Decatur News, Volume 3, Number 1, Decatur, Adams County, 27 February 1901 — Page 3

ROU NEMO

4 CHAPTER IX.—(Continued.) “This is a dangerous business.” “Not so much so as it appears to be.” “‘l’m afraid that you’ll find that it is.” ■“By no means. After altering a single date, I shall cause it to be restored to the place it was taken from.” benefit to you can the alteration be? I can see none.” *T will tell you. One of the letters I received yesterday was from my Aunt Dermont, who, after the death of Mr. Burlington’s wife, presided over his household. • / She mentioned that a will, by which Mr. Burlington left me the whole of his property, a few legacies ei' cepted, and dated June 8, 1656, had recently come to light. lat once recollected that this one was written exactly three years later, to a day.” * “Rather a singular Coincidence, I should a think, that both wills should be written the same month and the same day of the nfijnth.” “Both singular and fortunate. A slight erasure, and a single stroke of the pen will make the nine a six.” “True, but an alteration which must be so delicately made as to defy detection, will require a cunning as well as a careful hand.” “Two requisites which mine isn’t deficient in. Judge for yourself.” s) As he finished speaking he took another parchment from his pocket, unrolled it and handed it to Mildred. “You didn’t tell me that your Aunt Dermont not only mentioned the will, but sent it.” “I hadn’t made up my mind then whether to show it to you or not. Look at the date.” “I thought you said it was dated 1656/*'' “So it was, when I received it.” * “Can it be possible that the figure nifiewhich I see here so fairly inscribed was a six?” “It be.” “But you don’t count on receiving any immediate benefit for your trouble.” “Whether I do or do not must depend on circumstances. I must put things in train, so that if T don’t win the bride, I w "7 may secure the fortune. If we succeed in estranging Alice and Harleigh I think that I am neither so ill-favored that patience and perseverance will not finally bring her to listen to my suit.” “In which case, neither of the wills will be of any value to you.” “No; but if, on the other hand,/Harleigh should marry her, he will find that Instead of the rich heiress he expected, that a hundred acres in the very heart of the wilderness is his bride’s only dower.” “The. time will never come when Alice »jj|Biale will be Clarence Harjfigh’s bride. ** Swift and sure agents must be made use of to prevent it, should others fail. You ’will return to England the first opportunity that offers?” “Yes.” ■ < • “I will go at the same time.” “That is right. To remain here among bears and savages, and worst of all, Puritans, if nothing is to be gained by it, is what I should have no fancy for.” CHAPTER X. < Harleigh, during the first (■VW ce V f° ur w-eeks after his arrival in ftgland, had, with one or two exceptions, absented himself from court. No doubt, he felt that the companionship of |uch men as Rochester, Buckhurst, Harry Jermyn, a mere butterfly, Killigrew, the graceful, insolent and showy Duke of Buckingham, with scores of others whose ' vices outnumbered their virtues, would hot encourage him, either, by precept or example, to pass through his two years’ probation in a manner to satisfy his segfgjpre and exacting judge. 9*-" ' 'A dozen or more courtiers were group- ■ ed together in the banqueting hall, 1 through which, only a few years previI ously, Charles I. had passed to the scaf- ■ Vfold, chatting on various subjects, some them pretty liberally seasoned with I court scandal, to" pass away the interim ■ which would elapse previously to the en- ■ trance of the king. 9 “Will Harleigh be here this evening?” ■ said one of them, addressing Harry Jer- ■ myn. ■ “I believe he has graciously condeI scended to give his promise to that esI Tect,” was the reply. “I understand now Hi why the bright glances of a certain lady’s 9 eyes might as well fall on an iceberg.” 9 “How came you to be enlightened ?” in--9 quired the first speaker. 9 “Lord Arran tells me that his obII duracy must be laid to the charge of a K, little rustic he found in the new world.” 9 “And what is more unaccountable ■ -still,” said Killigrew, “Dame Rumor says H she is a Precisionist, and eschews all ■ gayer apparel than a sad-colored gown, a B kerchief of cambric and pinners of the 9 same.” 9 “And so stiff with starch,” said anoth- ■ er, “I venture to say that, like the enorH mous ruffs worn by Queen Bess, they 11 would stand alone.” •. M “I shouldn’t wonder,” said Killigrew, Harleigh should turn to be a Puritan ■ nymself.” B “Nor I,” said Jermyn. “I have susB pected he had a leaning that way ever |9t 3ince he returned from the provinces.” B -on guard, so as not to manifest any B surprise should he make his appearance B kerb this evening with his hair cropped B After the fashion of the Roundheads.” B “Aud wearing a steeple-crowned hat fl and a sad-colored doublet to match his B Jady love’s gown,” said Harry Jermyn, if i who probably being reminded of his own B well-fitting pourpoint of rich purple velB vet, with a silk embroidered handkerB -chief, whfch sent a faint odor of musk B the room as he drew it from his B ftmket, he brushed away a particle or 9 two of the glistening powder, which had B been used to heighten the Tuster of his B long, wavy hair, from one of the sleeves. B At this moment the entrance of HarB lelgh in a dress whose richness and eleB gance accorded well with his manly and H I.

somewhat haughty style of beauty, caused a smile to curl the lip of Buckingham. Almost at the same moment the king made his entree by a different door. He advanced towards the group in an easy, familiar manner, for many of those composing it had been his companions, not only in many a hair-breadth escape, but in numberless wild adventures and mad frolics, during his years of exile. While noticing those present with a grace and good humor natural to him, a slight disturbance attracted attention towards the door by which Harleigh had found ingress, and, at last, rising high above suppressed words of remonstrance, were heard these words: “I must go in, for I am the bearer of something for his majesty which my wife Margery has for many a year preserved as the apple of her eye, giving it a place in a box of polished maple, the whole time, by the side of her best headgear.” “Neither the permission nor the order is necessary,” said Charles, laughing, as the usher stepped hastily forward, a stoutbuilt yeoman following close to his heels, with his broad, round face a good deal flushed from excitement. A word from Buckingham caused the usher to fall back, while, with firmly planted steps, the man made his way towards the spot where the king stood. When arrived within a short distance of him, happening to catch sight of the Duke of Buckingham, he stopped with a puzzled air, and scratching his head to assist his memory, alternately regarded the king and the duke. “I should say that this was the king,” said he, in a low tone to himself, fixing his eyes on Charles, “though the other one is dressed such a nation deal finer.” } “Wiser heads than his have supposed that tB% divinity that doth hedge a king is made ,of no better stuff than laces, ribbons and jewels, so don’t be puffed up, George,” said Charles, addressing Buckingham, who, like himself, was infinitely diverted at the man’s mystification. Another look, longer and more searching than the others had been, appeared to overcome any lingering doubt, and approaching Charles more nearly, he knelt at his feet, at the same time hugging a parcel, round which was wrapped a snowy napkin, closely to his breast. “What is your wish, my good friend?” said Charles. “It is only that your majesty,” and he busied himself with undoing the napkin, as he spoke, “would graciously; please to accept this curry-comb.” “Oddsfish, man! better give it to my groom.” “Not tor & gold ducat,” said the man, “would I again have ft touch horseflesh.” “Why, there’s nothing dangerous about it, I hope?" said Charles. “No; an’ please your majesty, but it would be puttin’ a slight on my good Dame Margery, who has kept it in the maple box with her best headgear ever since I curried the bay mare with it that carried your majesty beyond the reach of those who were seeking for you.” “Let me see,” said .Charles, adjusting his periwig. “I think I have some recollection of a bay mare that served me, on a certain occasion, which might have claimed kindred with the wind, as far as speed was concerned, and it was well for me that it was.so. A dozen blood-r thirsty dragoons kept me in sight for ten minutes or more, then all but one began to lag, and it wasn’t long before he followed his example.” v “Her name was Speedyfoot, please your majesty.” “She was Jlvell named. Yours is Hendrick Dykes?” “It is, please your majesty.” “It does please me, and that right well, to meet you in a place where, at the time you did me such good serviee, there appeared little chance of my ever being admitted. I thought, at the moment of your entrance, I had seen that honest face before,” said CHarlas. Then speaking to some one in attendance, he gave orders that Hendrick should be provided with refreshment and lodging, while, turning to Hendrick himself, he charged him not to go away in the morning till he had either seen or heard from him. “I thought,” said Harleigh, who, with two or three others, was standing a little apart, “that Gilbert Falkland Was to be here this evening.” “So he is,” said he whom he addressed. “I shouldn’t wonder if, instead of being lined with gold, which would enable him to resume with fresh spirit his old habits of luxury, his pockets were found to contain nothing better than a few worthless grants signed with the mark of some Indian chief, wilder than his lands.” He hafi hardly finished speaking when Falkland made his appearance. “Ah, here is my patentee, fresh from the new world,” said Charles, cordially giving him his hand. “I heartily welcome you back to merry England, even if you are the owner of as many acres as are contained in my United Kingdoms.” ‘T can assure your majesty,” said Falkland, “that there would be ample space for my domain between the Thames and the Tweed, the whole of which is not worth the space shaded by the Royal Oak. When the grim old Puritans called that part of the world a howling wilderness, they couldn’t have hit on a more appropriate appellation, it being inhabited chiefly by bears and wolves.” “I half expected,” said Killigrew, addressing Falkland, “that, during your absence, you would espouse the red-skinned daughter of some Indian chief, and bring her here to illume and enliven the court, with the jewels in her nose and the bells round her ankles.” “I have seen an Indian maiden,” replied he, “whose brilliant eyes * would shame the rarest diamonds ever dug from the mines of Golconda; I Wouldn’t except even‘this splendid jewel.” As he spoke, he tossed upon the table the opal filched by Mildred Dacres from Alice Dale, which in its descent, seem-

ed to flash with every hue of the rich and tempting fruits and sparkling wines ranged near. At sight of it, Harleigh’s fare flushed crimson. The next minute the blood receded, leaving lip and cheek as pale as death. ' “A love token, I’ll be bound; is it not, Falkland?” said Harry Jermyn. Falkland smiled, but made no reply. “I think I’ve seen this gem before today,” said Buckingham, taking it up and examining it. “I thought I wasn’t mistaken. It' is the one, Harleigh, you purchased at Lingard’s, previously to your ' going to America.” “I don’t pretend to say when or where it was purchased,” said Falkland. “The first and the last time I ever saw it, till I could call it my own, it adorned the neck of one more beautiful and bewitching than the ,most celebrated of the beauties of Windsor, portrayed by Sir Peter Lely’s pencil.” “You had better mind how you let the little Castlemaine, and some others, hear you compare your forest beauties with those of the court,” said the Duke of Buckingham. “Has this little wood nymph of yours a red skin?” inquired Killigrew of Falkland. “Yes, as red as the freshest rose in June, save where the empire of that queenly flower is disputed by its sister, the lily.” “Her name?” said Charles, beginning to be interested in Falkland’s somewhat high-flown description. “Alice pale.” “What! the daughter of Reginald Dale, who, I’ve been told, a short time before his decease, caused that stiff old Puritan, Nathan Walworth, to be appointed her guardian?’* “The same, your majesty.” “And he soon afterward emigrated to America?” “He did.” “I remember him well,” said the Earl of Arran. “He served under Cromwell, as a captain of dragoons, that used to stable their horses in the stalls of the cathedrals.” “If I mistake not,” said Buckingham, “one Burlington, who owned a princely estate in Wiltshire, was the fair damsel’s uncle, that Falkland is in such raptures about.” ; “He was,” said Arran. “It is she, then, who stands in your light?” said Harry Jermyn. “That is not quite clear,” replied Falkland. “True, if you marry her. It will then be much the same as if old Burlington had made you his heir, which, I’ve heard he once contemplated.” Meanwhile, Harleigh had remained silent, though with compressed lips and flashing eyes. He now drew Falkland a little aside. “Dare you say, on the word and honor of a gentleman, that Alice Dale gave you that opal?” he demanded. * “Till you make it appear by what right you ask the question, I will say nothing about it.” “By an Englishman’s right.” “And by the same right I refuse to answer a question asked with so much arrogance.” “I. am not in a mood, just now; to clothe my language in the garb of humility. I demand to know if Alice Dale gave you that opal of her own free will.”“It was freely given.” “It is false. She never gave it to you.” “What I have said is true.” “I shall not take your word.” “Let the sword decide it, then!” Charles, who had caught enough of what was said to understand by this time what was going forward, now interposed.

“You seem to forget,” said he, “that this is neither a place nor a presence for Dover’s broils. Both of you will please consider yourselves under arrest—you, Gilbert Falkland, for proposing to decide the question by the sword, and you, Clarence Harleigh for provoking him to it. Remember that you leave this place for ready furnished lodgings in the Tower. But come,” and bis features relaxed into their usual good-humored expression, “we have already let our feast of fruits stand waiting till one might well deem it a feast for fools. Saying thus, he took his place at the table, and the others, including Harleigh and Falkland, who dared not refuse*, followed his example. v (To be continued.) Children Must Laugh. The sense of humor is a variable feast, undergoing different forms In reference to race, individual and society. If your little boy fails to respond with his tribute of childish merriment to your parental jok£, that, depressing as at times it must be to you, does not seem to me a matter about which to lie awake nights, because, after all, dear Brutus, the fault may not be so much with the child as with the joke! If, however, little N. or M.,-< as his catechismal name may be, never makes his own small childish jests, never plays foolish tricks upon you, at which, by the same token, he expects you to laugh; if he never is mirthful, instinct with joyousness, with natural gayety of heart and the sunshine of vigorous young animal life and spirits—then indeed, his condition is abnormal, or his environments all wrong, and you must find a speedy way to put him into a natural and smiling rapport with life. For laughter as a mere outlet for animal spirits is natural to man.

Playfulness we share with our furred and feathered brethren, but the audible expression of mirth Is monopolized by man, the least natural of all the animals. It helps to differentiate him from the lower level of the monkey; it is one of the marks of his Inferiority to the high spiritual gods—Harper’s Bazar. Something Wrong. , “Now, John, see here!” she began, with set jaw. “I must have S2O today.” “All right,” said John promptly, “here it is.” “Goodness, John!” she exclaimed, ,haling vigibly, “what’s the matter? Aren’t you well?”—Philadelphia Press. Not Alone. Miss Withers—l believe Arthur is afraid to propose to me. Belle—Of course he Is, and there are thousands of others just like him.— Smart Set. - .

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(Copyright, Louis Klopscfi, 1901.) O N this discourse Dr. Talmage praises II Christian heroism and tells of great rewards. The text is Galatians vi„ 17, “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” We hear much about crowns, thrones, Victories, but I now tell the more quiet Story of scars, l/onorable and dishonorable. There are in all parts of the world people bearing dishonorable scars. They went into the battle of sin and were Worsted, and to their dying day they will have a sacrification of body or mind or soul. It cannot be hidden. There are tens of thousands of men and women now consecrated to God and living holy lives who were once corrupt; but they have been regenerated, and they are no more what they once were than rubescence is emaciation, than balm is vitriol, than noonday is midnight. But in their depleted physical health or mental twist or style of temptation they are ever and anon reminded of the obnoxious past. They have a memory that is deplorable. In some twinge of pain or some tendency to surrender to the wrong which they must perpetually resist they have an unwholesome reminiscence. They carry scars, deep scars, ignoble scars. But Paul in my text shows us a sacrification which is a badge of honorable and self-sacrificing service. He had in his weak eyes the result of too much study and in his body, bent and worn, the signature of scourgings and shipwrecks and maltreatment by mobs. In my text he shows those scars as he declares, “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” Notice that it is not wounds, but scars, and a scar is a healed wound. Before the scar is well defined upon the flesh the inflammation must have departed and right circulation must have been restored and new tissue must have been formed. It is a permanent indentation of the flesh—a cicatrix. Paul did well to show those scars. They were positive and indisputable proofs that with all his body, mind and soul he believed what he said. They were bis diploiha, showing that he had graduated from the school of hardship for Christ. They were credentials proving his right to lead in the world’s evangelization. Not Ashamed of Scar*. Men are not ashamed of scars got in battle for their country. No American is embarrassed when you ask him, “Where did you get that gash across your forehead?” and he can answer, “That was from a saber cut at San Juan.” When you ask some German, “Where did you lose your right arm?” he is not ashamed to say, “I lost it at Sedan.” When you ask an Italian, "Where did you lose your eye?” he is not annoyed when he can answer, “I suffered that in the last battle under our glorious Geperal Garibaldi.” But I remind you of the fact that there are scars not got in war which are just as illustrious. We had in this country year# ago an eminent advocate who was called into the presidential cabinet as attorney general. In midlife he was in a Philadelphia court room engaged in an important trial. The attorney on the opposite side of the case got irritated and angry and in most brutal manner referred to the distinguished attorney’s disfigured face, a face more deeply scarred than any face I ever saw. The legal hero 'of whom I am speaking, in his closing argument, said: “Gentlemen of the jury, when I was a little child I was playing with my sister in the nursery, and her clothes caught fire, and I ran to her to put out the fire. I succeeded, but I myself took fire, and before it was extinguished my face was awfully burned and as black as the heart of the scoundrelly counsel who on the other side of the case has referred to my misfortune.” The eminent attorney of whom I speak carried all his life the honorable scar of his sister’s rescue. Albert Barnes, the most distinguished of all commentators, unless it be Matthew Henry, for years at 4 o’clock in the morning might have been seen going from his house in Philadelphia to his study in the church and in those early hours and before breakfast to give all those wonderful commentaries, a theological library in themselves. He Baid that as he was pastor he felt bound to give all the rest of each day to Work connected with his pastorate. But at what a ruinous draft upon his eyesight he did that early morning work, first by candlelight and then by gaslight! When he got through those wonderful volumes of Scriptural exposition, Albert Barnes was a blind man. Scars, illustrious scars, on his extinguished eyesight! Rearing: a Family. & But why do we go so far for illustration, when I could take right out of the memories of some whom I address instances just as appropriate? To rear aright for God and heaven a large family of children in that country home was a mighty undertaking. Far away from the village doctor, the garret must contain the herbs for the cure of all kinds of disorders. Through all infantile complaints the children of that family went. They missed nothing in the way of childish disorders. Busy all day was that mother in every form of housework, and twenty times a night called up by the children all down at the same time with the same contagion.. Her hair is white a long while before it is time for snow. Her shoulders are bent long before the appropriate time for stooping. Spectacles are adjusted, some for close by and some for far off, years before you would have supposed Jher eyes would need reenforcement. Here and there is a short grave in her pathway, this headstone bearing the name of this child and another headstone bearing the name of another child. Hardly one bereavement lifts its shadow than another bereavement drops one. After thirty years of wifehood and motherhood the path turns toward the setting sun. She cannot walk so far as she used to. Colds caught hang on longer than formerly, frame of the

children are in the heavenly world, for which they were well prepared through maternal fidelity, and others are out in this world doing honor to a Christian ancestry. When her life closes and the neighbors gather' for fier obsequies, the officiating clergyman may find appropriate words in the last chapter of Proverbs: “Her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good, and not evil, all the days of her life. She streteheth out her hand to the poor. She is not afraid of the snow for her household; for all her household are clothed with scarlet. Her husband is known in the gates, when, he sitteth among the elders in the land. Her children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.” Then after the Scripture lesson is read let all come up and before the casket is closed look for the last time at the scars of her earthly endurance. She never heard the rdl of a gun carriage or saw a banner hoisted upon a parapet, but Bhe has in all the features of that dear old face the marks of many a conflict—scars of toil, scars of maternity, scars of self-sacrifice, scars of bereavement. She is a heroine whose name has never been heard off ten miles from the old homestead, but her name is inscribed high up among the enthroned immortals. Martyr* All Around U*. People think they must look for martyrs on battlefields or go through a history to find burnings at the stake and tortures on racks when there are martyrs all about us. At this time in this capital city there are scores of men wearing themselves out in the public service. In ten years they will not have a healthy nerve left in their body. In committee rooms, in consultations that involve the welfare of the nation, under the weight of great responsibilities, their vitality iff being subtracted. In almost every village of the country you find some broken down State or national official. After exhausting himself in the public service, rough American politics kicks him out of Congress or cabinet or legislative hall, and he goes into comparative obscurity and comparative want, for he has been, long enough away from home to lose his professional opportunities. No man that was ever put to'death by sword or instrur ment of torture was more of a martyr than that man who has been wrung to death by the demands of official position. The scars may not be visible, foe these are scars on the brain afid scars on the nerve and scars on the heart, but nevertheless are they sears, and God counts them and their reward will be abundant. It is easy for some Washington correspondents, writing home to their city or village papers, to misrepresent our public men and represent them as living in idleness and luxury, but I tell you from my own observation that many of the Representatives in Congress, and Senators of the United States, and justices of the Supreme Court, and secretaries in presidential cabinets work as hard as, if not harder than, a day laborer breaking cobblestones on a New Jersey turnpike or a driver of mules on a tpwpath for a Pennsylvania capalboat. What with the solicitations for appointments by constituents who swarm around State and national capital, and the social exhaustions, and the irritating interruptions, and the unreasonable demands of all kinds, high official position is not a sinecure. Their indigestions and neuralgias and premature old age are scars that God will honor, though the world may never appreciate. The heroes and the heroines of any war are not always at the front, are not always epauleted, are not always acquainted with military tactic#, and some of them would not know how to present arms or ground arms or stack arms. Some of them rendered their service in hospitals, some by doing harder work on the farm while the breadwinner was at Gettysburg. We all know the names of the distinguished Northern and Southern women who bound up the wounds of the battlefields, but there were 10,000 women just as brave who never left the farm house or cotton plantation and who were so worn out in taking care of their bereft homes that when the soldier came home they had only strength left to die. And the places where they sleep the last sleep are not marked with so much as a plain slab, while those who suffered not half so much are in sculptured mausoleum. The Unseen Scars. In all lands there are veterans of war who may not have had their face scraped with one bullet or their foot lamed by one bursting 'shell and who could not roll up their sleeve and show you one mark suggestive of battle, yet carry with them weaknesses got in exposures to disease along malarial swamps or from many miles of marching, and ever and anon they feel a twinge of pain, each recurrence of which is sharper or more lasting, until after awhile they will be captured for the tomb by disorders, which started twenty or thirty or forty years before. And their scars are all unseen by human eyes. But these people are as certainly the victims of war as though they had been blown up in an undermined fortress or thrust through with a cavalryman’s lance. What I want to make out is that there are scars which are never counted except as God counts them, and I want to enlarge your sympathies. There is a woman who has suffered domestic injustice of which there is no cognizance. She says nothing about it. An inquisitor’s machine of torture could not wring from her the story of domestic woe. Ever since the day of orange bios-' soms and long white veil she has done her full duty and received for it harshness and blame and neglect. The marriage ring, that was supposed to be a sign of unending affection, has turned out to be one link of a chain of horrible servitude. A wreath of nettle and nightshade of brightest form would have been a more accurate prophecy. There are those who find it hard to believe that 'there is such a place as hell, but you could go right out in any community and find more than one hell of domestic torment. There is no escape for that woman but the grave, and that, compared with the life she now lives, will be an arbor of jasmine and of the humming bird's song poured into the ear of the -honeysuckle. Scars! If there be none on the brow showing where he struck her arriving home from midnight carousal, neverthe-

1 / I less there are scars all up and down baa injured and immortal soul which will b« remembered on the day wbeft there shall leap forth for her avengement the liv* thunderbolts of an incensed God. When we see a veteran in any land who has lost a limb in battle, our sympathies are stirred. But, oh, how many have in the domestic realm lost their life and.yet are denied a pillow of dust on which to slumber! Better enlarge your roll of martyrs. Better adopt a new mode of counting human sacrification. A broken bone is not half as bod as a broken heart. All of Paul’s suffering Was for Christ’s sake. He had intellectual powers which could have achieved for him all worldly successes. You see what he could do in a court room when with extemporaneous speech he made the judicial bench tremble; when on Mars hill he confounded the Athenian critics; when he preached amid the excitement of a tumbling penis tentiary; when in a storm at sea he took command of the ship, the only one oa board cool headed. With his inspired logic, and his courage of utterance, and his power of illustration, and his capacity to move audiences, and his spirit of defiance, there was no height of worldly power he might not have gained. Army of Christian Soldiers. There are many who, like that apostoiie martyr, have on them the mark of the Lord Jesus. There is the great army of foreign missionaries, sometimes maligned by dissolute American, English and Scotch merchants, who at Hongkong and Calcutta and Constantinople have had their wickedness reproved by the pur* home life of those missionaries. There Is the great army of the ministers of tha gospel, now in heaven, who, on small salaries and amid fatigues that slew them, served their day and generation. Thera is another great army of private Chrintians who in. Sabbath schools and in tract distribution and in humanitarian and evangelistic efforts have put their life in sacrifice on the altars of God. There is another army of Christian invalids who lost their life in overwork fear the church and the world’s redemption* People call their illness neuralgia or nervous prostration or insomnia or paresia or premature old age. I call their ailments scars,, as my text calls them scam. There may be scars oh the memory, scan on the spirits, scars on the courage, scan on the soul, ae well as scars on the body, and those invisible to the human eye a» as honorable as those visible. All ye who bear in yo.ur body the marks of the Lord Jesus, have you thought what use those marks will be in the heavenly .world? What- source of glorious reminiscence! In that world you will sit together and talk over earthly experiences. "Whfere did you get that scar?” saint will say to saint, and there will come back a story of hardship and struggle and persecution and wounds and victory througwihe grace of the gospel. Another spirit will say to listening spirit, “Where did you get that hurt so plainly marked?” And the answer will be: “Oh, that was one of the worst hurts I ever had. That was a broken friendship. Wo were in sweetest accord for years, together in joy and sorrow. What one thought the other thought. We were David and Jonathan. But our personal interest* parted, and our friendships broke never - to be renewed on earth. But we have made it all up here, and misunderstandings are gone, and we are in the same heaven, on neighboring thrones, in neighboring castles on the banks of the same river.” , “Where did you get that markp’- says another spirit to listening spirit,, and the answer comes: “That is a reminder of a great bereavement, of a deflated house-. hold, of a deep grave, /at > all the heart-. strings at one stroke/snapped altogether. But you see it is rio longer a laceration; for the wound has been healed, and my once bereft spirit is now in companionship with the one from whom for awhile I was separated.” “Where did you get that long, deep scar?” says another immortal to listening immortal, and the answer comes: “That was the awful fatigue of a lifetime struggle in attempting amid adverse circumstances to achieve a livelihood. For thirty years I was tired —oh, so tired! But you see it is a healed wound, for I have found rest at last for body and soul, the complete rest, the everlasting rest, that remaineth for the people of God.” Some one in heaven will say to Martyr John ftogers, “Where did you get that scar on your foot?” and the answer will, comb, “Oh, that was a burn I suffered when the flames of martyrdom were kindled beneath me!” “Ignatius, whit is that mark on your cheek?” “Oh, that was made/by the paw of the lion to which I was thrown by the order off Trajan!” Someone will say to Paul, “Great • apostle, that must have been deep cut once, the mark which I see oa your neck.” And Paul says, “That wa* made by the* sword which struck me at my beheadment on the road to Ostia.” But we all have scars of some kind, and those are some of the things we will talk over in the heavenly world while we celebrate the- grace that made us triumphant over all antagonism. Practical Application. Now what is the practical use off thia subject? It is the cultivation of Christian heroics. The most of us want to say things and do things for God. when there is no danger of getting hurt. Wo are all ready for easy work, for popular work,, for compensating work, but we all greatly need more courage to brave the world and brave satanic assault when there is something aggressive and bold and dangerous to be undertaken for God and righteousness. And if we happen to get bit what an ado we make about it! We all need more of the stuff that martyrs are made out of. We want more sanctified grit, more Christian pluck, more holy recklessness as to what the world may say and do in any crisis off our life. Be right and do right, and all earth and hell combined cannot put yon down. Ecclesiasticlsm and Denominationalism.—Ecclesiasticism may, to a largo extent, retain its power over the hearts of men, and denominationalism may continue to divide communities, yet Christians will come to see through the forms, as Carlyle puts it, and discover the things themselves. They will recognize the difference between that which is expedient and that which is essential, and acknowledge the fact that religion does not consist in the possession of emotions, but of divinity,., that a man has as much of It as he has of God, andno more.—Rev. D. E. Marvin, Congregational! st, Asbury Park,