Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 8 February 1894 — Page 7
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Exposition:
=UH1YER5ELLE,
PARIS, 1889/
The Highest Possible Premium,'
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FOR SEWING MACHINES,
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NATHANIEL WHEELER,
The President of the Company. For Sale by Moon & Turk, 'Greenfield, Ind.
5 DOLLARS PER DAY
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20
We want many men, women, boys, and girls to "Work for us a few hours daily, right in mid around their own homes. The business is easy, pleasant, strictly honorable, and pays better than any other •offered agents. You have a clear lield and 110 •competition. Experience and special ability unnecessary. No capital required. We equip you "with everything tiv.it you need, treat you well, and help you to earn ten times ordinary wages. Women do as well as men, and boys and girls make good pay. An one, anywhere, can do the "work. All succeed who follow our plain and simple directions. Earnest work will surely bring you a great deal of money. Everything is new •and in great demand. Write for our pamphlet •circular, and receive full information. No harm •done if you concludc not to go on with the business. GEORGE
Richmond... New Paris Wileys New Madison Weavers •Greenville Gettysburg Bradford Jc •Covington Piqua Urbana Colnuibus
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STINSON&CO.,
Box 488,
PORTLAND, MAINE.
Indianapolis Division.
ennsulvania Lines,
Schedule of Passenger Trains-Central Tims
Westward.
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ftolnmbus Urbana Piqua Covington Bradford Jc Gettysburg Greenvillo Weavers New Madison Wileys New Paris Richmond. .. Oentreville German town Cambridge City.. Dublin Strawns Lewisville Dunreitli Knightstown Charlottsville Cleveland Greenfield Philadelphia •Cumberland Irvington Intiiaii cjM»Ei.s
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Meals. Flag Stop.
Kfta. 6, 8 and SO connect at Columbus for •Pittsburgh and the Kast, and at Richmond for Dayton, Xenia and Springfield, and Kfo. 1 for •Cincinnati.
Trains leave Cambridge City at. 17.00 a. m. and +3-30 P. m. for Rushville, Shelbyville, Columbus and intermediate stations. Arrive Cambridge City fl-45 and 16.45 p. m.
JOSEPH WOOD, E. A. FORD,
Gtnertl Manager, General Passenger Agenl.
PITTSBURGH, PENN'A.
For time cards, rates of fore, through tickets, baggage checks and further information recarding the running of trains apply to any Agsot of the Pennaylvanla Linos.
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Expatriated and in far exile on the banks of the river Chebar, an affluent of the Euphrates, sat E/.ekiel. It was there he had an immortal dream, and it is given to us in the holy scriptures. He dreamed of Tyre and Egypt. He dreamed of Christ and the coming heaven. This exile seated by that river Chebar had a more wonderful dream than you or I ever had or ever will have seated on the banks of the Hudson or Alabama or Oregon or Thames or Tiber or Danube.
Such a dream I had this morning! It was 5:o0. and the day was breaking. It was a dream of God—a dream of heaven.- Ezekiel had his dream 011 the batiks of the Chebar. I had inv dream not far from the banks of the Hudson. The most of the stories of heaven were written many centuries ago, and they tell us how the place looked then or how it will look centuries ahead. Would you not like to know how it looks now? That is what I am going to tell you. I was there this morning. I have just got back. How I got into that city'of the sun I know not.
Which of the twelve gates I entered is to me uncertain. But my first remembrance of the scene is that I stood on one of the main avenues, looking this way and that, lost in raptures, and tho air so full of music and redolence and laughter and light that I knew not which street to take, when an angel of God accosted me and offered to show me the objects of greatest interest, and to conduct me from street to street, and from mansion to mansion, and from temple to temple, and from wall to wall. I said to the angel, "How long hast thou been in heaven?" and the answer came, "Thirty-two years, according to the earthly calendar."
There was a secret about this angel's name that was not given me, but from the tenderness and sweetness and affection and interest taken in my walk through heaven, and more than all in the fact of thirtytwo years' residence—the number of years since she ascended—I. think it was my mother. Old age and decrepitude and the tired look were all gone, but I think it was she. You see, I was only on a visit to the city, and had not yet taken up residence, and I could know only in parb.
I looked in for a few moments at the great temple. Our brilliant and lovely Scotch essayist, Mr. Drummond, says there is no church in heaven, but he did not look on the right street. St. John was right when in his Patmosic vision, recorded in the third chapter of Revelation, he speaks of "the temple of God." I saw it this morning—the largest church 1 ever saw, as big as all the churches and cathedrals of the earth put together. And it was thronged. Oh, what a multitude! 1 had never seen* so many people together. All the audiences of all the churches of all the earth put together would make a poor attendance compared with that assemblage.
There was a fashion in attire and head-dress that immediately took my attention. The fashion was white. All in white save one. And the head-dress was a garland of rose and lily and mignonette, mingled with green leaves culled from the royal gardens and bound together with bands of gold.
And I saw some young man with a ring on the finger of the right hand and said to my accompanying angel, "Why those rings on the fingers of the right hands?" and I was told that those who wore them were prodigal sons and once fed swine in the wilderness and lived on husks, but they came home, and the rejoicing father said, "Put a ring on his hand."
But I said there was one exception to this fashion of white pervading all the auditorium and clear up through all the galleries. It was the attire of the one who presided in that immense temple the chiefest, the mightiest, the loveliest person in all the place. His cheeks seemed to be flushed with infinite beauty and his lips were eloquence omnipotent. But his ttire was of ddbp colors. They suggested the carnage through which he had passed, and I said to my attending angel, "What is that crimson robe he wears?" and I was told. "They are dyed garments from Bozrah,' and "He trod the wine press alone."
Soon after I entered this temple thej' bega: to chant the celestial litany. It was unlike anything I "had ever neara for sweetness or power, and I have heard the most of the gj cat organs and the most of the oratories, 1 said to my accompanying angei, "Who is that standing yonder with the harp?" and the answer was, "David." And I said, "Who is that sounding that trumpet?" and the answers was, "Gabriel." And I said, "Who is that at the organ?" and the answer was "Handel." And the music rolled on till it came to a doxology extolling Christ himself, when all the worshipers lower down and higher up, a thousand galleries of them, suddenly dropped on their knees and chanted, "Wofthy is the Lamb that was slain." Under tho
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A TALMAGIM DREAM.
Tho Eloquent Brooklyn Divine in a Now Role.
His Impressions of Heaven and the Great Beyond—Dr. Talmago's Sermon.
Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage preached at Brooklyn Tabernacle last Sunday on the topic of "A Vision of Heaven." the text being Ezckiel i. 1, "'Now it came to psss as I was among the captives by the river of Chebar that the heaven? were opened, and I saw visions of God."
As I n'as coming out of the temple I saw all along the pictured wails there were shelves, and golden via is were being set up on all those shelves. And I said, "Why the setting up of those vials at this time? They seem just now to have been filled." And the attending angel said: "The week of prayer all around the earth has just closed, and more supplications have been made than have been made for a long time, and these new vials, newly set up, are what the Bible speaks of as 'golden stars full of odors, which are the prayers of saints.'" And I said to the accompanying angel, "Can it be possible that the prayers of earth are worthy of being kept in such heavenly shape?" "Why," said the angel, "'there is nothing that so moves heaven as the prayers of earth, and they are set up in sight of these infinite multitudes, and. more than all, in sight of Christ, and he cannot forget them, and they are bf^ore him world without end."
But," say some of my hearers, "did you see anything of our friends in heaven?" Oh, yes, I did. "Did you see my children there?" says some one, "and are there any marks of their last sickness still upon them?" I did see them, and there was no pallor, no cough, no pain-, no fever, no languor about them. They told me to give their love to you, that they thought of you hour by hour, and that when they could be excused from heavenly playgrounds they came down and hovered about you, and kissed your cheeks, and filled your dreams with their glad faces, and that they would be at the gate to greet you when you ascended to be with them forever.
But," say other voices, "did you see our glorified friends?" Yes, I saw them, and they are well in the land across which 110 pneumonias or palsies or dropsies or typhoids ever sweep. The aroma blows over from orchards with trees bearing twelve manner of fruits, and gardens compared with which Chatsworth is a desert. The climate is a mingling of an earthly June and October, the balm of the one and the tonic of the other. The social life in that realm where they are is superb and perfect. No controversies or jealousies or hates, but love, universal love, everlasting love. And they told me to tell you not to weep for them, for their happiness knows no bound, and it is only a question of time when you shall reign with them in the same palace and join with them in the same exploration of planets and the same tour of worlds.
As I walked through those streets I appreciated for the first time what Paul said to Timothy, "If we suffer we shall also reign with Him." It surprised me beyond description that all the great of heaven were great sufferers. "Not all?" Yes, all. Moses, him of the Red sea, a great sufferer. David, him of Absalom's unfilial behavior and Ahithophel's betrayal and a nation's dethronement, a great sufferer. Ezekiel, him of the captivity, who had the dream on the banks of the Chebar, a great sufferer. Paul, him of the diseased eyes, and the Mediterranean shipwreck, and the Mars Hill derision, and the Mamertine endungeonment, and the whipped back, and the headman's ax on the road to Ostia, a great sufferer. Yea, all the apostles after lives of suffering died by violence, beaten to death with fullers' clnbs or dragged to death by mobs, or from the thrust of the sword, or by exposure on barren island, or by decapitation.
My walk through the city explained a thousand things on earth that had been to me inexplicable. When I saw up there the superior delight and the superior heaven of many who had on earth had it hard with cancers and bankrupcies and persecutions and trials of all sorts, I said: "God has equalized it all at last. Excess of enchantment in heaven has more than made up for the deficits on earth."
Reflection the first: The superiority of our heaven to all other heavens. The Scandinavian heaven: The departed are in everlasting battle except as restored after being cut to pieces. They drink wine out of the skulls of their enemies. The Moslem heaven as described by the Koran: "There shall be houris with large black eyes like pearls hidden in their shells." The Slav's heaven: After death the soul hovers six weeks about the body then climbs a steep mountain, on the top of which is paradise. The Tasmanian's heaven: A'spear is placed by the dead that they may nave something to fight with, and after a while they go into a long chase for game of all
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overpowering harmony I Tell back, I said: "Let us go. This is too mucn for mortal ears. I cannot bear tho overwhelming symphony."
But 1 noticed as 1 was about to turn away that on the steps of the altar wa3 something like the lachrymal, or tear bottle, «s I had seen it in the earthly museums, the lachrymals, or tear bottles, into which the orientals used to weep their griefs and set them away as sacred. But this lachrymal, or tear bottle, instead of earthcuware as those the orientals used, was lustrous and fiery, with many splendors, and it was towering and of great capacity. And I said to my attending angel. "What is that great lachrymal, or tear bottle, standing on the step of, the altar?" and the angel said: "Why, do you not know? That is the battle to which David, the psalmist, referred in his fifty-sixth psalm when he said, 'Put thou my tears into I thy bottle.' It is full of tears from earth—tears of repentance, tears of bereavement, tears of jo}r, tears of many centuries." And then I saw how sacred to the sympathetic God are earthly sorrows.
sorts. The Tahitian's heaven: The departed are eaten up of the gods. The native African heaven: A land of shadows, and in speaking of the departed they say, "All is done forever." The American aborigine's heaven: Happy hunting grounds, to which the soul goes on a bridge of snakes. The philosophers heaven: Made out of a thick fog or an indefinite don't know. But harken and behold our heaven, which, though mostly described by figures of speech in the Bible and by parable of a dream in this discourse, has for its chief characteristics separation from all that is vile, absence from all that can discomfort, presence of all that can gratify. No mountains to climb, no chasms to bridge,
110
Reflection the second: You had better take patiently and cheerfully all pangs, affronts, hardships, persecutons and trials of earth, since if rightly born they insure heavenly payments of ccstacy. Every twinge of physical distress, every lie told about.you, every earthly subtraction if meekly born, will be heavenly addition. If you want to amount to anything in heaven and to move in its best society you must be "perfected through suffering." The only earthly currency worth anything at the gate of heaven is the silver of tears. At the top of all heaven sits the greatest sufferer, Christ of the Bethlehem caravansary and of Pilate's oyer and terminer and of the Calvarean assassination.
Oh, ye of the broken heart, and the disappointed ambition, and the shattered fortune, and the blighted life, take comfort from what I saw in my Sabbath morning dream.
Reflection the third and last: How desirable that we all get there! Start this moment with prayer and penitence and faith in Christ, who came from heaven to earth to take us from earth to heaven.
A BAll OF IRON.
Preliminary Processes That Are tfeocssarj to Its Production.
Harpers Magazine. Iron-making is a kind of cookery on a huge scale. The earthy impurities must be "roasted" or melted out from iron ore necessary carbon must then be properly mixed in from the fuel, br the unnecessary carbon burned out. This is of manufacture. A wi'ou^'lit-iron bar or plate is always obtained from a puddle ball, an aggregation of grains of iron in a pasty, semi-fused condition, interspersed with a greater or less amount of cinder or slag. Under the powerful action of the rolls the grains are welded together, and a large part of the cinder is squeezed out, but enough remains interposed between the iron granules to prevent them from welding thoroughly and forming a homogeneous mass. The welded lumps elongate under the process of rolling, and the resulting bar resembles a buuch of iron fibres or sinews with minute particles of slag interpspersed here and there. Such iron varies in resistance according to waether the power is applied with or against the fibres. Steel is the result of a fusing process. It mav be crucible, Bessemer, or open-hearth steel, but in all cases it has been cast from a thoroughly melted and fluid state into an ingot mould, where it solidifies and is ready for subsequent treatment, such as hammering or rolling. The slag being lighter than the steel, it rises on top of the melted bath, and does not mingle with the metal, which remaius clean aha unobstructed, and, after being cast in the mould, cools into a crystalline homogeneous mass in which no amount of rolling can develoD a fibre. Thus steel possesses a structure more regular and compact than wrought iron. Its resistance to strains and stresses is more equal in all directions, and its adaptability to structural use is vastly increased. ——v
An Unfinished Story.
Chicago Daily Tribune. "It was so thoughtful of you, Herbert," said his young wife, meeting him at tho door, "to send a man for your overcoat you knew there was a cold wave coming and—" "What are you talking about, Marie?" said Herbert. "I didn't send a man for my overcoat." "Why, yes. Herbert, you did. Don't you remember? About the middle of the afternoon you sent a very pleasant and nice-appearing young man to tell me I must let him have your best overcoat, and you hadn't time to send a note, but. it was hanging on the hall rack and you would, need it before dark, and of course I let him have it, and—why, Herbert, what is the matter, and why haven't you got it on, snd can it be possible that—"
But there are scenes too sacred, to be profaned by the presence of listeners. Herbert has begun to speak. Let us hasten to retire.
Miss Dorothy Klumpke took her degree as Doctor of Mathematical Science at the Sorbonne the other week. During the last century there have been many proofs of the ability of women to earn distinction as students of higher mathematics, but before the present occasion no woman student ever took her decree in the department of mathematical science in Paris. For some time past Miss Klumpke has held an honorary post at the Paris Observatory.
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ine, no tears to wipe. Scandinavian heaven. Slav's heaven, Tasmanian heaven. Tahitian heaven. Moslem heaven. African heaven. Aborigines' heaven, scattered into tameness and disgust by a glimpse of St. John's heaven, of Paul's heaven, of Christ's heaven, of your heaven, of my heaven.
YOUR
9
OLD-TIME REPORTERS.
The Getter Up of News of Nearly 300 Tears Ago.
Liberty is much indebted to the press. So, we regret to say, is license. From the time that newspapers iirst shed their pleasant light upon a theretofore newsless world, the manufacturers of those luminaries appear to have been somewhat given to—suppose we say distention of the truth. As a member of the guild we put it mildly.
Glancing over the pages of "rare Ben Jonson" the other day. we noted in his "Staple of News." which was iirst put upon the stage in 1625, the following trd hit at the "able editors" of that day: Ponnyboy, junior—Why. methlnks, sir, If the honest, common people
Will be abused, why should they not have that pleasure. In the belief that lies are made for them. As you in ofllce, making them yourselves. Fitton—Oh, 6ir! it is the printing we oppose. Cymbal—Wa not forbid that any news be made.
But that it be printed for, when news 11 printed. It leaves, sir, to be news while 'tis but written— Fitton—Thousrh It be ne er so false it run« news still.
The "Pennyboys" (newsboys) of this our day and generation could, scarcely talk more to that point than Jonson's youthful newsvender. Jonson has favored us with a pretty full description of the duties of "a writer for the newspaper presss" in his day. Two hundred and sixty-four years ago, he particularized the labors of a gentleman in that line of life as follows: "Factor for news for all the shires of England, I do write my thousand let ters a week ordinary [rather extraordinary, we shobld say], sometimes one thousand two hundred [whew!) and maintain the business at some charge, both to hold up my reputation with mine own ministers in town and my friends of correspondence in the country. I have friends of all ranks and of all religions, for which I keep an answering catalogue of dispatch, where* in I have my Puritan news, my Protestant news, and my Pontihcial news."
It is astonishing how (newspaper) history repeats itself. Much of what the old dramatist has said in his plays about the "News Letters" of the early part of the seventeenth century would fit a great many of the dailies and weeklies of the nineteenth.
The newspaper interest appears—to use the words of Felix Grundy—to have been "born a veteran." It had no infancy, but sprang into being perfect, like Pallas from the brain of Jove. So far as principle is considered, in what does it differ to-day from its picture as we fiud it drawn by the masterhand of Shakspeare's contemporary? No "news writer" of Queen Elizabeth's time could have outfibbed the lightning telegraph no puffer of the Globe Theater could have ilattcred Burbage and his compeers mpre unctuously than our "dramatic critics" sometimes flatter the stars, nay even the rushlight, of the modern stage.—N. ¥. Ledger.
Culture by the Sea.—" Have you Browning's works?" "No,
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