Indiana State Sentinel, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 October 1894 — Page 6

THE INDIANA STATE SENTINEL, WEDNESDAY MORNING. OCTOBER 21 1891.

ALL'S

CHAI'TF.n I. "All's well!" "All s welll" Th-? musical cry floated down from the two Mack figure- that stood, vaugely out-llne-l through the mist, high above the It fioatM down, in ever-widening ripples, round the great black hull and over the tc?5'.n? waters. It was caught by the waves as thoy dashed from the vessel's prow, and raced past her tall Kiies, and foamed, and fphshed, and eddied in her wake. It was caught up and thrown back, and carried on again, and swept out into the, right out Into tho night, and the shrouding mist, and the rolling waves of the Atlantic; and there the ripple3 of its pound quivered Tt the last time and died away. . It floated down, already muflled by the mist, over the Ions, wet deck3, to the ears of a man who paced to and fro in the. after part of the vessel. It Heated down and struck upon his ears, and vibrated in them like the ringing of a belL And th- man turned in his restlos walk and paced ba k again, with the cry still ec -hing in hi. ears: "All's well!" He even repeated it to himself, softly, slowly, like one trying to reassure himself of sunv good news, too good to be as yet believed. He murmured it to himself with half-closed lips each time that he paused in that monotonous paeing to and fro. Jlis foot.nep.-i fell upon th; deck and beat out the rythm of the same two words. And each time that he murmured them, each time tint hi listening brain caught that sound in the rushing of the wind, or the whistling of the ropes, or the steady tramp of his own fxjtfall-, there was a smile upon his face that was pot vood to see. II Li fellow p.issoncers on board the ship knew him as tli" Silent Man. No doubt he had n:e other name; no doubt the captain knew it. and the ship's hooks held it written down in full: but to all the passengers who knew him he was known only as th Client Man. And there wer few on board who know hint not; few who had not noticed the tall, K-iunt figure that strode incessantly to an 1 fro and up and down upon the de-k; rw who ha 1 not .shrunk insensibly frm that haggard face, an. I the lips that murmured foivver to themselves, but could hardly b- brought to frame an answer to another: few who had not wondered wh this man was. with his murmuring lips, and 1. is t.uiturnity, and his eea-eloss tramp on the ship's deck who had not speculated on the business that brought him on that vo.ti:e of the Amsterdam across the broad Atlantic. (Vic mor the bell sounded, and the voice rang out through the darkness. And the Silent Man still paced. wU'a bowed lvad and filled amis, up and down, to and fro. In the gathering mist. Once again the bell was almost due to tound bat the cry that broke then from one of the two motionless figures on the l.okout .bridge was ml the same a cry of sadden ft ar. of wild alarm-with waing aims and frantic gestures, and hinds pointing out Into the darkness; p. tinting into th- darkness no longer now; pointing at something vast and shapeless, like a cloud rising from the water; something t'u at cam swiftly. nois.-.s!y, loeiiiinc'.y oat of the fog. ewr nearer and nearer, or toweling high above the Vejs-l'a m.tsU, lit with a Strang glimmering light; se nothing that a moment later, with a nr-j of crackling ice, with a horrible, rending, grinding Jar. with a Ib'.ow that mad the great ship quiver like a compass novllo, washed into the b)ws of the Amstt rdani. - For an instant she remained reared up ngalnst the iceb-rg, held fast in the Jagged cleft that her prow had cut then F'.owly. with a rushing swirl of water, slid back Into the waves. She was sinking in mid-Atlantic! One of the first boats- that were launched c n tabled the Silent Man. II had talo n his place quietly, almost mechanically. He was rowing now; and the lie.it of his oar in 'he irowlock seemed to him. as he gazed back at tae misty outline of the sinking ship, to 'he still grind v, darklv, ominously echoing those words: "All's well:' All that night they rowed, menaced in-ce.-.mtly by niases of detached h e, by floating wreckage, by foam-topped surf that b:- k over t'he opon boat all that night, and the ri-'xt day, and for many day aftT. Who oa.:i tell the horror of tho.e days? Of diys wlien the shrouding mist robbed them of .ill hope of rescue; when the tun beat down ih rough the damp-laden atm -sphere for hour after hour on their ttn overel head-: when no cloud In the sky cam to sereen them for an Instant from It scorching, dazzling rays; when they drifted they knew scarcely whither, and heard afar ofT the f op-signals of vessels that passed them inhoeded In the mist; when iimis ached, and strength was fallincr, an 1 hunger and thirst were d.'ing their fell work, and courage and hope together were weli-night spent. Of nignti when tlie rising breeze blew through their saturated clothes and chilled the Very life within them; when ether boats, the companions of their fare, were, missed and lost sight of; when the great roiling swell threatened In the darkness to overwhelm them, and each glint wa.ee, as it passed, seemed only to d-lay the death that he next mu.-'t surely bring; when the misery, and anguish, and despair were mad- deeper, and blacker, and more. Intolerable by the darkness. Of dtys fnd nights later on, whn the heat, and thirst. and weakness had done their work, and men began to rave, and sing aloud, and say wild unmeaning things; when fever and death came nnvng them; when it wis no longer a ptrange fight to .co dead men their bodies stripped, that their clothlntr mlsrht afford protection to the living east over Into the gray waves without a prayer, almost without a thought; when the numb r of the living sou's on board that littlo b out 5hrank awfully from diy to day. When there were at last, "but fix alive but five and I hen, one dim, gray morning, only three! The Silent Man still lived. Through all those d lys he lived silent, tmmoved. uncomplaining, working at his oar like a tlrclc-s- machine, possessed, as it were, with a very greed for life. Through a'.l those days he lived untouched by hunger or thirst, by he.it or chill, by fatigue, or xponure, or despair; through ail those iays unheeding everything around him, living In a sort of dream. He had dreamt the same waking dream that night when he paced to and fro on the deck of the Amsterdam. He had Ire.imt tlie same dream-figures, s!fexing and wakir.g, fir twelve months past; but ti w in his weakness and the horror of his? diily 1'fe. with madness, and delirium and death all around him the dreamfigures gather-.d o-l.;r and vividness and Fubstantiality; they became to his disordered brafn a- living comrades, living and movir.s with him in a different world. The .s-enes of the vision always recurred in the same ord -r. A cottage lying a2 tlv? end of a long Fhaded gar l n. 'Die son shining on the red-tiled roof, and thf white muslin curtains in the lit. I windows, and the rustic p'rch of trellis-work, on which a rose tr,4e limbs strjgglincly. The' garden, bright with flowering I:lar and drooping arbors of laburnum, and all the uncultured profusion of English country llowers. The air around tilled with the fragrance of thblossoms and the spring pong of countless birds. And over all a sense ,,f brightness and happiness rmd home. A little two-vear-ol l child, toddling with open arms and laughing eye, down th: gravel rath. A fnir-hiired young mother, that run a. id catchers up the little girl, and bears h -r with merry laughter, held aloft in nor arms, down the path to m-t the dnanipg man. A moment of exquisite h.ippire,s of mutual love, of joy s boiotdiess that it Hecms to 1111 the soul, and brim over. A time of happy rest, of unimpaired content, when thos two sit la the

WELL.

rose-twined pornh. with the child playing at their feet, and watch th? eun us he Blnka to his rest. A shadow that fall like a knife between the dreaming man and hi wife. A shadow at first thin and pray, that seems, fcr all it Is so slight, to rob th eun3hine suddenly of all its warmth and brightness, and leave the evening coal and cheerless. A shadow that grows quickly broader, and hlicker, and icier. until It tolota out the figures of the wife and child, and darkens the little porch: that Fteals up swiftly, like a cloud of deadly vapor round the red tiles of the cottage roof, and wraps aU the pictures at last In an Impenetrable shroud. A shadow that somehow gathered itself gradually into the form of a man's face coarse, thick-lipped, sensuous, with floating eyes and a false smile a face that might, for all its coarseness, be made attractive by that luring smile, yet in Itself cruel and dissolute, and evil-looking. Slowly the face emerges from .behind that shadowy curtain. Slowly the features come dimly forth, as one by one they recur to the t Ttured mind of the man In his waking dream. Slowly the eyes ofithe dream f ice turn and gaze down upon him mockingly. Then a great Furge of ".blood-red light floods over the gibing face, and hides it from view, and tli-re is only the gray shadow left. So far the vision had always Wen the wme; 'but lately, since the Silent Mm had taken his passage on board the Amsterdam, there had been something more which followed It another ending to the never-ending dream. An ending in which he .-e.-i a scrap of paper, traced over wi.hi trcmlun characters i letter dated four w.-ks before from No. "G Oma!n-av.. Lumbcrvitle. V. S. A. The characters range themselves unerringly before his mind: "1 have sinned, and God knows I have repented. I di not ask to be forgiven. That caimo; be. r.ut Ir cur chl'd's sVkc. for little Coldie'ä sake. rmi'- qui.-kly. She who w.isi once YOL'lt WIVE." The S;Ie:t ManVl hm ls s;.i!s into- the breast: of his co.it, aril Dach s .something there something hard and cold, made . f metal; sortTj-tlihig that he touches siftlv and can-essin-iy, looking at hi. fingers afterward, t m..k:- sure til it -the Stawateif has not res -hM it; s orn.-thing that in thu d.irkne-.j of t'.e nizht. as he lies crouching in tho bows of th t e'ing boat, he tnke.s from his lev. ist and examines and W.lhs i?i his hitn.!. And he li.-tcrn t I th w: hing of the wav. s as .;ney sp.a.-h on the beat's t-i je, and lauga.s softly to hans-lf as they. 1 . fm t. bear til sin m s-aire "A'l's Well!" All was yet w!l for whit he hi.l t do. The nwi-iUt'g dawned at list. w!i vi :her.Wem but tv livii-.g s 'tils b.v-iilcs hir,j,--o.f oij board the boat diwttcd with a gl .tl'.y uprising of tiio nin. to 5,ho-.v that the dvathly fog had r '.:el a.vay, that oil was clear as far :n tae liori.ej.i-linc, that a s.ullng-shlp was standing .l.vri toward them. They were saved! Who shall say what these men felt? Wh shall des. : ibc the w e !ng and laughter intermixed, th lueoh.n nts cr!eof joy, the f.-antie waving f the emaciated arms, the wild eja. ulati .r,s ,.f c.eifused thanksgiving und lmp:e. atlai tint burst from their blackemd lip? Wlio fhall wmder that, but fr l.v.r failing strength, they would have east themselves into the waves, and struggled to g..in the boi; that W.is 1 -wend to le-cu -them; tint in the moment of their preservation from a deuh but few h eirs llstant their minds became distraught '. All save th Silent Man. He aljne was calm. To him a! an their res. um seemed not unexp.H ted. To him al-ne k was n.t.a miracle like to the raising from 'th dead. To him alone- i: was but the fulfillment of an omen. The sailing-ship that pi kfd lii. nr up was bound for Klo; but tn Silent Man was destined to d:eam that Strang" dream many a time yet before land vas reached, i'or several weeks they beat aaoiit the Atlantic. Tluy were del iye.1 by headwinds, thrown out of their cour.-o by c instantly recurring gales, lie-timed for three wii.de days on the equator. It w.u c . ise upon two months from that Klarlou dawn when the little bou had b'en espied drifting on the wate of tossing waters Lha t they !i:t saw the coast of Itrazll like a streak of bluish cloud rising bt hind the sealine opening out bofore them. Their voyage was nearly at an end. The bluish cloud resolved Itself into dark green masses of vegetation g.-ov-ing d wn to the water's edge; the Vegetation became dotted and broken by the white roofs uf buildiiu;s; the iMiil-linss collected thoniselves tog-.tj,r tier beyond tier, and Hocked out the vegetation; a great concourse of masts and s; ors rose lefore tie' buildings; they were entering itlo harbor. It was long yet before the Silent Id an resumed his journey. Th-Te were inquiries to lie made Inquiries wherun th. obje-t of that journey was s tight for, but not reveal 1; the 's.ory of the mh of the Amsterdam and of the awful diys that followed It. had to be told and toll ..gain, a sum of money was raised and paid to him. At last he wis embarked for New Vork. Then followed more days if dazzling heat, and glittering water, and the rising and falling: of tin- ship's deck; d..va in which he lay Inactive, watchiog the feathery clouds that lloated aeroys the sky, tracing the ship's wak as it wound over the glassy surface of the sea; nights in which he saw again the chill .-dtudow creep up the cottage wall, and th. lace fashion itself out of the shadow, and ih" flash of blood that ended it all. And then his hand would seek the thing that he carried in his breast, and he would look at it stealthily in the moonlight and laugh exultingly to himself. Once more lie was on land, in the crowded streets of New York, lie wanted to get to Luntfierville; it is a long distance, almost half way acros.s the continent. Uut lie had got plenty of time to do that which he had coino to do. His money would not suffice to carry him the whole way. For two days he trave'ed by the railroad, fancying in the motion of the cars that he was still at sea. expecting almost, as he looked from the windows of the car, to see the leadcnco'.orcd waves, and the gray mist, and the 'tangles of Uoating sea-weed. Then ,hls money was gone, and he must walk. Itough. loosely-mide roads, thick with sand and grit. L.ong days' tramps under the broiling sun. wnen the little hillock or the stunted tre?, that looked so elose at hand across the unbroken level of the prairie, was only reached after half an hour's wary walking. Starlit nights, when he cast himself down on the long, coarse grass to sleep the deathlike ideep of exhaustion, to dream once mor that nevor-changing dream. Homesteads of hewn timber, where he was made welcome In a rough, yet kindly fashion, where he was allowed to fdeep, " perhaps, on a bed of straw In the empty barn', where round-eyed children brought him milk and hunches of bread, and Rtayei! behind to star at- the silent, uncouth man. Cities of iäx months growth, proud in their uprising buildines, which never would be finUhed. and their mighty street?, which never would 'be built. Cities in which he was received with culd suspicion, as another competitor In that struggling throne: of hungered humanity, whence he was watched on his departure with unconcealed relief. More homesteads, more aspiring cities, more of the rolling boundlessness of the prairies. And then Lumbervlll0. 'II APTKIt II. It was CtO in the afternoon when the limping figure his clothes torn and grimed with dust, his face and hands scorched and jeanicd and blackened by exposure slouched up under the sh ole of the eucalyptus trees that skirted Omaha-ave". His rixht hand was hidden in hi' breast. His hungry, LloodFhot eyes scanned the houses furtively as. he passed. Number twenty-six. The man faltered. His hand trembled even twitched once or twicw convulsively

beneath his coat. Ilia eyes turned involuntarily, as it were toward the house, and met the eyes of a woman who was sitting In the porch. A middle-aged woman with a pleasant, comely face, who lay back In her cha'-r. fanning herself and rocking gently to and fro In the shadow of the veranda. As the eyes of the Silent Man met hers, in a vacant, wild-looking stare, she ceased rocking and smiled, but not unkindly. "Well, you're a rretty figure, anyhow," she said. There was a pause. The Silent Man Still looked at her. His hand still fumbled beneath his coat. "üeems to me as you've ibeen doiii' a bit of walking." continued the woman, still smiling. "And by 'pearance it's been pretty rough. Are ye hungry?" ehe Inquired suddenly with . Jerk. The Silent Man ald nothing. The woman recomrmmced her rocking, and went on talking In her quiet, even voice: "If so 'be, I s'pose I could give ye a bite and a drop of Ice water, and not hurt myself' The man wetted his lips with his tongue and spoke all at once, hoarsely, in a curious, gabbling whisper. "Is there a man living here Spencer ?'' he said. The woman looked at him keenly. "Whit has that got to do with you, anyhow? Are ye a friend of Mr. Spencer's?" He started, and a sudden light came into his filmy, bloodshot eyes. "Then he does live here? I am a friend of his." What is that hand doing that works nervously to and fro "beneath his coat? That seems to be clutching something In its grasp, yet never comes from his breast? The woman does not see it. She is looking across the road at a patch of golden sunflowers that grow in a 'hedge opposite. When she turns again to the Silent Man the hand Is still. "Well, Mr. Spencer don't live here now, so you're just wrong." she answered with some asperity, rocking herself a trille more energetically. "And not much loss, either. And if you're a friend of his, I don't envy you. not much. A man who could go and leave his wife or who was a wife to him, anyway, whatever she was with a sick chill and nary a dollar in the house, leave her and go clean off. he's what I'd call a skunk. See there!" Tho man had to moisten his lips again before he could speak. "And she?" he muttered. "She? D'ye mean Mrs. Spencer? Well, she's dead, poor f ml." "Dead!" He would have fallen but for the stfm of the eucalyptus tree. He leaned against it. shivering. His eyes gized dreamily at the sunshine In the r ad at the sunshine and the dump of nodding sunllowers, and the white pinafore of a little girl who was playing round their tall stalks. He even followed with his eyes the llight of a scarlet butterfly, as it tlu tiered quiveringly from flower to flower. It seemed as if his hrain was n um red and unable to think. Try as he would, lie could not think. The woman looked at him compassionately. "I'm sorry if I've skeered you," she sill more gently. "I Just didn't know as you were acquainted with Mrs. Spencer, or I wouldn't have bluffed it out like that. Hut It's the truth, anyway; so it 'ud have had to come out all the 5am one word or one thousand. Mayb? ye'd like a drink of ice water," she add d qui kly. as she rose from her chair. The man in tioned to her with his hand. It had fallen from his breast now. "No. no," he whispered. "Tell me how it was." The thoughts were eoirnng back to him now bleck, evil thoughts, that he shuddered vaguely to rememb r; thoughts of what he hnd ""ome there for; thoughts of how it had all rnd"d with that woman's word, "Dead!" "You'd lest have something, for you do look real Kid," the woman persisted. "I ait there, if you won't, I s'pos.j you won't. Well," she continued, settling herself nee more In the chair and loldii g lor ample arms, "I've said this ytr Mr. Spencer was a skunk, and a, skunk ho was to her! And she was frit of him, downright frit couldn't abear of him, f..r's I could see. and y-t daren't ppeak to him hardly, she was that frit. V II. sir, I told you that they had a child" she was g.'Ul.ig bquaIous now. in her plticJd, droning mann, r, and rocking herself with a steely swing that seemed to stimulate her conversation "anyway, there was r. child with them, though I never could onderstand cxa' tly whose 'twas, and he was more of a skunk to that child than it's in the napir' of man to b to his own, and the hild was took sick wPh the diphthcry. That was when he bolted. Siek as sick the child wa. poor little mortal! And then Mrs. Spencer ttm.c out eoine out pretty strong, too. 1 hadn't had nniih of a notion of her while the man was with her I don't mind eon fessln with her dolly face mid fo d waya and no more spir't than a chlpmur.k; but when she come out as she did come out, 1 kinder changed my ideas of her. Yes, sir! The way sli-i nursed that child, and sat up with her, day and night, and Sundays and workdays, and nei er took no food, so's 5I1? could buy medicines for the child, and got sick herself, and didn't care, but went on nursln" just the same well. It was pretty strong! And I you'd Just as well change your mind and have something." the woman interposed earnestly, "yu're l kin' that skeered." Tho man .shook, his head irritably. a;. on." "Well, there ain't muelv more to tdl. She took tho diphthery then, as I said, and took it bad. And there was no one to nurse her crpt what I did. and that wasn't much and she'd s. rter1 takerti the grit out of h'Tsdf with all the nursln' and watch in' ant sdarvin' herself, and she couldn't seem ter stand out against It. And so she died. That's all." Theje was a long pause. The woman was very quiet. There was a gleam in her eyes, as .she looked away across the sunny fields, as though tears were standing there. Th'i man still leaned: against the sU-m of tho eucalyptus tree, twisting in his hanis a fallr leaf that he had caught as it fluttered down. "Aaid tho child?" hi said at last "Did she die?" "No, eir!" thft woman answered, still very quietly, "sh didn't die. I gue.? the nursln' saveii her. When she come round," vho continued presently, "there waa no one left to take care of her, if you understand; so me and my husban. conslderln' the P!x'n)rtnesH of tho poor litUs critter, kindly 'dopted her, not having any children of our own. And she's settled down with us just wonderful. It's real good to have her. i) l.Ue," she cried, "com here, dearie!" The man turnod quickly, shaking with a strange spismodlo tremor. "(loldie!" she called again softly oldie!" The little girl, who was playing in tthe hedge, by the patch of runfiowers, rose and turned toward them. For an instant fhe hesitated, shyly, wonderlngly; then suddenly she Ftretehed out her little arms and ibegan to run across the road. "Daddy!" she cried. The last tinge of golden light was fading from the crests of the waves. The last faint flush of the sunset was fading from the western sky. A tall, grizzled man and a golden-haired girl, ripening int womanhood, were standing on the hurricane-deck of the ocean steamer, watching the flush as it paled and died away. He was a rich man from out West, everybody knew. Ulad been mayor of Lum-berville, some said, and had made a great fortune In live stock and grain. A. f elf-made man, who had risen from nothing, but deserved his success (by straightforwardness and hard work. And the girl was his daughter. The flush faded from the violet summer sky. The stars came out. one by one. saining brightly in its clear depths. The man and girl turned from where they stood on the vessel's tern and began to walk slowly back in the direction where the sun, when it rose on the morrow morn, would ri.e on the rocky headlands and rugged cliffs that the man had last 5een from the deck of the Amsterdam, as they faded into the tblueness of the sky, close on fourteen years before. And as they turned the clear voices rang out once more over the silent waters: "All's well!" "All's well!" All the Year ltound.

Manwactuanng

231 Eighth Ave., bet. 21st and 22d Sts, New York

8 Sjend for otir New Large Designs and Price List X-f ni 'A.-v Imi A . y 'Muuu.auuiii jcweiers DU. TALIAOU I'lNDS I.IISSOV 1 Tllli 3IIUlt.T IIIHDS. Jerenilu.il loin pared the AVi.iloiu of (lie IMts with the Fooliihness of Hin P.m. i ! Tli C iiriliaii Miinill Mrixtr luv n Loftier riight In (irnee. HIIOOKLYN", Oot. 21 The v. Dr. Ta Image, who has left India and ih now on his homeward journey, has fvlceted as the subject for his sermon today through the press "Octoeer Th 'Ughts." his text being Jert-mlah vi'I. T, "The sto:l; in the heaven knov.vth h"r appointed t!m.--, and the tl:rtl", u'.id the crane, and the svalbw observe tlie time of i In ir coming. Put my people know not. the judmi-tu of the Lord." When bd would set fjst a beautiful thought, he plants U' hi a tree. When he would put it afloat, he fashions it into a llh. When lie would have it glide the air, ho molds it into a bird. My text i-peak of four birds of beautiful instim-t the stork, of such strong affection thtt It is allowed familiarly to come In Holland and (.lermany and build its lv.st over the doorway; the; swee'-difposltiomd turtledove, mingling in color white and black and brown and axiom and chestnut: the crane, with voice like the clang of a trumpet; the swallow, swift as a dart shot nut uf tho bow jf heaven, falling, mounting, Fkimmlng, sailing four birds started by the prophet twenty-tlve centuries ago, yet. flying on through the ages, with rousing truth under glo.-y wing and in th clutch of stout claw. 1 suppo-e it may have been thus very s ason of th year autumn and the pn pivt out of doors, thinking ! the impenitence .f th people of his day, hears a creat c ry overhead. TUr M i-h Nettie of lite Air. Now, you km w it is t.o eay thing for one wlLii. crdlnarj" delicacy of eyesiuht to lock Into the deep blue of noond ty 1k:i c:i, but the prinaeC loe'ks up, ajid there aro fl-jek-i (n j't'-'-io-. and turtle;! ovt s a.nd cranes and Mva" ... ''vn out in 1-aig lines for II If! hl s V-v? Si. As Is tr.-i:' hai.il. tlu civ.nes hit ;:jj.uig;d tli-ni - lvct in t w lines, making art angle, a we Ue. sp'.itttr.g Th air wie'a lid velocity, !"; old cran , with c.mmi md.ng call, bid.iiirr liietu onward, while the tm-iw, and tli cities, and the t-on'dn-nLs slid under th -m. The jirophct, almost blind. 1 fnni looking into th dazzling heaven.--, stoops down and i egins to think h.W much supcri t the birds are in sagieity ..about their safety than, men about thelry. and: ho jmt his hard up n th p--u and begins to write. "The stork In the heaven kno.veth her aj'p inted times, and the turtle, an-l th1 crane, and rjiie swa-low o'.Herve the time of thir c 'tiling, but my p.. oplo know im: tae judgment of the Iord." If you were In the fle'.d todiy, in the clump of trees' at tho c vn r of the fl 11 you would see a convention of birds, noisy as the American congress the lasl nilil before alj lununent or a the Hritl: parllanienü when, .onei unfortunate m.nioer propopcx mote eeehomy in the iU"en's Uiousehold a convention! of birds all talking at once, moving and pi.-smg resolutions on tlu subject of migration, some proper IV13 to g l tomorrow, some; moving that they goi to.Jay, Put. all unanimous in tha fact that they must g l f-on. for they h.-ive marching orders from the Lord written on the llrst iwhito shet of the fiavt and in Uw pictüritil of tho changing leave. There is not a avltcd kinglisher, or a charilnch, or a lire ereUu wren, or a plover, or a red-legged partridge but expects to spend the winter at the .South, for tho apartments have already been ordered for them in 'South America or in Africa, and after thousands of miles of flight thoy;. will istop in the very tree where t)-v spent last. Jar.eary. Farewell, bright) plumage! Until form" weather, away! Fly on, gnat ba-d of heavenly musicians! Jstrew the continent with music, and iwhethoA from Ceylon isle or Carolinian swamps or Brazilian groves, men Fee your wings or hear your voice, may they yet "bethink themselves of the solemn words of the text, "The stork in the heaven kn-oweih het appointed times, and the t irtie. and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming, but my peopla Know not the judgment of the "Lord." I propose, so far as fJod may help me in thi3 sermon, carrying out the idea of the text, to show that the "birds of the air have more sagacity than men. And I 'begin by particularizing and saying that they mingle music with their work. The nmsVicfjpu.s.uiybr;aking of a bird's life ts thfs'ai'ihü.n night southward. Nat uralists tell us that they arrive thin and weary and plumage ruffled, and yet they go singing all the way the ground the lower line of the musie, the sky the upper line of the music, themselves the notes scattered up and down between. I suftpose their ong gives elasticity to their wdng and helps on with the Journey, dwindling 1.000 milea Into 400. Would to God that we were as wise as they in mingling Christian song with our everyday work! I 'believe there is such a thing as taking the pitch of Christian devotion in the morning and keeping it all the day. I think we might take some of th dullest, heaviest. mDit disagreeable work of our life and set It to the tune of "Antloch" or "Mount risgah." Singing1 n They tin. It is a good sign when you hear workman whistle. It I a bett? sign when you hear him hum a roundelay. It is a stiil better sign when you hear him ting the words of Isaac Watts or Charles Wesley. A violin chorded and strung. If something accidentally rtrik"S It, makes music, and I suppose thei; is sucl a

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in ine unuea Mates. bent thing as having our hearts fo attunM by divine grace that even the ror.r;h collisions of life will m.aka a heavenly vibration. I do not U'lieve that the power of Christian song has yet been full tried. I b lieve that If y.ju cull roll the "Old Hundred" doxoloy throush the street it would put an end to any panic. I ?.-!!eve that the discords, and the sorrow--, and the sins of the world are to be rwept cut by heaven born ha Pepaiahs. Some one askf-d Haydn, the celebrated musician, why he always composed such cheerful musi . "Why." he s.ud. "I can't do otherwise. When I think of (Jod. my e-oul is so full of joy tint the notes leap and danrv from my pen." I wish we ndg'nt all exuit melodiously before the Ln-'i. Will: (i.'d f r our Father and Christ for our Savioi and heaven for our homo and amrcls for future companions and eternity f r a lifetime, we should strike nil the nctes of joy. doing through the wildern.' ss of this world let us remember that we are on the way to the summery clime of heaven and fr. rn the migratory populations flying through this autumnal air leirn always to. kec p singing: Children ef the heavenly King, As ye journey sweetly sing. Sing your Savior's worthy praise, Ciljrious in His works and ways. Ye are traveling heme to Ood In the way your fathers tix. They are hapnv now, and we fc'oun their happiness phall sre. Th. church of Cod never will be a triumphant church until it becomes a singing church. The Higher Clirlallnii I.lfe. I go further and say that the birds of the air are wiser than we in the fact that in their mlgrati n they fly very high. During the summer when they are in the fields they often come within reach of the gnu, but when tin y start for the annual flight southward they take their places milheaven and go straight as a mark. The longest rill that wa ever brought to shoulder cannot reach them. Would to Jod that w e w ere as w ise as the stork and crane in our flight heavenward. We lly so l w that we tire within easy range of the W(i:M. the fl sh and the devil. We are brought down by temptations that ought li.-t to come within a mile of reac hing us. Oh. for some of the faith of Ceorge MulhT of Earland and Alfred Cookman, once of the church militant, now of th- church triumphant! So po r is the type of piety in the church of Cod now that men actually caricature the idea that there is any sit. h thing as a higher life. Moles never did believe in eagles. Uut, my brethren, !-. -a use we ha ve not reached these bights ourselves, shall we deride the fact that tht.ro are jsny such bights? A man was one talking to Urunel, the famous eneinocr, about the length of the railroad from London to Uristol. Tho engineer said: "It is not very great. 'We shall have after awhile a steamer running from England to New York." They laughed him to scorn, but wo have gone so far now that we have ceased to laugh at anything as impossible for human achievement. Then. I ask, is anything impossible for the Lord'.' I do not ledieve that God exhausted all his grace in 1'aul and Latimer and Edward l'ayson. 1 believe there are higher points of Christian attainment to be reached in the future ages of the Christian world. You tell me that Paul went up to tho tiptop of the Alps of Christian attainments. Then I tell you that the stork and crane have found above the Alps plenty of room for free flying. Mixing Altoie Tempt n Ion. We go out, and we conquer our temptations by the grace of Cod and lie down. Or. the morro.v those temptations rally them. Ives and attack us, and by the grace of God we defeat them again, but staying all the time in the old encampment we have the same obi battles to fight over. Why not whip out our temptations and then forward march, making ona raid through the enemy's country, stopping not until we break ranks after the last victory. Do, my brethren, let us have pome novelty of combat at any rate by changing, by going on, by making advancement, trading off our stale prayers about sins we ought to have quit long ago, going on toward a higher state of Christian character and routing out sins that we have never thought of yet The fact ia if the church of God; if we as individuals make rapid advancement in the Christian life, these stereotyped prayers we have ibeen making for ten or fifteen year would be as inappropriate to us as the shoes, and the hats, and the coats we wore ten or fifteen years ago. Oh, for a higher flight in the Christian life, the stork and the crane in thf ir migration teaching us the lesson! Pear Lord, and shall we ever live. At this poor dying rate Our love so faint, so cold to thee. And thine to us sa great? IlHDKrra .of Dein?. Again I remark that the birds of the air are wiser than we, because they know when to start. If you should go out now and shout, "Stop, storks and crane. don't be in a hurry!" they would say: "N'o, we cannot stop. Last night we heard the roaring In the wood bidding us away, and the shrill flute of the north wind has sounded the retreat. We must go. We must go." So they gather themselves into companies, and turning not aside for storm or mountain top or shock of musketry, over land, sea, straight as an arrowto the mark, they go. And if you come out this morning with a sack of corn and throw it in the flelds and try to fjet them to stop they are so far up they would hardly see lt.. They are on their way south. You could not stop them. Oh, that we were as wis about tbo best time to start for God and heaven. We say: "Wait until it is a little later in the season of mercy. Wait until some of these green leaves of, hope are all dried up and have been scattered. Wait until next year." After awhile we start, and it Is too late, and we perish in the way when God's wrath is kindled but a little. There are. you know, exceptional cases, where birds have started too late, and In the morning you have found them dead on the snow. And there are those who have perished half way between the world and Christ. They waited until the last sick

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ti m i ir -r "in' i'iti rrr5 H u Fa - ES to any part cl the ness, when the mind was gone, or thev were on the express train going at forty miles an hour, and they came to a br;Jg and the "draw was up." and th"-y went down. How long to upent and pi"yV Two seconds! To do th work of a lifetime and to prepare for the vast eternity in two second! I was reading of an entertainment given In a kind's court, and there were musicians there, with elaborate plees of musle. After awhile Mozart came and began to play, and he had a blank piece of paper before him. and Hiking familiarly looked over his shou.br and said: "What are you playing? I s e n music before you." It was very well for him but, oh. my friends', we cannot extemporize heaven. If we do not get prepared In this world, we will never take part in the orchestral harmonics of the saved. Oh, that we were as wise is the crane and the stork, flying away, flying away from the tempest! Sorrow of Hie Sinful. Some of you have felt the pinehlng frost of sin. You feel i: today. You are not happy. I look into your faces, and I know you are not happy. There are voices within your seul tliat will not be silenced, telling you that you are sinners and that with ut the pardon of God you are undone forever. What are you going to do, my friends, with the accumulated transgressions of this lifetime? Will you stand still and let the avalanche tumble over you? Oa. that you would go away Into the warm hear: of G .d's mercy. The southern grove, redolent with magnolia and cactus, never waited for northern flocks as God has walt.d for you, saying: "I have oved theo with an everlasting love. Come unto Me, all ye wh ore weary and heavy aden, and I will give you rest." Another frost Is bidding you away It Is the frost f sorrow. Where do you live now? "Oh." you say, "I have moved." Why did you move? You say, "I don't want as large -a. house now as formerly." Why d) you not want as Targe a house? You say, "My family is not shd large." Where have they gone to? Eternity! Your mind g.ies back through i that last sickness and through the al- : most supernatural effort to ke-.p life, j an I through those prayers that i seemed unavailing, and through that kiss which received no response beeau the lip were lifeless, nnd I hcJar the bells tolling and I hear the hearts breaking while 1 speak I hear them break. A I heart! An ther heart! Al-.ne. alone. alone! ' This world, w hich in your girlhood and boyluod was sunshine, is cold now, and. oh, weary dove, you fly around this world as though y u would like ti stay, when the wind, and the frost, and the blackening clouds would bid y m away into the heart of an all-comforting God. Oh. I have noticed again and again vhat a botch this world makes of It when it tries to comfort a soul in trouble! It sa-s, "Don't cry!" How can we help crying when the heart treasures are scattered, and father 1 gme. and mother 1 gone, and companions are gone, ami th? xhild is g me, and everything seems gone? It is no comfort t tell a man n t to cry. The world comes up and s?ys. "Oh, it is only the bdy of your loved one that you have put in the ground." Uut there Is no comfort in that. That tody is precious. Shall we never put our hand in that hand again, and shill we never see that sweet face again? Away with your heart lessness, O world! Uut jcumo, Jesus, and tell us that when the tear fall they fall into God's bottle; that the dear bidies of our loved ones shall eise radiant in the resurrection, and all the breakings down here shall be liftings up there, and "they shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the 'sun light on them nor any heat, for the lamb which Is in the midst of the throne shall lead them to living fountains of water, and God slull wipe all tears fom their eyes." fall 011 All 1 tin. Y'ou may have noticed that when the chaflinch, or the stork, or the crane starts on its migration it calls all those of its kind to come too. The tree tops arc full oC chirp and whistle and carol and the long roll-call. The bird does not tart off alone. It gathers all of its kind. Oh. that you might be as wise in this migration to heaven and that you mipht gather all your families and your friends with you! I would th;;t Hannah might take Samuel by the hand, and Abraham might take Isaac, and Hagar might take Ishmael. I ask you if those who sat at your breakfast table this morning will sit with you in heaven? I ask you what influences you are trying to bring upon them what example you are setting them. Are you calling them to go with you? Aye, aye, have you started yourself? Start for heaven and take your children with you. Come thou and all thy house Into the ark. Tell your little ones that there are realms of balm and sweetness for all those who fly in the right direction. Swifter than eagle's stroke put out for heaven. Like the crane or the stmrk. stop not night nor day until you And the right place for stopping, -seated today in Christian service, will you be seated In the same glorious service when the heavens have passed away with a great noise, and the elements have melted with fervent heat, and the redeemed are gathered around the throne of Jesus? The Savior calls. Ye wanderers come. Oh. ye benighted souls Why longer room? 5"he Spirit calls today. Yield to His power. Oh. Krieve Him not away, "Tis mercy's hour. THE Sl'NDAY SCHOOL LESSO. Lfkon lv, Fourth Unnrtfr, International Series, Oct. -S. 1. "And again He entered into Capernaum after some days, and it was ncisei that He was in the house." The leper avh: had been healed blazed the fact abroad so much that Jesus could no more dwell In the city, but had to find a resting place without (chapter 1. 43). but wherever lie rwent the crowds flocked to Him. Does not that leper) and, the lepers of II Kings vii. 9. put us ta shame, for surely we have good tidings, and yet how many hold their peace? When Jesus cairo Into Capernaum, it soon became known. In chapter vii,

City, New York. rkÄ 1 r Thousands of the Latest by one of the Largest . . United Mates. i: siys. "He could not be hid." Hcrw is it ta il many w h Ivor the name oX V.v. isti.in can ? hi le Him that no ono would know from their conduct, or ccnversatim thit Christ is in them? "Atel straightway many were gath-er-.d together, insomu:-hi that there was no r ', :u to re e. ive tnem no. not so much, as j !'!' .;: the d'-or and He preached the word t;:v. i.ii.r.." 0::? wou'.i think from, tho ' many iwicc3 resorted to nrwdaya to draw the ; pie U church Uiat there was no i 1 : r pewer in Jesm nor in His gtmpeL I We.'e it not fjr Heb. xiii. S. one mlghtl think Hi had greatly clianged. Hut knowI big that with Him is no variablen, nei- ! th-r r-hidjw of turning, wo are compelled I t 1 t en Inda that many preacher do not ' pr.Mc.i the Wuil; hence toe need; of suc& ! exh -nations as Jonah Iii. 2; II Tim. iT, 1'. "Preach tie preaching I bid the," "Preach the word." Z. "And they come unto Him bringt on ' sick of the palsy, which was borne of four." When thuw wh) know Jesua tans .a.rnestly labor to bring thü friend. to Him, it is good evidence cf their fait a in I i im. but what shall we say or think of those wh) profess to know Him, yet lu v.r put forh an effrt e r say & word to bring another eoul to Him? Cm it be that they have a name t) llv, but are dead or luke-warm and ready to b spewed out of His mouth (ilea-, ill, 1, 16). 4. "And when they could not. come clgti unto Him for the press they uncovered the rojf where He was. and wheo thy had br-.ken It up they let down the bed wherein the sick cf the palsy lay." Id Luke v, l'J. it says, "Into th midst before Jesus." Like the poor woman whom no physician could h-lp, they felt If thex cniM only get to Hirn He would eurel do it for them. What blessed confldeuc in Jesus! Such trust is never put ta sname. We must a.-k without wavering. Have faith and doubt not (Jas. i, 6, 7; Mark xi. "U, 21). f. "When Jcus saw their faith He paid .into the sick of the palsy. Son, they sins be forgiven thee." How euch faiUi does please Him! Hear Him conoeTnlngr the centurian, "I have not found eo great faith no. mt in Isr.oel." And to th woman of Tyre and Sid on: "O woman, gleit Is thv faith. Be it unto thee even as thou wilt" (Math. vill. 10; xv, 28). 8 how the great physician goes right to ths root of the matter and attends to the soul b. foro the b -dy. A sick body Is often, but ii"t always, the result of a sick toul (III John. 2). fi. "Hut there were certain of the scribes jilting there and reasoning in thf.r hearts." This mode of treating His words or Hisi doings will never bring light or peace. All reasonings must bo cast down (II Cor. x, 5). It is only the entrance of His words that givcthJ lishL Hi word must be reeci.-ed with meekness and received, as it Is Indeed, as th? word of GoU (Ps. exix, 13'); Jas. 1, 21: I Thess. Ii. li). 7. "Why doth this man thus speik blas-phemi'-s? Who can forgive sins but Qod omy'.'" If they iiad not been 0 hardened n gainst Him, they might have said to III glory and to their soul's good, "This must be God, for only God can torglvo ln." Thoy might have thought of I. xlill, 25, and said, "This must be the Ird Cod of the holy prophets, even our M essoin." 5. "And Immediately, when Jesu perceived In His Spnit that they so reasoned within themselves, He ßaid unto then Why reason ye these things in your hearts?" The fact that He could read their thoughts and tell them what was passing in their minds should have oonvlnoed th.-m that He was none other than the one who sail long before, "I know the things that come Into your mind, every one of them" (Hzek. xi, I), even thu grest t-ea roher of reins and hearts (I Cbroa, xxvisi. ;; Jer. xvii, leu. 9. "Whether it is easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee, or to say. Arise and take up thjr lied and walk." The last would seem to many to ba the greatest, for bodily infirmity is to mmy'a more grievous thin than unforgiven sin. What numbers there are who would give all they have for health of .body who are not at all concerned about the forgiveness of einst They are 'blind and deid to spiritual things and to the unseen and eternal realities of heaven and hell. 10. "Hut that ye may know that th Son of man haih power on earth to forgive sins (He saith to the sick of the palsy)." Here is the truth to be proclaimed around the world. "The son of man hath' power on earth to forgive ins." He receiveth sinners: He casts out none who come to Him; He 'blots out all sin and will remember it no more. The folood of Jesus Christ cleanseth frcm all sin (Luke xv. 2; John vl. 37; Isa. xliii, 2: John 1, 7). iMar.y ia China have received the glad tidings the first tim they heard them, and multitudes in all countries are vainly seeking rest of soul concerning this because they know not of Him. Where is the faith and seal of these four friends? 11. "I say unto thee. Arise and takeup thy bed and to go thy way Into thin house." This is the word that has all power in it. the word that at creation spake and i: was done, commanded and it stoi fast (Ps. xxxiii. 'J). the word that said. '"Let there be light." and there wus light. It is the "thus saith the Lord" of the old testament. The same voice h saying to many today. "Awake, thou that steepest, and arise from the dead, end Christ shall give thee light" (Epa. v, 4), and will ere long say to Israel, "Arise, shine, for thy light Is come, and the giory of the Lord is risen upon thee" (Isa. IX. 1). 12. "And immediately he arose, took up the bed and went forth before them all. insomuch that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying. We nerer saw it on this fashion." A clean soul and a whole body how suggestive of the resurrection morning, when, having been preeerved blameless, we shall be presented, faultless. We shall be like Him, even our bodies like His glorious body (I The, v. 23; Jude 24; I John Iii, 2; Phil. ill. 21. More confidence In Him and more yleldfdness to Him would bring more of Hin power even in these mortal bodies, to His great glory and our great joy. The Man Who Has o Enemies. It does not necessarily follow that a man Is deserving cf praisa because ha never made an enemy in h'. life. Possibly he Is too lazy to make any. Boston Transcript.

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