Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 8, Decatur, Adams County, 10 May 1895 — Page 8

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CHAPTER IV.—Continued. “We had better go on to the gate, it is hot more than half a mile, ’ said Marsden. “I will go, and perhaps Doctor Weldon will accompany me,” replied AV inton, but your prolonged absence will be remarked. You had better show yourself.” “I am with you!” cried the doctor, who had tied a large silk pocket handkerchief over his head as a measure of precaution. “And you,’Captain Shirley?” “I shall return to the house. It seems hopeless and fruitless to search further. My impression is that the jewels are irreparably lost. They will be out of their settings by to-morrow and can never be identified.” “Still we must do our best, said Marsdefi. “Come, we’ll get a glass of champagne and hear how Mrs: Ruthven is. »» ♦ ♦ »♦* The announcement of supper gave every one sufficient and agreeable occupation, so the absence of the host was but little remarked. Meantime, Mrs. L’Estrange and Nora had gone upstairs to Lady Dorrington’s room to gain news of Mrs. Ruthven s condition, and to keep out of the way, as the nerves of both had been a good deal shaken. “She is a good deal quieter,” said Lady Dorrington, coming to join them. “She had another fit of hysterical crying, which has relieved her. My maid and her own will sit by her all night in turns, so she will never find herself alone. I have just seen Clifford, who was going to wash and brush away the traces of his search in the shrubbery. They found a mask, a cloak and a long, sharp knife.” “A knife!” echoed Nora and her stepmother with a shudder. “We had better go downstairs. They have gone in to supper, and I must say I feel the want of something dreadfully. I am quite exhausted, and so infinitely distressed about this horrid business; do come, Mrs. L’Estrange.” In the hall they met Winton, who had just returned with Dr. Weldon. They had found the Oldbridgc gate securely locked, and no traces of footsteps. The daring robber seemed to have vanished as mysteriously as he came. “That is not to be wondered at, considering the number of persons moving about on such a night,” continued Winton. “The scoundrel had only to be cool and leisurely and he might have walked through the whole array of guests and servants. “It gives one a frightful feeling of insecurity,” said Mrs. L’Estrange. “There is no cause for fear now,” said Winton. “The robber has secured his booty. He will keep his distance. You look so scared that I would advise supper and champagne.” “And I am glad to confirm Mr. Winton’s advice,” said Dr. ’Weldon. “Come, my dear madame,” offering his arm to Mrs. L’Estrange. “Permit me, Lady Dorrington,” said Winton, following his example, “and Miss L’Estrange.” “I can take care of you, Nora,” 1 interrupted Marsden, who came up at that moment, and he drew her hand through his arm. “Why, what pale cheeks! I thought you were a plucky girl!” “You are pale enough yourself, squire," and no wonder! Imagine if that dreadful man had used his knife!” “Oh, well, he did not! I suspect he only had it to cut his way into the tent. I hope there are a lot of accomplices; that is our only chance of recovering the jewels; otherwise Wipton fears there is very little prospect of doing so.” Here he stopped suddenly, and drew his companion behind a group of palms close to the door of the supper room, as the Marchioness of Blankford came forth in earnest conversation with Lord Dorrington. “I am not going to be caught,” he whispered, as he again pressed on to the supper room, “until you have given me that waltz I have been looking forward to through all this unfortunate business. Come what may after, I am determined to snatch one bit of enjoyment. Give me some champagne,” he cried to one of his own servants, who were stationed at the principal table, where the older and weightier gbests were; to be feasted; he held out a tumbler which he emptied at a draught, to Nora’s surprise, then he insisted on her taking some, and pressed her to eat, with great solicitude. “It seems rather heartless to go and dance, after seeing poor Mrs. Ruthven in such a state, her beautiful jewels torn from her!” “Nonsense,” returned Marsden, abruptly, “she is rich enough to buy others. A true woman, I mean a true-hearted woman, which is another thing, would not be inconsolable for the loss of a hundred such baubles. It would not injure health or reputation or affections. You would not care if you lost all the diamonds of Golconda provided those you love were left you; that is, if you loved any one?” Nora looked at him with a vague feeling of alarm* His white face and flashing eyes struck her as unusual. Sttß-fiad been accustomed to look upon him as a 1 near kinsman, a contemporary of her father’s, the friendly head of her house. Now, a- sudden revelation flashed upon her that, although considerably her senior in years, he was as young, as full to the lips with life, as herself—that he was something to be guarded against—why, she did not know, -nay, she would have indignantly denied the existence of such an instinct, had she been accused of it. So she put her hand on his arm, and glided away with him, to the undulating music of the Manola Waltz. Presently she said “Stop—stop!” and Marsden brought her up, skillfully, near the recess of a window. “What is the matter? Are you tired?” “No, but I do not want to dance' any more! I was sure you were taking too much . ’champagne, squire!” looking straight at him. “Do you know you held me so tight it was quite uncomfortable?” “Did I?” exclaimed Marsden, laughing. “I am sure I beg you a thousand par-

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dons! It was, of course, quite unconsciously.” “I dare say, but I am sure you ought not to dance any more!” “Why? My dear cousin, do you think I cannot stand a few tumblers of champagne? Do you suppose I would take more than I could manage? You are positively Insulting! Come, I shall never forgive you if you don’t finish the waltz with me.” “I really would rather not—l am not in the humor for dancing. I should prefer going home—and you are not quite as—as steady as you ought to be. You are not a bit like yourself. Don’t be angry with me, I should be so sorry to vex you, particularly to-night” “Then take another round. No, I will not let you off!” “Well, squire, I see Helen at the other side of the room. I wMI go so far with you* then I will go home.” “Say ‘Clifford,’ ois-I shall do something dreadful.” “Very well! Please, Clifford, be very steady.” Marsden tried to pass Mrs. L’Estrange, but Nora made a stout resistance, and they presently bade Lady Dorrington good night “Shall I see you home?” asked Winton. “I do not think either of you look particularly brave or comfortable.” “Yes, do come!” ejaculated Mrs. L’Estrange. “I shall see to all our bars and bolts before I sleep to-night” “I will just tell Marsden I shall return to hear if there is any message from the inspector, and will be with you directly.” “So Winton is going to escort you home?” said Marsden, coming out with Nora to the carriage. “Are you sure he is sober enough for such a task?” “Mr. Winton? Oh, yes—he is never anything else but sober?’ Marsden laughed, not pleasantly. By this time the story of the robbery had got afloat, and great was the excitement and hubbub. A thousand fantastic additions were made to a history strange enough in itself, and Marsden was almost mobbed by his guests, eager for information. .But the idea of continuing the festivity was quite given up; the company gathered in groups to discuss the extraordinary outrage committed ..almost in their midst, and gradually dispersed to their homes at a much earlier hour than was anticipated. And so the grand Evesleigh ball, which was remembered for many a year, came to an end. ' CHAPTER V. The day succeeding the ball was one of intense excitement to Marsden’s somewhat scratch household. It was many a day since the Oldbridge police had risen to such importance, and they made the most of it. Evesleigh House was pervaded by stalwart guardians of the public peace. They rummaged the rooms, sent the highminded house-maids into hysterics by examining their boxes; tramped to and fro in the grounds, every now and then carefully following foot-prints which had been made by their fellows. They nearly took the Italian confectioner, sent down by the great London house which furnished the more sublime portions of the supper, into custody; they examined the men, and were “sauced” by the women; but they discovered—nothing, and they impressed Marsden with a conviction of their incompetence. He therefore dispatched a telegram to his solicitor, requesting him to obtain the assistance of a detective from Scotland Y’ard. When Nora walked over to inquire for Mrs. Ruthven on the afternoon following the search she was a little surprised by being admitted to the presence of that lady, who arose from her writing table to greet her with a smile. She looked pale, and the shadows beneath her eyes were dark, as if she were exhausted by the excitement she had gone through. “Thank you, my dear Miss L'Estrange, for coming to see me! Captain Shirley tells me you were so good as to be very frightened about me last night. I assure you, I am grateful; I fancy few care much for me!” “Oh, every one likes you! every one must like you,” cried Nora, touched by her caressing manner and soft voice, “I was awfully frightened! you looked like death! I wonder you are as well as you seem.” “I feel very shaky, however. Was there ever so audacious a crime? and that awful long knife! I must have been near death for a moment.” “Don’t think of it,” said Nora, shuddering; “and they have found no clew as yet to the thief?” “None—not the faintest. The cloak, hat and mask were all rolled up together, with the knife, I am told; and are none of them of English make? they are no help. Captain Shirley says, no doubt the robber had other clothes or covering to put on, and probably walked away coolly and openly, as a guest who was enjoying the freshness outside after the warmth within.” “But he will be discovered. Surely he will not escape?" said Nora. “Not if money and perseverance can trap him,” said Mrs. Ruthven, in a low, resolute tone, that struck Nora as having a touch of cruelty. “What an ending to a channing ball!” she contnued; “though it did not quite end —did- it? I believe you had a few dances after.” “Yes,” returned Nora; “all the people did not know for some time what had happened, so the band played on, but by half-past 2 all was ended.” Something kept her back from saying that she and Marsden had danced. “Oh, of course!” said Mrs. Ruthven, slowly raising her eyes, rested on her. companion’s. “There was no reason why two or three hundred strangers should /cease their funning,’ because an outsider was robbed. And who did you dance with?" “With the Squire; you know he always said I should have one dance with him if he ever gave a ball.” “Very natural, indeed,” said Mrs Ruthven, sweetly; “you have known him, 1 I believe, all your life?” j “Oh, yes; when I was quite a baby, he I was so much with my father, I used to ; think hijn a second one, so when I iuet • him again I was quite astonished to Ind • him so young.”

“And not nt nil fatherly? I understand. How long was it since you had met?” “Nine or ten years; but he was just the same as ever; so good-natured and pleasant, though he treats me like a great baby, and never speaks a reasonable word to me,” said Norn, smiling, and coloring at the tone in which Mrs. Ruthven had uttered her last words. “Well, he must be a charming relative," remarked Mrs. Ruthven, with a slight sigh, and for a short while they talked pleasantly of Evesleigh and country life; the various places both had visited on the continent, and the delights of the past season in London. “It was rather ominous, was it not, that you should express such a wish last night to see nil my jewels?" said Mrs. Ruthven. “If you like I will show you what is left of them. Unfortunately I put on the best 1 possessed to do honor to the Evesleigh revels.” “Thank you very much. lam exceedingly fond of seeing pretty things.” “Come, then,” said Mrs. Ruthven, and led the way into her bed-room, where her maid was kneeling beside a huge dress-basket which she was packing. Various garments were scattered about, and the beautiful ball dress of the previous night lay over a sofa. “Are you going away, then?" exclaimed Nora, seeing these preparations. “Yes; I leave to-morrow. I feel I cannot shake off the nervous terror which oppresses me while I stay here; besides, I want to be in London. Give me my jewel ease, Virginie, and you need not wait.” Mrs. Ruthven walked across to the bay window, in which a long, low, cushioned seat gave room both for herself and her visitor, and drawing a work table near her, placed the large square case upon it. “My poor lost rubies and diamonds had a case of their own,” she said, as she unlocked the one before her with a little golden key which hung round her neck. “These are mere whims and oddities,” she continued, as she displayed a variety of costly artistic trifles on the first tray, and then proceeded to lift the others containing opals and diamonds, pearls turquoises, quaint, richly barbaric pieces of Indian jewelry enough for two greedy women. “If you have all these left, you are not so much jto be pitied,” said Nora laughing. “My dear Miss L’Estrange, my rubies are worth more t,han all those put together. Besides, my poor father collected them for me, and had them set for a wedding present. I well remember Mr. Marsden (he was at my wedding, you know, my husband was a relation of his) telling me that the Queen had scarcely anything to surpass them. It is a dreadful blow losing them, 1 assure you.” “Yes, I can quite understand it,” said Nora, “and I think you bear the loss with wonderful equanimity.” Mrs. Ruthven smiled, and looked dreamily out of the window. Marsden’s ardent sympathy, his eagerness to accompany her to London, to comfort her in every possible way, had been an immense consolation. As she did not speak for a moment or two, Not a rose and went to look at the ball dress. “What a lovely gown. You were like a picture as you came into the ball-room. Why, Mrs. Ruthven,” stooping and gently moving the lace drapery on the body with her fingers, “you drop your abundant jewels about like the possessor of a fairy mine! Here is a diamond among your lace.” She held it out as she spoke. Mrs. Ruthven came forward with an air of surprise, and stood gazing at it as if stupefied. “How could it have come there?” she exclaimed, and stopped short. . “It is a stud! Is it not like one Capt. Shirley, or some one, wore last night?” askeANora. “Shirley!” repeated Airs. Ruthven slowly. “He never had a stone like that.” She paused again, then, taking and placing it in her jewel case, she added: “It is mine.* It is the center of one of my earrings, which takes out to form a stud. It belongs to some I seldom wear. Virginie fs really too careless. She must have dropped it. By the way,” shutting her jewel case sharply, “the only part of my parure that wretch spared were the butterflies on my sleeves. I suspect he had not time to tear them off.” She shivered. “Is it not a horrible thought? That wretch stooping over me, touching me while I was insensible! Pray ring the bell, dear Miss L’Estrange. I do so want a cup of tea. You will stay and have one with me, will you not? You cheer me.” “I shall be very glad.” “Come into the next room then,” said Mrs. Ruthven, adding, “I shall not scold Virginie before you, it might hurt her feelings, and she is a clever maid, but she must have been handling my things carelessly to let that diamond drop.” (To be continued.) Unexpected. A few years ago, when “Hold the Fort” was one of the new and popular hymns, the superintendent of a Sunday school In a Connecticut town took a great dislike to the song. After hearing the story, readers may be disposed to think that his antipathy was not without reason. It was at a children’s day exercise of the Sunday school. The arrangements were for the whole school, headed by the superintendent, to make a triumphal entry; into the church, In which the audience were already seated. Accordingly, a hundred or more boys and girls formed in line, each class headed by Its teacher, and carrying banners, marched in at one of the side entrances. As they marched, they “Hold the Fort.” The superintendent, smiling and perhaps a little pompous, led the way. At the moment of entering the church they were beginning the second stanza, which runs: See the mighty host advancing, Satan leading on. T|ie audience was quick to appreciate the ludicrousness of the situation, aud a ripple amusement went through the church. Several In the procession stopped singing and smiled. The awkwardness of his position dawned on the superintendent and he turned very red. Some, of the children, seeing their elders smiling, laughed outright. A complete breakdown was imminent, when one of the teachers began to sing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” This was immediately taken up by the whole school, and a fairly successful entry was made. “Hold the Fort” has never since been a favorite with that Sunday school.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. ELOQUENT DISCOURSE LAST SUNDAY ON CONSCIENCE. Christ Before Pilatc-Thc Power of the “Still, Small Voice"—The True Conversion—A Wash in the Glorious Gospel Laver—Pardoning Mercy. A Disturbing Force. Rarely does any discourse hold an audience with such intense interest ns did that which Rev. Dr. Talmage delivered Sunday afternoon in the New York Academy of Music. He chose for his subject “Conscience," the text selected being Matthew xxvii., 24; “He took water and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person. Sec ye to it.” At about 7 o’clock in the morning, up the marble stairs of a palace, and across the floors of richest and under ceilings dyed with all the splendors of color, and between snowbanks of white and glistening sculpture, pusses a poor, pale, sick young man of 33, already condemned to deatji, on his way to be condemned again. Jesus of Nazareth is his name. Coming out to meet him on this tessellated pavement is an unscrupulous, compromising, timeserving, cowardly man, with a few traces of sympathy and fair dealing left in his composition—Governor Pontius Pilate. Did ever such opposites meet? Luxury and pain, selfishness and generosity, arrogance and humility, sin and holiness, midnight and midnoon. The bloated lipped governor takes the cushioned seat, but the prisoner stands, his wrists manacled. In a semi-circle-around the prisoner are the sanhedrists, with flashing eyes and brandished fists, prosecuting this case in the name of religion, fOf the bitterest persecutions have been religious prosecutions, and when Satan takes hold of a good man he makes up by intensity for brevity of occupation. If you have never seen an ecclesiastical court trying a man, then you have no idea of the foaming infernalism of these old religious sanhedrists. Governor Pilate cross questions the prisoner and finds right away he is innocent and wants to let him go. His caution is also increased by some one who comes to the governor and whispers in his ear. The governor puts his hand behind his ear, so as to catch the words almost inaudible. It is a message from Claudia Procula, his wife, who has had a dream about the innocence of this prisoner and about the danger of executing him, and «he awakens from this morning dream in time to send the message to her husband, then on the judicial bench. And what with the protest of his wife, and the voice of his own conscience, and the entire failure of the sanhedrists to make out their case, Governor Pilate, resolves to discharge the prisoner from custody. The Fanatical Sanhedrists. But the intimation of such a thing brings upon the governor an equinoctial storm of indignation. They will report him to the emperor at Rome. They will have him recalled. They will send him up home, and he will be hung for treason, for the emperor at Rome has already a suspicion in regard to Pilate, and that suspicion does not cease until Pilate is banished and commits suicide. So Governor Pontius Pilate compromises the matter and proposes that Christ be whipped instead of assassinated. So the prisoner is fastened to a low pillar, and on his bent and bared back come the thongs of leather, with pieces of lead and bone Intertwisted, so that every stroke shall be the more awful. Christ lifts himself from the scourging, with flushed cheek and torn and quivering and mangled flesh, presenting a spectacle of suffering in which Rubens, the painter, found the theme for his greatest masterpiece. But the sanhedrists are not yet satisfied. They have had some of his nerves lacerated; they want them all lacerated. They have had some of his blood; they want all of it, down to the last corpuscle. So Governor Pontius Pilate, after all this merciful hesitation, to the demoniacal cry oft“Qincify him!” But the governor sends for something. He sends a slave out to get something. Although the constables are in haste to take the prisoner to execution and the mob outside are impatient to glare upon their victim, a pause is necessitated. Yonder it comes, a wash basin. Some pure, bright water is poured into it, and then Governor Pilate puts his white, delicate hands into the water and rubs them together and then lifts them, dripping, for the towel fastened at the slave’s girdle, while he practically says: “I wash my hands of this whole homicidal transaction. I wash my hands of this entire responsibility. You will have to bear it.” That is the meaning of my text when it says: “He took 'Water and washed his hands before the multitude, saying: lam innocent.of the blood of this just person. See ye to it.” . ’ Pilate’s Wash Basin. Behold in this that ceremony amounts to nothing, if there are not in it correspondencies of heart and life. It is a good thing to wash the hands. God created three-quarters of the world water, and in that commanded cleanliness, and when the ancients did hot tale’the hint he plunged the whole world under water and kept it there for some time. Hand washing was a religious ceremony among the Jews. The Jewish Mishna gave particular direction how that the hands must be thrust three times up to the wrists in water, and the palm of the hand must be rubbed with the closed fist of the other. All that well enough for a symbol, but here in the text is a man who proposes to wash away the guilt of a sin which he does not quit and of which he does not make any repentance.. Pilate’s wash basin was a dead failure. Ceremonies, however beautiful and appropriate, may bq no more than this hypocritical ablution. In infancy we may be sprinkled from the baptismal font, and in manhood we may wade into deep immersions and yet never come to moral purification. We may, kneel without prayer, and bow without reverence, and sing without any acceptance. All yotir creeds and liturgies and sacraments and genuflections and religious convocations amount to nothing npless your heart life go into them. When that bronzed slave took from the presence of Pilate that wash basin, he carried away none of Pilate’s cruelty, or Pilate’s wickedness, or. Pilate’s guilt. Wash the Heart. Nothing against creeds; we all have them, either written or implied. Nothing against ceremonies; they are of infinite importance. Nothing against sacraments; they are d W y Nothing

against a rosary, If there bo as many heartfelt prayers as beads counted. Nothing against incense floating up from censer amid Gothic arches, if the prayers bo as genuine us the aroma is sweat. Nothing against Epiphany or Lent or Ash Wednesday or Easter or Good Friday or Whitsunday or Palm Sunday, if these symbols have behind them genuine repentance and holy reminiscence and Christian consecration. But ceremony is only the sheath to the sword,-it is only the shell to the fbrael, it is only the lump to the flame, it is only the body to the spirit. The outward must be symbolical of the inward. Wash the hands by ail means, but, more than all, wash the heart. Behold, also, ns you see Governor Pontius Pilate thrust his hands into this wash basin the power of conscience. He had an idea there was blood on his hands —the blood of an innocent person, whom he might have acquitted if he Only had the courage. Poor Pilate! His conscience was after him, \nd he knew the stain would never be washed from the right hand or the left hand, and until the day of his death, though he might wash in all the Invers of the Roman empire, there would be still eight fingers and two thumbs red nt the tips. Oh, he power of conscience when it is fully aroused! With whip of scorpions over a bed of spikes in pitch of midnight it chases guilt. Are there ghosts? Yes, not of the graveyard, but of one’s mind not at rest. “And thus, Brutus, amid his slumbering host, - : Startled with Caesar’s stalwart ghost.” ' Macbeth looked at his hand after the midnight assassination, and he says: “Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.” The Voice of Conscience. For every sin, great or small, conscience, which is the voice of God, has a reproof, more or less emphatic. Charles IX., responsible for St. Bartholomew massacre, was'chased by the bitter memories, and in his dying moment said to his doctor, Ambrose Parry: “Doctor, I don’t know what’s the matter with me; I am in a fever of body and mind and have been for a long while. Oh, if I had only spared the innocent, and the imbecile, and the cripple!” Rousseau declared in old age that a sin he committed in his youth still gave him. sleepless nights. Charles 11. of Spain could not sleep unless he had in the room a confessor and two friars. Catiline had such bitter memories he. was startled at the least sound. Cardinal Beaufort, having slain the Duke of Gloucester, often in the night Would say: “Away, away! Why do you look at me?” Richard HI., having slain his two nephews, would sometimes in the night shout from his couch and clutch his sword, fighting apparitions. Dr. Webster, having slain Parkman in Boston, and while waiting for his doom, complained to the jailer that the prisoners on the other side of the wall all night long kept charging him with his crime, when there were no prisoners on the other side of the wall. It was the voice of Ms own conscience. . * From what did Adam and Eve try to hide when they had all the world to themselves? From their own conscience. What made Cain’s punishment greater than he could bear? His conscience. What made Ahab cry out to the prophet, “Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?” What made the great Felix tremble before the little missionary? Conscience. What made Belshazzar's teeth chatter with a ehill when he saw a finger come out of the black sleeve of the midnight and write on the plastering? Conscience, conscience! A Grave Accuser. Why is it that that man in this audience, frith all the marks of worldly prosperity Upon him, is agitated while I speak and is now flushed and is now pale, and then the breath is uneven, and then beads of perspiration on the forehead, and then the look of unrest comes to look of horror and despair? I know not. But he knows, and God knows. It may be that he despoiled a fair young life and turned innocence into a waif, and the smile of hope into the brazen laughter of despair. Or it may be that he has in his possession the property of others, and by some strategem he keeps it according to law, and yet he knows it is not his own, and that if his heart should stop beating this moment he would be in hell forever. Or it may be he is responsible for a great mystery, the disappearance of some one who was never heard of, and the detective! were baffled, and the tracks were all covered up, and the swift horse or the rail train took him out of reach, and there are only two persons in the universe who know of it— God and himself. God present at the time of the tragedy and present at the retrospection and conscience—conscience with stings, conscience with pinchers, conscience with flails, conscience frith furnaces—is upon him, and until a man’s conscience rouses him he does not repent. What made that farmer converted to God go to his infidel neighbor and say: “Neighbor, I have four of your sheep. They came over into my fold six years ago. They bad your mark upon them, and I changed it to my mark. I want you to have those sheep, and I want you to have the interest on the money, and I want you to have the increase of the fold. If you want to send me to prison, I shall make no complaint?"' The infidel heard of the mai/s conversion and he said: “Now, now, If you have got them sheep, you are welcome to them. I don’t want nothing of those things at all. You just go away from me. Something has got hold of you that I don’t understand. I heard you were down at those religious meetings.” But fhe.converted man would not allow things to stand in that way, and so the infidel said: “Well, now, you can pay me the value of the sheep, and 6 per cent, interest from that time to this, and I shan’t say anything more about it. Just go away from me.” What _ was the matter with the two farmers?- In the one case a convicted conscience leading him to honesty, "and in the other case a convicted conscience warning against infidelity. Converted Hearts. Thomas Oliver was one of John Wesley’s preachers. The early part of his life had been full of recklessness, and he had made debts wherever he could borrow. He was converted to God, and then he went forth to preach and pay his debts. He had a small amount of property left him and immediately sej out to pay his debts, a z nd everybody knew he was in earnest, and to consummate the last payment he had to sell his horse and saddle and bridle. That was conscience. That is converted conscience. That is religion. Frank Tiebout, a converted rum. seller, had a large

his conversion, and he put all the keg and barrels and demijohns in a wagor|B| and took them down in front of the ol<B| church where he had been converted andM had everything emptied into the streetl That is religion. Why the thousands oQi dollars sent every year to the UniteiM States treasury at Washington as “conW science money?" Why, it simply meanW there are postmasters, and there are tomeye, and there are officials who times retain that which does not belonfM to them, and these men nre or under powerful pressure of and make restitution. If all the out of which the State and the UnitetW States treasuries have been should come back to their rightful eltß chequers, there would be money enougbW to pay all the State debts and adj thiH United States debt by day after tJ-niorW row. H Conversion amounts to nothing the heart is converted, and the poeketbookß! is converted, and the cash drawer is verted, and the ledger is converted, antlM the fireproof safe is converted, and the geonhole containing the correspondence isß| converted, and his improvement is noticedß even by the canary bird that sings in thoM parlor, and the cat that licks the platterH after the meal, and the dog that eotnesH bounding from the kennel to greet him.B A man half converted, or quarter convert-B ed, or a thousandth part converted, is notß converted at all. What will be the greatß book in the day of judgment? Conscience recalling misimproved tunities. Conscience bringing up all theß past. Alas, for this governor, Pontiusß Pilate! That night after the court luiflß adjourned and the sanhedrists had goneß home and nothing was heard outside theß room but the step of the sentinel, I seeß Pontius Pilate arise from his tapestriedß and sleepless couch and go to the laver B and begin to wash "his hands, crying :B “Out, out, crimson spot! Tellest thou toB me and to God and to the night, my crime ?B Is there no alkali to remove these dread-B ful stains? Is there no chemistry to dis-B solve this carnage? Must I to the dayß of my death carry the blood of this inno-B cent man on my heart and hand? Out,B thou crimson spot!" The worst thing aB man can have is an evil conscience andß the best thing a man can have is what B Paul calls n good conscience. ■ Sunlit Dispensation. ■ But is there no such thing as moral purl' ■ fication? If a man is a sinner once, must B he always be a sinner and an unforgiven B sinner? We have all had conscience after ■ us. Or do you tell me that all the words ■ of your life have been just right, and all I the thoughts of your heart have been just ■ right, and all the actions of your life just H right ? Then you do not know yourself, ■ and I take the responsibility of saying J you are a Pharisee, you are a hypocrite, B you are a Pontius Pilate and do not know ■ it. You commit the very same sin that ■ Pilate committed. You have crucified the ■ Lord of Glory. But if nine-tenths of this ■ audience are made up of thoughtful and ■ earnest people, then nine-tenths of this ■ audience are saying within themselves: ■ “Is there no such thing as moral purifica- ■ tion? Is there no laver in which the soul J may wash and be clean?” Yes, yes, yes. ■ Tell it in song, tell it in sermon, tell it in ■ prayer, tell it to the hemispheres. That ■ is what David cried out for when he said, ■ “Wash me thoroughly from my sin, and ■ cleanse me from mine iniquities.” And ■ that is what in another place he cried out H for when he said, “Wash me and I siiajj. ■ be whiter than snow.” Behold the laver H of the gospel, filled with living fountains. I Did you ever see the picture of the laver ■ in the ancient tabernacle or In the an- ■ cient temple? The laver in the ancient ■ tabernacle was made out of the women’s I metallic looking glasses. It was a great ■ basin, standing on a beautiful pedestal, I but when the temple was built then tbp I laver was an immense affair, called the I brazen sea, and, oh, how deep were the I floods there gathered! And there were I ten Javers besides —five at the right and I five nt the left—and each laver had 300 I gallons of water. And the outside of I these lavers wns carved and chased with I palm trees so delicate cut you could al- I most see the leaves tremble and lions so I true to'life that you could imagine yqjj I saw the nostril throb, and the cherubim I with outspread wings. That magnificent I laver of the old dispensation is a feeble I type of the more glorious laver of our dispensation—our sunlit dispensation. A Grand Opportunity. Here is the laver holding rivers of sal vatic#, having for its pedestal the Rock oi Ages, earved with the figure of the lion of Judah’s tribe and having palm branches* for victory and wings suggestive of th! soul’s flight toward God in prayer and the soul’s flight heavenward when we die. Come, ye auditory, and wash away all . your sins, however aggravated, and all your sorrows, however agonizing. Comwr to this fountain, open for all sin and uncleanness, the furthest, the worst. You need not carry your sins half a second. Come and w’ash in this glorious gospel laver. Why, that is an opportunity enough to swallow up all nations. That is an opportunity that will yet stand on the Alps and beckon to Italy, and yet stand on the Pyrenees and beckon to Spain, and it will yet stand on the Ural and beckon to Russia, and it will stand at the gate of heaven and beckon to all ni* tions. Pardon for all sin, and pardon right away, through the blood of the Son of God. A little child that had been blind, but through skillful surgery brought to sight, said: “Why, mother, why didn’t you tell me the earth and sky are so beautiful? Why didn’t you tell me ft “Oh,” replied the mother, “my child, X did tell you often. I often/ told you how beautiful they are, but you were blind, and you couldn’t see!” Oh, if we could have our eyes opened to see the glories of Jesus Christ, we would feel that the half had not been told us, and you wopld go to some Christian man and say, “Why didn’t you tell me before of the glories in the Lord Jesus Christ?” and that >4, friend would say, “I did tell you, but you were blind and could not see, and you were deaf and could not hear.” History says that a great army came to capture ancient Jerusalem, and whenlthis army got on the hills so that they saw the 4, turrets and the towers of Jerusalem, they gave a shout that made the earth tremble, and tradition, whether true or false, says that, so great was the shout, eagles flyipg in the air dropped under the atmospheric percussion. Oh, if we could only catch a glimpse of the towers of this gospel temple into which you are all invited tp come and wash, there would bb a song of jubilant and wide resounding, at New Jerusalem seen, at New Jerusalem taken, the hosannas of other worlds flyitfg midair would fold their wings and drop into bur closing doxology! Against the disappointing and insufficient laver j of Pilate’s vice and Pilate’s cowardice and Pilate’s sin, I place the brazen sea - ■ ■ ■-• ■ ' i