set up at the head of the grave, with the epitaph ot “Lieutenant in the Fourteenth Massachusetts regulars,” or “Captain in the Fifteenth regiment of South Carolina volunteers.” And so now across this great field of moral and spiritual battle the angels of God come walking among the slain, and there nre voices of comfort, an<l voices of hope, aud voices of resurrection, and voices of heaven. A Dilemma. One night I saw a tragedy on the cornet of Broadway nnd Houston street. A young man, evidently doubting as to which direction he hud better take, his hat lifted high enough so that you cvald see he had an intelligent forehead, stout chest; he had a robust development. Splendid young man. Cultured young man. Honored young man. Why did he stop there while so many were going up and down? The fact is that every man has a good angel and a bad angel contending for the mastery of his spirit, and there was a good angel and a bad angel struggling with that young man's soul at the corner of Broadway and Houston street. “Come with me,” said the good angel. “1 will take you home. I will spread my wings over your pillow. I will lovingly escort you all through life under supernatural protection. I will bless every cup you drink out of, every couch you rest on, every doorway you enter. I will consecrate your tears when you weep, your sweat when you toil, and nt last I will hand over your grave into the hand of the bright angel of a Christian resurrection. In answer to your father's petition and 4 your mother’s prqyCr I have been sent of the Lord out of heaven to be your guardian spirit; tiome with me,” said the ' good angel in a voice of unearthly symphony. It was music like that which drops from a lute of heaven when a seraph breathes on it. “No, no,” said the bad angel. “Come with me. I have something better to offer. The wines I pour 4 are from chalices of bewitching "carousal. The dance I lead is over floor tessellated with unrestrained indulgences. There is no God to frown on the temples of sin where I worship. The skies are Italian. The paths I tread are through meadows, daisied and pritnrosed. Come with me.” The young man hesitated at a time when hesitation was ruin, and the bad angel smote the good angel until it departed, spreading wings through the starlight upward and away until a door flashed open in the sky, and forever the wings vanished. That was the turning point in that young man's history; for, the good angel had flown, he hesitated no longer, but started on a pathway which is beautiful at the opening, but blasted at the last. Effect of the Choice. , , The bad angel, leading the way, opened gate after gate, and at each gate the road became rougher and the sky more lurid, , nnd whnt was peculiar as the gate slammed shut it came to with a jar that indicated that it would never open. Passed each portal, there was a grinding of locks * and a shoving of bolts, and the scenery on either side of the road changed from gardens to deserts, and the June air became a cutting December blast, and the bright wings of the bad angel turned to sackcloth, and the eyes of light became hollow with hopeless grief, and the fountains that at the start had tossed with $ wine poured forth* bubbling tears and I foaming blood, and on the right side of E the road there was a serpent, and the man said to the bad angel, “What is that ser- H pent?” and the answer was, “That is the II serpent of stinging remorse.” On the left II side of the road there was a liou, and the | ' man asked the bad angel, “What is that 11 lion?” and the answer was, “That is the / I ' lion of all devouring despair.” A vulture A I flew through the sky, and the man asked tho bad angel, “What is that vulture?" ’ I and the answer was, “That is the vulture I ; waiting for the carcasses of the slain.” I Apd then the man bpgan to try to pull off J] ’ him the folds of something that had |? i wound-him round and round, and he said ll ; to the bad angel, “What is it that twists I , me la this awful bonvulsion?” and the I answer was, “That is the worm that never ■ , dies.” And then the man said to the bad B [ angel: “What does all this mean? I <B trusted in what you said at the corner of B Broadway and Houston street. I trusted iB it all, and why have you thus deceirCT ■ me?” Then the last deception fell off the H 1 charmer, and it said: “I was sent fqrth B - from the pit to destroy your soul. I 1 watched my chance for many a long year. B . When you hesitated that night on Broad- B 1 way, I gained my triumph. Now ?ou are > here. Ha, ha! You are here. Come, > now, let us fill these two chalices of fire jj t and drink together to darkness and wo#/ I • and death. Hail! Hail!" Oh, young 3 man, will the good angel sent fqfth I>y B • Christ or the bad angel sent forth by sin B s get the victory over your soul? Their fl 5 wings are interlocked this moment above K , you, contending for your destiny, as above H 3 the Apennines eagle and condor fight mid* B r sky. Thii hour dsddt your deitlfty. / >