Decatur News, Volume 3, Number 35, Decatur, Adams County, 23 October 1901 — Page 3

White Hand Tale of the Early Settlers of Louisiana. BY AUSTIN C. BURDICK CHAPTER XIII. Several times had Louise suggested to Loppa the idea of her looking out about the town, but she had been informed that it would not be safe. The old negress was firm and uncompromising, but yet kind and considerate as far as her care of her charge’s welfare was concerned, Louise had made some examination of the house in which she was confined, and she was satisfied that she could not escape from it without much labor and trouble. It was on the fifth day of her sojourn there that she was aroused from a fit of deep thought by the entrance of Simon Lobois. He came in with a warm smile upon his face, and after some remarks upon Louise’s improved looks, he . took a seat by her side. She did not shrink from hirn, nor did she seem afraid of him, but with a keen gaze she fixed her deep blue eyes upon him. “Sweet cousin,” he said, in a tone of extreme softness, “why was it ordered that I should be the one to save you from the jaws of death? Why was I' singled out?” “Surely, Simon, it was because you, of all others, were in duty bound to save me,” replied Louise. “Ha! hoW so?” the cousin asked, with U a slight start, but quickly recovering himself. I “Why, because to you my father gave me in charge. Because you have received a handsome salary for taking care of me.” “I should say that you had shown an early disposition to throw off the yoke of my authority.” / “Ah, how so?” “Your own sense will tell you how,” Simon responded, somewhat bitterly. “O, I meant no play upon the past, my I cousin. But then you are my near rela- | tive, you know—and hence you ought to Il save me.” I “And this is the gratitude you feel for Id the service I have done you.” 111, “Now, Simon, you did not ask me how ■■ I felt. You only asked me why it was j you were singled out to save me. Most I truly, for all of good you have ever done me do I feel most duly grateful. For all Il your acts of kindness to me, you have H my deep acknowledgment.” H Lobois seemed for the moment nonfl plussed by the off-hand manner in which I he was thus far met, but his forces were |fl soon in order again, and he renewed the ■ attack. It “Louise, you remember the conversation fl, we once had in the study?” fl N “Perfectly, Simon. And you rememb'er the answers I gave?” replied the girl. “Yes —I do remember them; I have retfl that T"look A upon tils M fringe event as an opportunity granted flßi by heaven i-self for me to ask those ■ questions/er ” UH “Simon..Lobois! Are you m earnest?’ iffiy a „ 4 ’ A love such as mine cannot Xfl be cr9 Zped by the result of one intervieW/ It /has been cherished too long, flfl nd/has V come to ° deeply rooted. From flt less /ved I might have turned away K- dn der s/'h a rebuff, but not from you. SIB No, noA'Ouise;'! have come now to ask ; or question again. Remember now B .'the y° u owe me; remember the doufl bi ’ c Cl m I now have.” . || ‘ jpible claim. Simon?” fl “ W~ a double claim. First, the claim fl resub/mg from the care I have held for youjsynCe early childhood; and, second, fl this last claim founded in the very sav- ■ ing of your life.” I “’lt was curious that you should have I been the one to save me —wasn’t it?” I saidiLouise, looking into her companion’s | fa<l|with an expression he could not ana- ■ ly 10 though he tidied bard to do so. "I ““H was,” he replied. “And that you should have landed just in that place, too?” pursued Louise, without removing her close gaze from her \gggiHftrk ’cousin’s face. “And how strange mat ’they should have camped directly fl |y tne boat landing, where the whites fl would be sure to come if they crossed 1 ■ r ,e — wasn ’t it?—especially when we I fl consider what a repute they have for fl fl fehrewdness and cunning?” fl If Simon Lobois winced at this, and a fl ■/perceptible tremor ran through his ■/ frame. But he recovered himself with ■ an effort, in a few moments. «/fl| “It is strange,” he said, “and I have flfll often said so since. But I can see in it flflflonly the opportunity of pressing my flflfl claim to your heart and hand now with H|flLymre hopes of success. I must ask you flflflt&w if you will accept the heart and I offer you?” < Bfl “Simon Lobois, you know I cannot do MSB it.” uttered Louise, in a firm, frank tone. B|fl “Beware, Louise! I ask you kindly flflflnow. I confess my love and I beg of to accept it.” flflH “A husband’s love from you I never accept, Simon.” MB I “Think carefully ere you speak.” MBH I “But what mean you? I have thought flflflcarefull.v, and have equally as candidly flflfltold SJpu that yours I can never be. Now, more can you ask?” flflfll “j shall ask but little more,” returned flflfl?iinon, through his set teeth. “I am now a position to command.” ■; BMB “Speak plainly, monsieur.” “Then, plainly—you must be my wife!” flfl|flr*s‘But I shall simply apply to the GovH^BmoT. a ’\ flflfl will help y° u none, for Periet flfllfl my friend, and has pledged me his as--s§l|'B* stance ” flflfl *‘ But h e hsten to the prayer of a ggsfl “Not when that prayer is prejudicial Wfl the interest of his friend. He is anx||l|flus t]la t all the marriageable females ■ mid be married as soon as possible. In |||flfort, my dear cousin, he has pledged fllKfle his word as a man, and as an officer, BHflat' you shall be my wife. Now what Mflfly yon? ” •Sigyfl'T should certainly say that he was a ■Mjgbsfleat scoundrel,” returned Louise, reher companion with a fixed look, are.cool, mademoiselle?” Because I do not believe that you can flgfllfl In earnest, monsieur.” |||l||flz am ia earn est, Louise! and, more-

over, ybu go not from this place until you are my wife! Do you understand that?” “If—if—l thought you could mean it, Simon, I should begin to be alarmed,” : said the maiden, in a tone that would seem to indicate that she did not really credit the statement she had heard. “I do mean it!” he replied, slowly and meaningly. “Simon Lobois, look me in the eye, and assure me solemnly that you mean what you hhve said,” Louise spoke this in an earnest, eager tone, with her hands clasped and half raised towards her dark cousin, and her lips firmly compressed. It was some moments before Lobois replied. There was something in the deep blue eye that was fixed so earnestly upon him, and in tfie calm, earnest features that met his gaze, that moved him more than he had counted upon. But then 1 he was not the man to break down now. He was not the man to give up the fruition of a hope that he had cherished with his very life for years. He was playing for a golden stake of immense value, and now that he held the leading hand, he meant to use it promptly, and without compromise of any kind. “Louise St. Julien” he at length replied, “I mean just what I have said. You go not frpm this house until you are my wife! From this purpose I will not swerve.” A quick flush passed over the girl’s face, and her lip quivered. A moment the thought of spurning the wretch was present with her, but the thought, most probably, of her defenseless position kept her tongue under guard. " “Simon,” she murmured, after a while . . of silence, “you will not be so cruel?” “And is it cruel to want a beautiful girl, whom one loves, for a wife?” “But what can you want with a wife who can never love you in return?” “I’ll teach you to love me.” “As well might you teach me to love the great crocodile I saw the soldiers playing with in the street this morning.’ “Then I’ll teach you to fear me.!” “You’ve done that already, monsieur.” “So much the better then; you’ll mind me the quicker.” “But why—why should you do this thing?” “I’ll tell you,” spoke Simon, turning with sudden emphasis upon the girl; “There is no need that I should pretend to deceive you, nor could I, probably, if I tried. For many years I have had the charge of your father’s books and business. You know he is wealthy—more wealthy than any other ten men in the colony. When he came here into this joyforsaken wilderness, I came with him to help him. The thought came to me, as I beheld your mind expanding under my care, that at some future day I might possess your heart and hand, and thus the half of your father’s fortune would be mine. So I strove to make you all I could, and the property I multiplied as fast as possible. The wealth has grown in bulk under my care, and now I am not ready to give all up. lam not willing to see the hopes of a lifetime blasted just from the mere whim of a capricious girl.” “But do you think my father will allow his property to fall into your hands when he knows that I married you’from absolute compulsion?” asked the fair girl, earnestly. . well help it.— He - cut me oft wittfom TTtrnig. you offTtoo.” “But he will demand a dissolution of the Union between us.” “Ha! he cannot gain it if he does. I am prepared there, and I know the ground on which ! stand. The king has empowered the company to frame domestic regulations to meet the wants of the colony, and they have already passed a resolution that every sane, sound girl, of seventeen years or upwards, shall marry, if proposal is made from a respectable source.” “Ay—but the payment of a hundred livres can remove the obligation.” “So it can. But no power can annul the marriage tie.” “Then mark me, Simon Lobois! I will bid my father that he let me live in penury and want, for, as your wife, my sorrow will have reached its climax; so you shall not thus gain the gold you covet.” “And" mark me. Louise St. Julien! While your father withholds the half of his fortune from you, I will reduce you to such suffering as shall force me to bind you to prevent you from taking your own life to end your tortures!” A few moments of silence ensued, and then Simon'said, in a softer tone: “But* let us drop this profitless talk. You will consider of this, and I know you will calmly settle down into a state of reasonable acquiescence. t Now give me a direct answer. Will you become my wife without any further act of compulsion?” “I should judge you had heard enough to know my mind.” “But I would know if I must compel you. Mind, now! My resolution is fixed. I have counted the cost, and am resolved upon the throw. When we return, you may tell your father, if you please, that I compelled you to become my wife, but I shall not care. He cannot take you from me after the dhurch has bound you to me, and if he seeks otherwise to harm me, he will qnly heap suffering upon the head- of his own child. Your father gave me permission to seek your hand.” “I do not believe it, Simon.” “I care hot for your belief. That he told me so is true, and now I have sought you. Will you be my wife?” “Never!” “We shall see.” And with this, the wretch strode from the apartment. CHAPTER XIV. It was nearly dark when Simon Lobois left his captive, and the poor girl waited in vain for the coming of her supper. Some time during the night she was startled from an uneasy, dreamy slumber by hearing a heavy tread in her room. Then she looked around and found two stout, dark-faced men by her side. “Come,” uttered one of them; “we are in a hurry.” In a gasping voice, Louise asked what was wanted, “Never mind—only get ready to follow us as soon as possible. We’l find better quarters than this for ye.” “But ” “O—come!” o . Louise asked no more questions, but quickly putting on her scarf and drawing it over her head, she announced her readiness to accompany them. , One of them took her by the arm, while the other, who held the lantern, went on in advance. They descended the stairs to ths street, and" having passed the distance of two squares, they stopped in front of a

gloomy looking building, with one small door on the street, but no window, door was opened, and the girl led in. Straight on she went through a long, narrow passage, a distance of over a hundred feet, and then she was stopped before a door not more than two feet wide, formed of three pieces of solid hewn timber bolted together with iron. This was. opened, and Louise was pushed in, and the door closed upon her. She listened until she could hear the sound of her conductors’ footsteps no more, and then she searched around for some place in which to lie down, or, at least, upon which she could sit down. At length' she found a low pallet with some bedding upon ity and on this she rested. She slept some, for she was astonished when she opened her eyes and found a stream of sunlight struggling into the place. She looked up and found that there was a small aperture near the top of the wall, about a foot square, but she could not look out from it. The room was small, with walls of hewn timber, ,and evidently built for a prison. Louise knew how easily money could hire official assistance in the colony, and hence she wondered not that Lobois had been able to obtain the use of this place. The forenoon passed slowly away, and noon came. Hunger and thirst began* to afflict the helpless prisoner, and the hands were oftener lisped in silent supplication. At length, towards the middle of the afternoon, the door of the cell was opened and Simon Lobois entered. “Simon,” uttered the prisoner, “what means this?” “Can you not guess?” was his calm reply. “Do you mean this as a means of forcing me to marriage?” “You’ve hit it.” Louise sank down upon the pallet and clasped her hands. “I cannot stand this,” she said. “Then become my wife.” "Is that the only alternative?” “It is.” “And in no other way can I get clear of this place?” “In no other.” “Bring me water.” “Will you be mine?” “I will allow the marriage to be solemnized.’ “And you will go before the priest and be legally married to me?” “I will!” Simon Lobois started with demoniac, selfish joy. “You shall have food and water now!” he cried. “And you shall have a faithful, loving husband. O, Louise, you ” “But I am famishing now, Simon.” Away flew the man, and in a short-time he returned with some cold milk and bread. “You take it more calmly than I had expected, Louise,” Simon said, as he gazed inquiringly into her calm, pale face. “If I am calm, monsieur, it is not because I am happy. I find myself in your power, and I have assured myself that I am powerless to escape you. I have reflected and pondered deeply upon this, and now that my mind is made up, I am not the woman, or the girl, to make myself uselessly miserable. But, monsieur, you do not see my heart; you do not see the utter wreck you have made there. A deep, dark sorrow, such as the utterly crushed, and the heart all V~ni» iir- non an i« nitHc. K -yiTO can be happy in knowing tne work you have thus wrought, I shall not envy you I can look with hope to the life of ths emancipated spirit; you know best whether you can do the same!" _ There was a deep, touching pathos in this speech that moved the hard-hearted man more than he dared acknowledge, even to himself, and he tried to banishthe emotion. “Pooh!” he uttered. “There is no need of your speaking so, for you shall be as happy, as a princess. I will always lov< you—always be faithful.” A look of utter contempt stole over the fair girl’s face as she gazed into the evil features of the bad man, for she knew how hollow all his pretensions were; and she knew now, too, what wicked means he had used to bring her within his power. (To be continued.) London Is Improving. Year by year London becomes not only more, and more a city of flowers, but also a city of doves. Around every building where it Is possible to keep pigeons one sees constantly Increasing flocks of these pretty creatures, and there could not be a more ornamental and delightful addition to town popular tion. In the sunlit spaces where they alight and feed the soft rush of theii wings and the peaceful sound of theii ‘ cooing make the most restful contrast to the harsh noises of the streets. Making the Point Plain. “Why do you call your sister ‘Misery,’ Johnny?” asked Mr. Tarrier, the little boy’s big sister’s beau. “ ’Cause,” said Johnny, “she’s your comp’ny.” “Yes—er—but I don’t see what that has to do with it, you know.”* “Don’ty ?” and the small boy grinned all over. “What! ’Ain’t y’ never heard ’t ‘Misery loves comp’ny,’—eh?”—Philadelphia Bulletin. A Clever Scheme. Harold—l’m goin’ around and serenade Miss Jones with this mandolin tonight. Jerrold—Didn’t know you could play it Harold—Can’t—but while I’m pretending to tune it up, her dad will chase me off the lawn, and that’ll make me solid with the girl, anyway.—Judge. Premeditated Diaability. “I’m afraid of this half-ripe watermelon.” “We’ve all eaten some of it” “Well, I’ll <st some too; I don’t pro; pose to be left in a condition to nurse -the rest of you.”—Chicago Record-Her-ald. . Applied the Wrong; Word. “Some people say,” remarked the talkative barber, “that barbers are toe fond of conversation.” “Oh! that’s all wrong,” replied \the man in the chair; “it’s soliloquy they’re fond of.”—Philadelphia Record. If all hearts were frank, just and honest the major part of the virtue* would be useless to us.—Mollere. * |

(Copyright, Louis Klopsch, 1901.) IN this discourse Dr. Talmage calls all people to gladness and opens all the doors of expectancy; texts. Genesis vi., 18, “Come;” Revelations xxii., 17, “Come.” Imperial, tender and all persuative is the word “Come.” Six hundred and sev-enty-eight times is it found in the Scriptures. It stands at the front gate of the Bible as in my first text, inviting antediluvians into Noah’s ark. and it stands at the other gate of the Bible as In my second text, inviting the postdlluvians of all later ages into the ark of a Saviour’s mercy. “Come” is only a word of four letters, but it is the queen of words, and nearly the eptire nation of English vocabulary bows to its scepter. It is ah ocean into which empties ten thousand rivers of meaning. Other words drive', but this beckons. All moods of feeling hath that word “Come.” Sometimes it weeps and sometimes it laughs. Sometimes it prays, sometimes it tempts, and sometimes it destroys. It sounds from the door of the church and from the seraglios of sin, from the gates of heaven . and the gates of hell. It is confluent and accrescent of all power. It is the heiress of most of the past and the almoner of most of the future. “Come!” You may pronounce it so that all the heavens will be heard in its cadences or pronounce it so that all the woes of time and eternity I shall reverberate in its one syllable. It is on the lips of saint and profligate. It is the mightiest of all soiicitants either for , good or bad. To-day I weigh anchor and haul in the “planks an set sail on that great word, although I am sure I will not be able to > reach the farther shore. I will let down the fathdipinfe line into this sea and try , to measure its depths, and, though I tie together all the cables and cordage I have on board, I will not be able to touch I bottom. All the power of the Christian , religion is in that word, “Come.” The dictatorial and commendatory in religion . are of no avail. The imperative mood • I is not the appropriate mood when we > would have people savingly impressed. > They may be coaxed, but they cannot be driven. Our hearts are like our homes; [ at a friendly knock the door will be open- . ed, but an attempt to force open our door would land the assailant in prison. Our > theological seminaries, which keep young » men three years in their curriculum bej fore launching them into the ministry, I will do well if in so short a time they »- the—eMididates for the holy i office how to say with right emphasis and intonation and power that one word, I “Come!” That man who has such efficiency in Christain work and that woman who has such power to persuade people i to quit the wrong and begin the right I went through a series of losses, bereavements, persecutions, and the trials of ► twenty or thirty years before they could make it a triumph of grace every time I they uttered the word “Come.” blaia by the Word “Come.” You must remember that in many cases our “Come” has a mightier “Come” to conquer before it has any effect at all. 1 Just give me the accurate census, the statistics of how many are down in fraud, in drunkenness, in gambling, in impurity or in vice of any sort, and 1 will give you the accurate census or statistics of how many have been slain by the word “Come.” “Come and click wine glasses with me at this ivory bar.” “Come and see what we can win at this gaming table.” “Come, enter witlj me this doubtful speculation!” “Come with me and read those infidel tracts on Christianity.” “Come with me to a place of bad amusement.” “Come with me in a gay bout through the underground life of the city.” If in this city there are twenty thousand who are down in moral chanrcter, then twenty thousand fell under the power of the word “Come.” I k was reading of a wife whose husband had been overthrown by strong drink, and she went to the saloon where he was ruined, and she said, “Give me back my husband.” And the bartender, pointing to a maudlin and battered man drowsing in the corner of the barroom, said: “There he is. Jim, wake up; here’s your wife come for you.” And the 'woman said: “Do you call that my husband? What have yon been doing with him? Is that the manly brow, is that the clear eye, is that the noble heart, that I married? What vile drug have you given him that has turned him into a fiend? Take your tiger claws off of him. Uncoil those serpent folds of evil habit that are crushing him. Give me back my husband, the one with whom I stood at the altar ten years ago. Give him back to me.” Victim was he, as many millions of others have been, of the word “Come!" Now we want all the world over to harness this word for good as others have harnessed it for evil, and it will draw the five continents' and the seas between them—yea, It will draw the whole earth back to God from whom it has wandered. It is that wooing and persuasive word that will lead men to give up their sins. Was skepticism ever brought into love of the truth by an ebullition of hot words against infidelity? Was ever the blasphemer stopped in his oaths by denunciation of blasphemy? Was ever the drunkard weaned from his cups by the temperance lecturer’s mimicry of staggering step and hiccough? No. It was: “Come with me to church to-day and hear our singing;” “Come and let me introduce you to a Christian man whom you will be sure to admire;” “Come with me into associations that are cheerful and good ’ and inspiring;” “Come with me into joy such as you never before experienced.” Made Right with God. With that word which has done so much for others I approach you to-day. Are you all right with' God? “No,” you say, *1 think not; I am sometimes alarmed when I think of him; I fear I will not be ready to meet him in the list day; my ■ '

heart is nol, right with God.” Come then and have it made right. Through the Christ who died to save you, come! What is the use in waiting? The longer you wait the farther off you are and the deeper you are down. Strike out for heaven! You remember that a few years ago a steamer called the Princess Alice, with a crowd of excursionists aboard, sank in the Thames, and there was an awful sacrifice of life. A boatman from the shore put out for the rescue, and he had a big boat, and he got it so full it would not hold another person, and as he laid hold of the oars to pull for the shore, leaving hundreds helpless and drowning, he cried out, “Oh, that I had* a bigger boat!” Thank God that I am not thus limited and that I can promise room. for all in this gospel boat. Get in; get in! And yet there is room. Room in the heart of a . pardoning God. Room in heaven. I also apply the word of my text to those who would like practical comfort. If any ever escape the struggle of life, 1 have not found them. They not certainly among the prosperous classes. In most cases it was a struggle all the way up till they reached the prosperity, and since they have reached these heights there have been perplexities, anxieties and crises which were almost enough to shatter the nerves and turn the brain. It. would be hard to tell which have the biggest fight in this world, the prosperities or the adversities, the conspicuities or the obscurities. Just as soon,, as you have enough success to attract &the attention of others the envies and jealousies are let loose from their kennel. The greatest crime that you can commit in the estimation of others is to get on better than they do. They think your addition is their subtraction. Five hundred persons start for a goal of success; one reaches it, and the other four hundred and ninety-nine are mad. It would take, volumes to hold the story of the wrongs, outrages and defamations that haveeome upon you as a result of your success. The warm sun of prosperity brings into life a swamp full of annoying insects. On the other hand, the unfortunate classes have their struggles for maintenance. To achieve a livelihood by one who had nothing to start with, and after awhile for a family as well, and carry this on until children are reared and educated and fairly started in the world, and to do this amid all the rivalries of business and the uncertainty of crops and the fickleness of tariff legislation, with an occasional labor strike and here and there a financial panic thrown in, is a mighty thing to do, and there are hundreds and thousands of such heroes and heroines who live unsung and die unhoqored. Solace of Christian Faith. What We all need, whether up or down in life or half way between, is the infinite solace of the Christian religion. And so we employ the word It will take all eternity to find out the number of business men who have been strengthened by the promises of God, and tie people who have been fed by the raveftsk when other resources gave out, and the men and women who, going into this battle armed only with needle or saw or ax or yardstick or pen or type or shovel or shoe last, have gained a victory that made the heavens resound. With all the resources of God .promised for every exigency, no one need be left in the lurch. I like the faith displayed years .ago in Drury lane, London, in a humble home where every particle of food had given out, and a kindly soul entered with tea and other table supplies and found a kettle on the fire ready for tea. The benevolent lady said, “How is it that you have the kettle ready for the tea when you had no tea in the house?” And the daughter in the home said: “Mother would have me put the kettle pn the fire, and when I said, ‘What is the use of doing so when we have nothing in the house?’ she said: ‘My child, God will provide; thirty years he has already provided for me through all my pain and helplessness, and he will not leave me to starve at last. He will send us help though we do not yet see how.’ We have been waiting all day for something to, come, but until we saw you we knew not how it was to come.” Such things the world may call coincidences, but I call them Almighty deliverances, and though you do not hear of them they are occurring every hour of every day and in all parts of Christendom. But the word “Come” applied to those who need solace will amount to nothing unless it be uttered by some one who has experienced that solace. That spreads the responsibility of giving this gospel call among a great many. Those who have lost property and have been consoled by religion in that trial are the ones to invite those who have failed in business. Those who have lost their health and been consoled by religion are the ones to invite those who are in poor health. Those who have had bereavements and been consoled in those bereavements are the ones to sympathize with those who have lost father"or mother or companion .or child or friend. What multitudes of us are alive to-day and in good health and buoyant in this journey of life who would have been broken down or dead long ago but for the sustaining and cheering help of our holy religion! So we say, “Come!” The well is not dry. The buckets are not empty. The supply is not exhausted. There is just as much mercy and condolence and soothing power in God as before the first grace was dug, or the first tear started, or the first heart broken, or the first accident happened, or the first fortune vanished. Those of us who have -felt the consolatory power of religion have a right to speak out of our own experiences and say, “Come!” The World’s Dismal Consolation.. What dismal work of condolence the world makes when it attempts to condole! The plaster they spread does not stick. The broken bones under their bandage do not knit. A farmer was lost in a snowstorm oh a prairie of the far west. Night coming on, and after he was almost frantic from not knowing which way to go his sleigh struck the rut of another sleigh, and he said, “I will follow this rut, and it will take me out to safety.” He hastened on until he heard the bells of the preceding horses; but, coming up, he found that that man was also lost, and, as is the tendency of those who are confused in the forest or on the moors, they were both moving in a circle, and

the runner of the one lost sleigh was following the runner of the other lost sleigh round and round. At last it occurred to them to look at the north star, which was peering through the night, and by the direction of that star they got home again. Those who follow the advce of this world in time of perplexity are in a fearful round, for it is one bewildered soul following another bewildered soul, and only those who have,in such time got their eye on the morning star of our Christian faith can find their way out or be strong enough to lead others with an all persuasive invitation. “But,” says some’one, “you Christian people keep telling us to ‘come,’ yet you do not tell us how to come.” That charge shall not be true on this occasion. Come believing! Come repenting! Come praying! After all that God has been doing for six thousand years, sometimes through patriarchs and sometimes through prophets and at last through the culmination of all the tragedies on Golgotha, can any one think that God will not welcome your coming? Will a father at vast outlay construct a mansion for his son and lay out parks white with statues and green with foliage and all a-sparkle with fountains and then not allow his son to live in the house or walk in the parks? Has God built this house of gospel mercy and will he then refuse entrance to his children? Will a government at dS great expense build life saving stations all along the coast and boats that can hover unhurt like a petrel over the wild- , est surge and then, when the lifeboat has, reached the wreck of a ship in the offing, not allow the drowning to seize the life line or take the boat for the shore in safety? Shall God provide at the cost of § his only Son’s assassination escape for a sinking world and then turn a deaf ear to the cry that comes up from the breakers? / Two Things to Believe. “But,” you say, “there are so many things I have to believe and so many things in the shape of a creed that I have to adopt that I am kept back.” No, nol You need believe but two things—namely, fl that Jesus Christ came into the world to ■' save sinners and that you are one of / them. “But,” you say, “I do believe both of those things” Do you really believe them with all your heart? “Yes.” Why, then, you have passed from death Isl into life. Why, then, you are a son or a daughter of the Lord Almighty. Why, then, you are au or an heiress of an inheritance that will declare -dividends ‘ fa from now until long after the stars are dead. Halleluiah! Prince of God, why do you not come and take your coronet? Princess of the Lord Almighty, why do you not mount your throne? Pass up in- ' to the light. Your boat is anchored, why do you not go ashore? Just plant your feet down hard, and you will feel under them the Rock of Ages. I challenge the g universe for one instance in which a man in the right spirit appealed for the salvation of the gospel and did not get it. ■ Man alive, are you going to let all the i years of your life go away with you without your having this great peace, this glorious hope, this bright Are you going to let the pearl of great price in the dust at your feet because you are too indolent or too proud to stoop down and pick it up? Will you wear the chain of evil habit when near by you is the hammer that could with one stroke snap the shackle? Will you stay in the prison of sin when here is a gospel key that could unlock your incarceration? No, no! As the one word “Come” has sometimes brought many souls to Christ, I will try the experiment of piling up into a mountain and then send down. in. an avalanche of power many of these gospel “Comes.” “Come thou and all thy house into the ark.” “Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” “Come, for all things are now ready.” “Come with us, and we will do you good.” “Come and see.” j “The Spirit and the bride say ‘Come,’ and let him that heareth say ‘Come-,’ and let him that is athirst come.” The stroke « of one bell in a tower may be sweet, but a score of bells well tuned and rightly lifted and skillfully swung in one great chime fill the heavens with music almost celestial. And no one who has heard the mighty chimes in the towers ot Amsterdam or Ghent or Copenhagen can forget them. Now, it seems to me that in this Sabbath hour all heaven is chiming, and the voices of departed friends and kindred ring down the sky, sayiifg, “Come!” The angels who never fell, bending from sapphire thrones, are chanting “Come!” Yea. all the towers of heaven, tower of martyrs, tower of prophets, tower of apostles, tower of evangelists, tower of' the temple of the Lord God and the Lamb, are chiming, “Come! Come!” Pardon for all and peace for all and heaven for all who will come. When Russia was in one of her great wars, the suffering of the soldiers had been long and bitter, and they were waiting for the end of the strife. One day a messenger in great excitement ran among the tents of the army shouting, “Peace! Peace!” The sentinel on guard asked, “Who says peace?” And the sick man turned on his hospital mattress and e asked, “Who says peace?” and all up and down the encampment of the Russians went the question, “Who says peace?” Then the messenger responded, “The Czar says peace.” That was enough. That means going home. That meant the war was over. No more wounds and no more long marches. So to-day, as one of the Lord’s messengers, I move through these great encampments ; of souls and cry: “Peace between earth and heaven! Peace between God and man! Peace between your repenting soul and a pardoning Lord!” If you ask me, “Who says peace?” I answer, “Christ our. King declares it.” “My peace I give unto you!” “Peace of God that passeth all understanding!” Everlasting peace! Principles of Anarchy.—The principles of anarchy are most extravagant, at the best One of them—a cardinal principle—is free speech; one to which we have bowed down. There can be nothing such as absolutely free speech. The citizens of a great country have no more right to free speech, in the unlicensed sense of the word, than they have to free gunpowder. We must have laws to regulate speech, just ah we have laws to govern the storage- and use of gunpowder. If speech is to be free, then you should hold me blameless if I enter your house and poison the mind of your half-groWu son.—Bishop Potter, New Xwk