Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 34, Decatur, Adams County, 8 November 1895 — Page 9

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tinned.) W wffit do you think of it? >K only a question of how be mad enough to go?” Ind you will, too. Bah, man, Lg to be frightened about a ■jugglery! They are childish, the same.” (heard what she said. Those ainst the serpent die.” t him sting, of course. But do that. Deffrard, I have ly is not far off when I shall ad of affairs, and you shall trusted chief. Yes, we will * olvers to-night and we will ed back in silence, while, ing the laughter and chatter g up as soon as the two ]eA‘ out of sight, Mahme sat tionless and rapt in thought, : stretched out upon the bar coin. irst of laughter than usual back to herself, and she L i her arm, opened her hand, f coins for a few moments wrinkled up into a look of hen deliberately spat upon ■ Am his money!” shq said, t I was obliged—l was 7) he coins over in her hand, * softened into a pleasant seemed to gloat over the fore taking out a bag, and ieces in one by one, the “A* making her eyes brightction. note, and more,” she said the bag, and then, id upon her hand, she sat while the laughter outside „ >oisterous and loud. But / ie black people who spent r lives basking in the suner veranda did not interof thought, which was and the risks he to run that night at the APTER VI. ellow,” cried Bart Dur--17 Phew!” he whistled, iart,” cried Paul, excitedven, you’ve come." , what is it? Something d Paul. "Read that.” »ter,” cried Bart, taking ; ;d to him and Winning Iy * ' \ ivent. (Staying with a a e, at the Hotel Devine—e ie West Indies at once. s >w!” ißgght his friend’s hands 1,” he sad, “is it so serii, I love her, and she is ged away from me per>r to meet again. I’ve ith you at these sentisllows, who shut thempot of charcoal, but I “fi now.” Bl” said Bart, savagely; z ex like a fool. You’re an =r, I say, this is very sudC3MOU going to do?” Hat once and see her. rllow, I don’t think ” |vith her.” —quickly, “I’ll come. * bby?” ths her and persuade her —- Paul, excitedly. “She tr I not go.” ?/> ow, gently. Your sisother has sent for her, is expected.” * • * vas expected, but don’t 4—. man. Come on.” two young men jere in the Rue Royale, up their cards they *|hto a handsome room, I lady, whose perfectly Ja thin angular yellow (f hem with their cards ga pale, fragile-looking I also rose, and looked MI the other, and, evil.h the young artist’s ■eyes dwell longest upCal)Be,” said Paul, quickling slightly, “my sislou. May I see her?” All paid the lady, speakGaliejrlf very peculiar achousc ny love, will you ask ■' ter to come?” Ohead a slight toss, look at Paul, and »r at the farther end irrying to open it for A ■ very contemptuous 111 gT us or a day or two Clriend in, good spirits. obeJoiselle Dulau—you—p. iaid Paul, hastily. uLu l her ouce or twice, . Tter at the convent.” on llady, with her eyes jltwo lips seeming to . uKight flashed through Kt the door was rej Kered with her arm * * Kited, and trembling. ■ther’s arms, and as Wispered: Oral 1 y“de Iter come Seed .» sald Pauli ag he Woo> hich were resigned Salt. ’ling. while Aube’s *’* in his, with a sad, Eleva' that thrilled him Clover I .tore sc efferson * B HttM '

while following his 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 mcaninly 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 not 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 the 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?” “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 yep 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 seewyou, I have feit that Luce was with you, m y sister, and she has grown to like you.” “Yes—yes,” said Aube, faintly. “She has written to me constantly. It 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 logger a girl; be my dearest honored wife. lam not rich, but ” j “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. you will stay?” Slurlooked 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 havo always been Luce’s brother to me, and I wpuld have suffered sooner than have given you pain." “And yet—now you know all." “Paul, 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 Im 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 havo passed here —never fofget 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 side, and Aube threw herself in her arms, weeping silently, as she laid her head upon his shoulder. “TelLme," 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?” ttHush, 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 oousent Madame Sajjjtone entered with her daughter, who fixed her eyes itt a halftiming eoawmptuoui way ea Pjtulj aw*

Tdenfly meaning the took to be provocation, but it failed of effect. “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. AU as new to one fresh from the seclusion of the convent. I wish you were going, too, my dear. We should be so happy. I could show you our lovely seas and skies, so blue as you cannot think, and our charming land, 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 stff 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 Gratitude 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.” ‘-JCraig,” 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 burled 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 ivyent 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 ,-t 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, hut 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 of August comes around. This has been done for 200 years. The anniversary fires are built on the exact locations of the old 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 the location of one of these fires and then went back to Taos. Some time afterward he set out on 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-Democrat There lives at Marion, Ind., a dwarf, Janie Loder by name, who is 54 years old, 47 inches high and weighs about 64 pounds. She is the daughter of 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 of herself as a little girl, and her favorite topic of conversation iu 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 good health and may live for many years. The Sabbatarians were so called from their observing the seventh day as the Sabbath, Their founder *ae naqtod

TAKES A NEW CHARGE TALMAGE MOVES FROM BROOKLYN TO WASHINGTON. Installed aa Co-Paator of the Firat Presbyterian Church, Where President Cleveland Worships — Gives Heasona for Accepting; the Call. Sermon of Last Sunday. The installation of the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage as a co-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 worshije ing 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 the care of surrounding boarding-houses and encroaching Shops. Its life was languishing when Grover Cleveland, in 1884, discovered in the Rev. Byron Sunderland an old friend and took a pew in his church. n. > 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 Providence 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 was 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 could only say: ‘Come to Constantinople and the money will be distributed from there for you.’ 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 bis 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. Sanyiel, 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 never seen an army change quarters, you have no idea of the amount of baggage—twenty loads, fifty loads, It>o 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 Amalekites. 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 do 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 into a 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 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, had bandages across the brow, and some of them had their arms in a sling, a«d some of them walked on crutches. They were not cowards shirkingduty. They had fought hi many a fierce battle for their country and their God. They are now part of the time in hospital , 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 Htuve Been Bost. There is quite a different scene being enacted in the distance. The Amalekites, having ravaged and ransacked and robbed whole countries, are celebrating their success in a roaring carousal. Some of them are dancing on the lawn with won-, derful gyration of heel and toe, and some of them'are examining the spoils of victory—the finger rings and 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 embroideries, and the robes, and the turbans, and the cloaks of an imperial wardrobe. The banquet has gone on until the banqueters are maudlin and weak and stupidT and indecent, and loathsomely druuK What a time it is now for David nnd his mep to swoop on Ihem! So the English lost tho battle of Bannockburn, because the night before they were in wassail aud bibulous celebration while the Scotch were in prayer. So the Syrians were overthrown in their carousal by the Israelites. So Chedorlaomer aud his Itrmy were overthrowu in Quit* carousijl by Abraham and his men. So in our dvil war Hum

because one of the generals was drunk. Now is the time for David and his men 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, nnd they gather together the sheep and cattle that bad been stolen and start back toward the garrison. Youder they come! Yonder they come! The limping men of the garrison come 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 iw the garrison, and we ought to have all the treasures.” But David looked into the worn 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 beeiTat 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 bands 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 aud 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 him 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 just as much of the spoils of battle 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 d<^ 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 nnd 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.” Rewards are not 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 io make purchases, and to oue 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 FIBST 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 more power and more influence? Oh, no. In other words, if you and 1 were to do our whole duty and you have twenty times more talent than I have, you will get no more divine reward than I 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 fiiiTpaFt 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 these cities. Do you know the names of the confidential clerks—tlw men who have the key to the safe, the men who know the combination lock? A distinguished merchant goes forth at the summer watering place and he flashes past and you say. “Who is that ?” “Oh," replies some one, “don’t you know? That is the great importer, that is 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 his week is done, and he sits .down again .at his desk. But God will reflmrdjJiis fidelity just as much as he recognizes the work of the merchant philanthropist whose investments this unknown clerk so carefully guarded. Hudson River Railroad, Pennsylvania Railroad, Erie Rail- 1 road. New York and New Haven Railroad —business men know the names of the presidents of these roads aud o£ the prominent directors, but they do not know the names of the mjgineera, names of the thk astae* et thtf fiagiaka.

the names of the brakemen. These men have awful responsibilities, and sometimes, through the recklessness of an engineer or 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 complaint. 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 responsibility. Do you suppose God 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.” Unpretending 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 al! 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 a 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 ofxihe 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 1 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 bs 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 church, but through sickness or collapse of fortune or advanced years cannot now go to the front. These 200 meh of the text were veterans, Let that man bare his arm and shovv 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 and .old, by the brook Besor. to have no share in the spoils of triumph? T x x u Fret not, ye aged ones. Just tarry oy 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 how you will be surprised When they throw a chain of gold over vour neck and tell you to go in and dine ‘with the king. I see you backing out because you are unworthy. The shimug ones come up on the one side, and the shining ones come up on the other side, and they push you ou 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 1 , 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 re- • ward, 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 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. Wood ashes is a fertilizer particularly adapted to dry weather. In dry seasons no fertilizer produces better results on strawberries or potatoes. As we cannot forecast the seasons, it Is a satisfaction to know that they have no 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. A dude in Philadelphia was tu>ned out of the chib to which be belonged because he bald bis tailor’s bills two days tftar M sot the clothes.