Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 34, Decatur, Adams County, 8 November 1895 — Page 7

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HHM I^B’TEf’^V.—(Continued.) IM *. wfrkt do you think of it? |M/A only a question of how HBver be mad enough to go?” ■lMnd you will, too. Bah, man, to be frightened about a s?<Mjugglery! They are childish, same.” what she said. Those • Hainst the serpent die.” him sting, of course. But MM do that. Deffrard, I have sggMiy is not far off when I shall SRMd of affairs, and you shall |HMtrußted chief. Yes, we will ■HMolvers to-night and we will Hied back in silence, while, ||||Mng the laughter and chatter |||||K; up as soon as the two out of sight, Mahme sat and rapt in thought, ||||M stretched out upon the bar of laughter than usual ■ back to herself, and she her arm, opened her hand, ■HhM coins for a few moments SSM wrinkled up into a look of ||||Mhen deliberately spat upon his money!” she said, ■|Mf I was obliged—l was ■MMhe coins over in her hand, ■MH softened into a pleasant JHjMsccmcd to gloat over the IHMfore taking out a bag, and M|Mieces in one by one, the lggM/4 making her eyes brightM Kfliun. l|||||Mnore, and more,” she said SRMqflaced the bag, and then, upon her hand, she sat while the laughter outside jMlMoisterous and loud. But :' ; M|M e black people who spent ; -fIMMr lives basking in the sun- ‘ IMHer veranda did not inter- = ,-JMM of thought, which was ■HMwntonc and the risks he 1 I^o run tliat uiglit nt ll,c hMapter VI. M|Me]low,” cried Bart DurH. I’hew!” he whistled, cried Paul, excitedyou’ve come.” SMM, what is it? Something ■Ri Pau) - “ Kend that -” cried Bart, taking 4&fld to him and Winning KHMy■HMiveut. Staying with a W&Me, at the Hotel Devine—--ys’Mie West Indies at once. his friend's hands . ||||M),” he sad, "is it so scriI love her, and she is * a "ay from me per- ■ JMMtr to meet again. I’ve i|||Mith you at these senti■■Mdlows, who shut them||||Mj)ot of charcoal, but I 1 now.” HHM” said Bart, savagely; |MHike a fool. You’re an j S&W, I say, this is very sud!|||Mou going .to io?” wgß-l at once and see her. ®fe|Mllow, 1 don’t think ” aHMrith her.” quickly, “I’ll come. —bbv?" lflM| her and persuade her excitedly. “She go.” ■How, gently. Your sis||S|Mother has sent for her, ■Hu expected.” as expected, but don’t HRM. man. Come on.” the two young men MjMcre in the Rue Royale, mMM up their cards they HMito a handsome room, tfjraH lady, whose perfectly ||||Ha thin angular yellow with their cards pale ’ frft R' le " lookiu g MM also rose, and looked ■> the other, and, evil|Hh the young artist’s SMeycs dwell longest up- ■ said Paul, quickllMling slightly, “my sisHlou. May I see her?” Kxaid the lady, speakvery peculiar ac■ny love, will you ask Ker to come?” W® bead a sl ‘ght toss, ■■■ look at Paul, and MMr at the farther end Hurrying to open it for very contemptuous us for a day or two ■ Hriend in good spirits. < Dulau—you— Paul, hastily. her once or twice, I, at the convent.” fl|M)ady, with her eyes d. lips seeming to flashed through H|Hit the door was retd. with her arm »w H and trembling. ■ arms, and as ■ y H I siade her come ■ n ‘ ■ said Paul, ns ho |g||Hliich were resigned t. ■ while Aube's 22’ ■ his, with a sad, ■ that thrilled him of H hie hold of those ■nraer to a wttw.

while following hie example, Bart took Luce’s, making her turn scarlet, as she faltered half hysterically: “You have come with my brother, Mr. Durham?" “I am afraid I shall be de trop," said Madame Saintone, shrugging her shoulders, and looking meanihly at the young couples, her eyes resting longest on Paul with a slight frown; but no one spoke. “As chaperone to Mademoiselle Dulau, I hardly, perhaps ” “Oh!" cried Luce, quickly, “we are all such very old friends, madame. You need dot mind at all." “Indeed!" said the lady, with a forced laugh. “Ah, well; I will leave you then for a little while. I shall be in the next room if you want- me. No, no; do not disarrange yourselves;" and she swept out of tho room, her magnificent silk rustling as if the leaves on the carpet were real, and dead. “Thank heaven!" said Paul to himself. Then, leaving Aube for the moment, “Bart, old fellow,” he whispered, “keep Luce with you. I must win my darling now, or I shall go mad.” “Trust me," said the young doctor, hoarsely; and then to himself: “And if I don’t make much of my chance I’m an ass. I only wish though that she was ill.” Paul was back on the settee, and Lucie not unwillingly allowed Bart to take her hand, as if he were about to feel her pulse, and lead her to a chair in a window recess, where they were out of sight of the others. “Aube, dearest,” said Paul, excitedly, as he took one of the cold hands, and gazed into the wistful eyes again, “tell me, is this all true?” r “Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper; “and it seems to me a dream.” “A dream!” he said passionately. “No, it is a terribly reality. Aube, I must speak out now. For years—since the first time I saw you with my sister yonder, I loved you.” “Oh, hush!” she whispered, faintly. “No, I must speak—as a man should when his happiness is at stake. Ever since then my life has gone on happily, for though I have hardly seen-you, I have felt that Luce was with you, my sister, and she has grown to like you.” “Yes—yes,” said Aube, faintly. “She has written to me constantly. IF was she who sent me your photograph, which has always been near me, so that I could see you and think about you and dare to hope that some day the love which has gone on growing would be returned. No, no, let your hand stay here. Don’t tell me it was presumption. For the past year I have felt that I must tell you of my love, but something seemed to say, wait, the time will come. For how could I dare to suggest such thoughts to you in your calm, peaceful retreat. And I have wafted, and should have waited longer, but for this dreadful blow. Aube, dearest, give me some hope. Let me feel that some day you will be mine.” She shook her head sadly. “What?” “How can I promise you that?” she said in a broken voice. “I have always thought of you as Luce’s brother and what is dear to her has become dear to me.” “Ah!” he cried, and 'he would have pressed her to his heart, but she shrank from him. “No," she said, half reproachfully. “But, Aube, .dearest, you must not—you shall not go.” “What!” cried the girl, with more animation, and her eyes dilating. “You must not leave us—Luce, who has treated you as a sister—dearest, you must not leave me. Aube, you are no longer a girl; be my dearest honored wife. I am not rich, but—- “ And my mother—her prayer to me to join her again,” said Aube, reproachfully. “She has not though* of the danger—of the cruelty of dragging you away from those who love you. When she knows she will withdraw this terrible command. Aube, dearest, you will stay?” She looked at him again with her large eyes full of the reproach she felt as she slowly shook her head. “It is. impossible," she said. “Then you never loved me!” he cried, passionately. “Loved you?” she said, dreamily. “I do not know. You have always been Luce’s brother to me, and I would have suffered sooner than have given you pain." “And yet—now you know all.” “Patil, brother, you are cruel to me; you will break my heart," she said, faintly, as the tears began to fall silently. “Then you do love me, Aube?” Her lips were silent, but her eyes, as they rested on his, said yes; and again he would have elapsed her in his arms but she shrank away. “No," she whispered. “I must go—she has waited all these years—my mother. I must go.” “Aube!” he, cried, wildly. “I shall never forget the happy days I have passed here—never forget you—but have pity on me. These partings—l am so weak, and ill, Luce, Luce—sister—help me—what shall I do?” At the first cry Luce darted to her Bide, and Aube threw herself in her arms, weeping silently, as she laid her head upon his shoulder “Tell me,” she whispered, faintly. “What shall I say to him, Aube? All that you have said to me—that you will never forget us, and that some day we may meet again—that you think you love him, dear?” ‘“Hush, hush!” whispered Aube. “But I must speak,” whispered Luce, in a broken voice, “that you will never think of anyone but him, and that some day——” “May we come in now?” said a sharp, thin voice; and without waiting for consent Madame Saintone entered with her daughter, who fixed her eyes itt d haji-* - stoegtaf, wawtuptuoui wq on Paul, avk

“We are quite ashamed to have driven you from your room, madame,” said Luce, hurriedly, as Aube hastily dried her eyes. “Oh, it is nothing, my dear. lam glad to help you all to say good-by, but our charming Aube will soon forget all this. There is all the excitement of the visit and welcome. All so new to one fresh from the seclusion of the convent. I wish you werq going, too, my dear. We should be so happy. I could show you our lovely seas and skies, so blue as you -I eannet th!~h, um' JuT viiarming mud, where our dear Aube’s sweet mamma is waiting to take her darling to her heart. You will say good-by now, for we have to go to our dinner.” Aube looked wildly at Paul as Madame Saintone passed her arm about her waist, sending a chill through her as if she were the evil angel whosa mission it was to part her from him sire felt that she must love. “Adieu, Monsieur Paul Lowther. I will take great care of your dear sister till she goes back to the pension—the day after to-morrow, When we set off for Havre to sail. So delightful to see you all like brothers and sisters together. Adieu, adieu.” “To be bowed out like that,” cried Paul, as soon as they were in the street. “Oh, I feel as if I could kill that woman. Has she some designs of her own?” “Stuff, man, stuff! What designs could she have? Come, cheer up, old fellow. Somexday perhaps Madame Dulau may come back to Paris and bring her daughter here. She is young, and there is plenty of time.” “Confound you! Drop that wretched stereotyped phrase about patience and waiting. Bart, she loves me. It is breaking her heart to leave me, and as for me I ” “Look here, Paul, old man. If you talk any stupid stuff about suicide I’ll kick you—no, I’ll poison you myself, and bring you back again." “Who talks of suicide?" said Paul, with his face glowing, “when life is opening to him—a very paradise which an angel will share.” “■What?” cried Bart “I say, old fellow, do come down off those verbal stilts.” “She loves me, Bart and this business has made me certain of the truth.” “I wish you would speak plain English,” muttered Bart. “And there will be no parting, old fellow; no more sorrow.” “My dear boy, what do you mean ? The poor girl must go.” “Yes, old fellow, and I go, too. In the same boat." “Hatter’s nothing to it,” cried Bart “You’re mad as a March hare.” (To be continued.) A ROMANTIC MINE The Owner Got It Through the Gratis tnde of an Indian. A bit of romance will often help the sale of mining property. And it is a poor hole in which some legend or tradition does not attach. “I think,” said Col. J. J. Vroom, “that the most Ingenious story to account for - the discovery of a mine was told by Col. J. W. Craig.” “Craig,” interrupted a listener, “was the man who sent out from Fort Union, when he was in the army, a train of four-mule wagons which were never heard from afterward.” “Craig,” continued Col. Vroom, “is dead. He was buried with all of the honors. I am not telling his history, but dealing with a picturesque incident in his career. After he left the army he went into grants and mining. He told me that he won the confidence of a Taos Indian by'some favors that he had done him. The first full moon of August, the anniversary of the revolt against the Spaniards in 1680, was approaching. This Indian had said to Craig that in return for his kindness he was going to reveal to him what had never been made known to any white man. On the night of the anniversary the Indian came to Craig and asked him to go with him. They went out of Taos to a hill and ascended it. The Indian pointed to fires burning in various directions, some near and some far, but without apparent significance. “ ‘Those fires celebrate the revolt against the Spaniards in 1680,’ said the Indian. ‘They are lighted every year. To the white men they mean little or nothing. To us they mean a great deal. You have heard that when the Pueblo Indians arose, drove out the Spaniards, destroyed the churches and restored freedom, they filled up and destroyed all traces of the gold mines which were worked under Spanish dominion. That is true, but our ancestors desired to preserve for us the knowledge of the ' locations of those mines. So they adopted the plan of lighting fires every year when the first full moon August comes around. This has be£n done for 200 years. The anniversary fires are built on the exact locations of the gold mines. Every fire which you see burning is over what was once a gold mine. You are the only white man to whom this has been revealed.’ ’ “Col. Craig told me that he noted in his mind as carefully as he could thq location of one of these fires and then went back to Taos. Some time afterward he set out on a prospecting tour in the direction where he had seen the signal fire. He discovered what he believed was the place, although most of the ashes had been blown away. On that spot Craig opened a prospect hole. He sold the mine for sls,ooo.”—St' Louis Globe r Democrat. There W at Marlon, Ind., a dwarf, Janie Loder.by name, who is 54 years old, 47 Inches high and weighs about 64 pounds. She is the daughter o< wealthy parents, who at.death left her a fortune. Her favorite pastime is playing with children and dolls, having a family of about fifteen of the latter. She speaks Os herself as a little girl, and her favorite topic of conversation is what she will do when she “grows up.” One of her peculiarities Is that among gentlemen friends the larger in stature are her choice. She is in godd health And may live for many years. The Sabbatarians were so called from their observing the seventh day as the - Sabbath, Their founder was naned; SraMNiM* - : I

TALMAGE MOVES FROM BROOKLYN TO WASHINGTON. Installed •«, Co-Paator of the Flrat Presbyterian Church, Where Preaident Cleveland Worahipa — Givea Heaaona for Accepting the Call. Sermon of_La»t SuudavThe installation of the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage as a eo-pastor with the Rev. Dr. Byron Sunderland, of the First Presbyterian Church of Washington city, took place recently. The exercises were held in the evening. The moderator, the Rev. Mr. Allen, presided and put the constitutional questions. The First Church is the “President’s Church,” the worshiping place of the President being thus familiarly known. Dr. Newman’s church, during the Grant regime, became very famous as the General's place of prayer. The First Church is in an out-of-the-way place, a few blocks from the Capitol. Years ago the fashionable set moved away off toward the White House and left the plain little brick church to-' tincare of surrounding boarding-houses and encroaching Bhops. Its life was languishing when GrovCr Cleveland, ill 1884, discovered in the Rev. Byron Sunderland an old friend and took a pew in his church, o W J REV. DR. TALMASE. The calling of Dr. Talmage in September last was the result of an inspiration of Dr. Sunderland, who, for a generation, has been pastor. Dr. Talmage in giving reasons for changing the scene of his labors said: “I feel that this is a national opportunity. In Washington much of the intellect and thought of the country settles, not to speak of the vast incoming and outgoing throng Yes, I had that in New York, but the work there was different, and I missed the warmth and support only to be found in parish work. The finger of Providdhee seemed to point to Washington, and Providence is always my guide. I had a number of other calls, or rather invitations, to consider. One of the greatest I had this summer was to go to London. Every inducement was offered me, but I felt that for 200 years we had been Americans, and I conld not live away from this country. Another opportunity was in connection with the Red Cross work. Twenty thousand dollars tvas raised and I was asked to take it to the suffering Armenians. I wished very much to undertake the task, and asked protection from the Turkish Government It was very courteous to me, but, after asking what cities I should visit, they ijOuTd only say: ‘Come to Constantinople and the money will be distributed from there for yftu.’ That was hardly the idea, you know, but to have started out without Government protection and all that money about me would have been simply an invitation to the brigands. If I had gone there it would not .have interfered with my pastoral work, as I would have taken but two or three months.” Dr. Talmage preached his second sermon in his new pulpit last Sunday. If possible the audience was even larger than the previous Sunday. The subject was “The Disabled,” the text selected being I. Samuel, xxx.,’ 24, “As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff.” — If you have n&vef seen an army change quarters, you haye no idea of the amount of baggage—twenty loads, fifty loads. 100 loads of baggage. David and his army were about to start on a double quick march for the recovery of their captured families from the Aiiialekitejs. So they left by the brook Besor their blankets, their knapsacks, their baggage and their carriages. Who shall be detailed to watch this stuff? There are sick soldiers, and wounded soldiers, and aged soldiers who are not able to go on swift military expeditions. but who are, able to db some work, and so they are detailed to watch the baggage. There is many a soldier who is not strong enough to march thirty miles in a day and then plunge intom ten hours’ fight who is able with drawn sword lifted against his shoulder to pace up and down as a sentinel to keep off an I enemy who might put the torch to the I baggage. There are 200 of those crippled and aged and wounded soldier detailed to watch- the baggage. Some of them, I suppose, hod bandages across the brow, and some of them had their arms in a sling, and "some of them walked on crutches. They were not cowards shirking duty. They had fought tn many a fierce battle for their country and their God. They are now part of the time in hos[»ital I and part of the time on garrison -duty. I They almost cry because they cannot go with the other troops to the front. While these sentinels watch the baggage the Lord watches the sentinels. How Battles Have Been Lost. There is quite a different scene being enacted in the distance. The Amalekites, having ravaged and ransacked and robbed wholetcoiintries, are celebrating their success in a roaring carousal. Some of them are dancing on the lawn with wonderful gyration of heel and toe, and some of them’are examining the Spoils of victory—the finger rings anti earrings, the necklaces, the wristlets, the headbands, diamond starred, and the coffers with coronets and carnelians and pearls and sapphires and emeralds and all the wealth of plate and jewels and decanters, and the silver, and the gold banked up on the earth in princely profusion, and the em- ' broideries, and the robes, and the turbans, and the cloaks of an imperial wardrobe. The banquet has gone en until ' the banqueters are maudlin and weak and stupid and indecent and loathsomely drunk: What a time it is now for David nnd liis men to swoop ofilhem! 8o the English lost the battle of Bannockburn, because the night before they were in wassail and bibulous celebration while the Scotch were in prayer. So the Syrians were overthrown in their carousal by the Israelites. So Chedorlaomer and his ! i army were overthrown in cdfousal , by Abraham nnd his men. So !n our tfivil i ' War than oa«t th» hftttia was ifist j ♦' ' '

to swoop upon these carousing Amalokltes. Some of the Amalekites are hacked to pieces on the spot, some of them nre just able to go staggering and hiccoughing off the field, some of them crawl on camels and speed off in the distance. David and his men gather together the wardrobes, the jewels, and put them upon the back of camels and into wagons, and they gather together nnd cattle that had been stolen and start back toward the garrison. Yonder they come! Yonder they come! The litqping men of iue Kurrisou cbnie out and greet them with wild huzza. The Bible says David saluted them—that is, he asked them how they all were. “HoW is your broken arm?” “How is your fractured jaw?” “Has the stiffened limb been unlimbered?” “Have you had another chill?” “Are you getting better?” He saluted them. Garrison Duty. But now came a very difficult thing, the distribution of the spoils of victory. Drive up those laden camels now. Who shall have the spoilt? Well, some selfish soul suggests that- these treasures ought all to belong to those who had been out in active service. “We did all the fighting while these men staid at home in the garrison, and we ought to have all the treasures.” But David looked into the yrorn faces of these veterans who had staid in the garrison and he looked round and saw how cleanly everything had been kept, and he saw that the baggage was all safe, and he knew that these wounded and crippled men would gladly enough have been at the front if they had been able, and the little general looks up from under his helmet and says: “No, no, let us have fair play,” and he rushes up to one of these men and he says, “Hohl your hands together,” and the hands are held together, an he fills them with silver. And he rushes up to another man who was sitting away back and had no idea of getting any of the spoils and throws a Babylonish garment over him and fills his hand with gold. And he rushes up to another man who had lost all his property in serving God and his country years before, and he drives up some of the cattle and some of the sheep that they had brought back from the Amalekites and he gives two or three of the cattle and three or four of the sheep to this poor man, so he shall always be fed and clothed. He secs a man so emaciated and worn out and sick he needs stimulants and he gives a little of the wine that he brought from the Amalekites. Yonder is a man >who has no appetite for the rough rations of the army, and he gives him a rare morsel from the Amalekitish banquet, and the 200 crippled and maimed and aged soldiers who tarried on garrison duty get jnst as much of the spoils of bat- , tie as any of the 200 men that went to the front. “As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff.” The impression is abroad that the Christian rewards are for those who dq .conspicuous service in distinguished places—great patriots, great preachers, great philanthropists. But my text sets forth the idea that there is just as much reward for a man that stays at home and minds his own business and who, crippled and unable to go forth and lead in great movements and in the high places of the earth, does his whole duty just where he is. Garrison duty is as important and as remunerative as service at the front. “As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff.” f Rewards are mot to be given according to the amount of noise you make in the world, nor even according to the amount of good you do, but according to whether you work to your full capacity, according to whether or not you do your full duty in the sphere where God has placed you. Each as to His Part. Suppose you give to two of your children errands and they are to go off to make purchases, and to one you give ?1 and to the other you give S2O. Do you reward the boy that you gave S2O to for purchasing more with, that amount of f ipiW FIKST PRESBYTERIAX CHURCH. money than the other boy purchased with $1? Os course not. If God give wealth or social position or eloquence or twenty times the faculty to a man that he gives to the ordinary man, is he going to give to the favored man a reward because he has mare power and more influence? Oh, no. In other words, if you and I were to do our whole duty and you have twenty times more talent than I have, you will get no more divine reward than 1 will. Is God going to reward you because he gave you more? That would not be fair; that would not be right. These 200 men of the text who fainted by the brook Besor did their whole duty; they watched the baggage, they took care of the stuff, and they got as much of the spoils of victory as the men who went to the front. “As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff.” There is high encouragement in this for all who have great responsibility and little credit for what they do. You know the ■names of the great commercial houses of p these cities. Do you know the names of the confidential clerks—the men who have the key to the safe, the men who know the 'cotabination lock? A distinguished merchant goes forth at the summer watering place nnd he flashes past and you say, “Who is that?” "Qh,” replies some one, “don’t you know? That is the great imis the great banker, that is the great manufacturer.” The confidential clerk has his week off. Nobody notices whether he comes or goes. Nobody knows him, and after awhile bis week is done, and he sits down again at his desk. But God will reward his fidelity just as tuueh as he recognizes the work of the merchant philanthropist whose Investments this unknown clerk so carefully guarded. Hudson River Railroad, Pennsylvania Railroad, Erie Railroad, New York and New Haven Railroad —business men know the names of tho 1 presidents oFthese road? and of the promi iuant directors, but they db qot know the : names of the angineera, the names of the i switshsasa, thk hm»s el Uwr

times, through the recklessness of an *n* gineer dr the unfaithfulness of a switch* man, it has brought to mind the faithfulness of nearly all the rest of them. Some men do not have recognition of their services. They have small wages and much complftint- I very often ride upon locomotives and I very often ask the question, as we shoot around some curve or under some ledge of rocks, "How much wages do you get?” And I am always surprised to find how little for such vast ..rMnnnslhjUt- rj._ JUU gupppge UOO is not going to recognize that fidelity? Thomas Scott, the president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, going up at death to receive from God his destiny, was no better known in that hour than was known last night the brakeman who, on the Erie Railroad, was jammed to death amid the car couplings. “As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall hir part be that tarrieth by the stuff.” Unpretendina: Service. A Christian women was seen going along the edge of wood every eventide, and the neighbors in the country did not understand how a mother with so many cares and anxieties should waste so much time as to be idly sauntering out evening by evening. It was found out afterward that she went there to pray for her household, and while there one evening she wrote that beautiful hymn, famous in ail ages for cheering Christian hearts: I love to steal awhile away From every cumbering care And spend the hours of setting day In humble, grateful prayer. Shall there be no reward for such unpretending yet everlasting service? Clear back in the country there is » boy who wants to go to college and get an education. They call him a bookworm. Wherever they find him —in the barn or in the house —he is reading a book. “What a pity it is,” they say, “that Ed cannot get an education.” His father, work as hard as he will, can no more than support the family by the product of4he farm. One night Ed has retired to his room and there is a family conference about him. The sisters say: “Father, I wish you would send Ed to college. If you will, we will work harder than we ever did, and we will make our old dresses do.” The mother says: “Yes, I will get along without any hired help, although I am not as strong as I used to be. I think I can get along without any hired help." The father says, “Well, I think by husking corn nights I can get along without any assistance.” Sugar is banished from the table, butter is banished from the plate. That family is put down on rigid—yea, suffering—economy that the boy may go to college. Time passes on. Commencement day has come. Think not that I mention an imaginary case. God knows it happened. Commencement day has come, and the professors walk in on the stage in their long gowns. The interest of the occasion is passing on, and after awhile- it comes to a climax of interest as the valedictorian is to be introduced. Ed has studied so hard and worked so well that he has had the honor conferred upon him. There are rounds of applause, sometimes breaking into vociferation. It is a great day for Ed. But away back in the galleries are his sisters in their plain hats and their faded shawls, and the old fashioned father and mother —dear me, she has not had a new hat for six years, he has not had a new hat for six years—and they get up and look over on the platform and they laugh and they cry, and they sit down, and they look pale and then they are very much flushed. Ed gets the garlands, and the old-fashioned group in the gallery have their full share of the triumph. They have made that scene possible, and in the day when God shall more fully reward self-sacrifices made for others, he will give grand and glorious recognition. “As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff.” Veterans in Work. There is high encouragement in this subject, also, for those who once wrought mightily for Christ aud the churdh, but through sickness or collapse of fortune or advanced years cannot now go to the front. These 200 men of the text were veterans. — Let that man bare his arm and show how the muscles were torn. Let him pull aside the turban and see the mark of a battle ax. Pull aside the coat and see where the spear thrust him. Would it have been fair for those men, crippled, weak aud old, by the brook Besor, to have no share in the spoils of triumph? Fret not, ye aged ones. Just tarry by the stuff and wait for your share of the Spoils. Yonder they are coming. I hear the bleating of the fat lambs and I see the jewels glint in the sun. It makes me laugh to think ho# you will be surprised when they throw a chain of gold over your neck nnd tell you to go in and dine with the king. I see you backing out because you are unworthy. The shining come up on the one side, and the shining ones come up on the other side, and they push you on and they push you up and thev say, "Here is an old soldier of Jesus Christ,” and the shining ones will rush out toward you and say, “Yes, that man saved my soul,” or they will rush out and say, “Oh, yes, she was with me in the last sickness.” And then the cry will go round the circle, “Come in, come in, come up. come up. We saw you away down there, old and sick and decrepit and discouraged because you could not go to the front, but ‘As his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff.’ " Cheer up, men and women of unappreciated services. You will get your reward, if not here, hereafter. Oh, that will be a mighty day when the Son of David shall distribute the garlands, the crowns, the scepters, the chariots, the thrones. And then it shall be found out that all who on earth served God in inconspicuous spheres receive just as much reward as those who filled the earth with uproar of achievement. Then they shall understand the height, the depth, the length, the breadth, the pillared and domed magnificence of my text, “As his part is that geeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff." / ■ ; Ashes. ashes is a fertilizer partlcuularly adapted to dry weather. In dry seasons no fertilizer produces better i results on strawberries or potatoes. Aa we cannot forecast the seasons, it is a satisfaction to know that they have no 1 bad effect should the season be wet. This is one of the things which can be used on almost any crop, or any land, at any time. dude in Philadelphia was twned out of the dub to which be belonged , because he bald his tailor’s bills two dayatrtttM got the clothes.