Pike County Democrat, Volume 26, Number 16, Petersburg, Pike County, 30 August 1895 — Page 3

gmiwat 1L MoO. STOOPS, Editor tad Proprietor. PETERSBURG. • • • INDIANA. THE OLD STRAW HAT. 1 knocked it from the chimney shelf, With stroke of careless band— The prototype of that brave self. Time-tried, toll-soiled and tanned. Its narrow brim and sunken crown Are touched with all the grace That glowed beneath it in the brown Of father's honest face Harsh edges of the autumn corn Have sawed its ragged brim, / Until in every line forlorn 1 read a Held-told hymn. It brought me berries from the pntch. Picked by his plow-worn hands; White stores of eggs from rick and thatch. Treasures from field and sands. Each year he called its service done. But when the bluebirds came He said they would not find the sun And flowers of spring the same If never moved about the yard The old familiar hat: * They'd miss it from the orchard sward Beside him where he sat; And as I hear their plaintive note v From out the sour-bough tree. I catch from every warbler's throat A strain of sympathy. What like these strands, bathed in the dew And bronzed by summer skies? ‘ Beneath 1 see that face so true, Those patient, honest eyes: . —Forrest Crissey, in Chicago Post. WHO BANG THE BELL? BY LIKE SHARP. A man who has business in the city • ■very day little realizes the delights • of his own suburban home, lie leaves the place early in the morning1 and he comes home tired at night, and thus he misses the pleasures ;hat he would enjoy if he spent the whole day at his own house. Recently, I resolved to get a bit ahead with my work, and so 1 abandoned the city and all its ways, determined to stay at home until 1 had written a number of those stories which are the delight of two continents, while in the intervals I could polish off a few novels that the world is eagerly waiting for; tlins I became ’ acquainted with ray own plot of laud^ which I had seen hitherto only on Sun- • days. 1 found that my back yard was • an idyllic place in which to write, and I furnished, myself with one wicker -chair to sit in and another on which to put my feet, while the low table at my -elbow held the manuscript. Laud is so expensive in England that we make much of our back yards. An ^English .gardener will do more with a little plot of land than any other man I ever saw. He will take a small bit of .ground, and, by judicious plantiug of • shrubbery, the making of walks, and the lUilizing of whatever trees there may be on the place, will make it look to the casual observer like a large es

tale. Tne sou is very proaucuve, ana the climate is generally so mild the whole year around that plants hardly •ever stop growing. Of course if one '’ has a large place a man has a gardener •of his own, but we people with small * lots are content with a gardener who •comes in once or twice a week, or perhaps three times, if things are ..growing very rapidlyI never knew the particulars of this until I stayed vat home. Not being an inquisitive man, my occasional glimpses of the back yard had never suggested to me 'that all this neatness and order was the result of human intervention. I thought it was part of my contract with the landlord, and one of the reasons why 1 was paying him rent; so as I sat at my work, I was astonished to find a man with a wheelbarrow full of tools trundle it from the front of tHe house into the back yard. I asked him what the mischief he was doing there, and why he came in without She for•mality of ringing, for he seemed to •have a key to my private gate; he W|ps equally astonished to find me on the premises, and a mutual explanation, resulted in his discovering that 1 'was the proprietor, and my learning '•that he was my gardener. When I owned a back and a front yard in America, neither was of much •use to me. The back yard was exceedingly sinall, and was the home of the ash-bin, and the dumping ground of various disabled utensils pertaining to the kitchen. It was not-a thing of * beauty. The front yard was all right •enough, but it belonged more to the .public than to myself. There was no fence between the house and the ^Street, and I would as soon have thought of sitting down on the sidewalk as lounging about on the bit of grass which was m front of my residence. An Englishman, however, iceeps his yards for his own use. He believes, if he pays rent and taxes for plot- of ground, that that plot of .ground is his for the time being; con•sequently he puts a high wall around .it, and is as secluded in his back yard ;as though he were in his own drawingroom. My house is situated on a sort of still backwater just out of the .main current -of traffic. A celebrated old coaching Toad running in the direction of Epson^ passes near enough to be handy, 4tnd so far away that we hre out of the noise of the traffic. Out of this main road there runs a street in the form -of semi-circle. It leaves the main -road for no particular reason, and joins it again for no particular reason, ■amd in the center of this bow my house, with the front and back .yards, is situated. It is a delightfully quiet spot, for no vehicle comes into this peaceful road unless it has business at one of the six or seven bouses that are situated upon this ^street, which can hardly be called a thoroughfare. My back yard wall, therefore, is a segment of a circle. It is eight feet high, and is what is called -an English .park fence, which means that it is made of upright split oak =alabs overlapping each other. This Icind of fence is said to cost as much |ast as long as a brick wall. It ia

impossible tor anyone to climb it, and equally impossible for anyone to see through it Therefore, a man may walk about In his back yard dressed pretty much as he pleases, lie can wear his oldest coat and his most comfortable slippers. There i$ a conservatory at the end of the lawn, and here the high fence ends. There is also a little sub-back yard filled with tall trees which shut out the view from the road. Around this minor back yard the fence is only four feet high. This minute description of my estate is necessary for understanding the exciting' times I had during the days 1 stayed at home and attempted to do some writing in the quietness of my own back yard. 1 found that the fence was a great temptation to every passer-by. The small hoy, if he had a stick in his hand, liked to run. it along the beards or beat the stick against them as he passed along. This was annoying, and 1 sometimes shouted to him to stop his racket, but I merely received in return a number of personal remarks which, it is not too much to say, were distinctly insulting, considering the fact that the speaker was entirely unable to see the person to whom he was speaking. Therefore, as I am of the kind of person to whom experience teaches something. 1 ceased to expostulate verbally with the small boy with his stick. I stole quietly around into the sub-back yard and waited Jor him beside the- low fence. He always came along quite unconscious of danger, for I was well concealed by the brick wall of the conservatory, and I always succeded in snatching his yap. He usually jumped to the middle of the road in his surprise before he realized that he had to negotiate for the return of his cap. I made him give his name and address and apologize in the most abject fashion before I returned his headgear. He was usually the butcher s delivery boy or the lad from the grocery. I threatened to turn the police upon him, or what was worse, to go to his master and complain; and I think that I do^not flatter myself when 1 say that during the time I stayed at home, I had a distinctly moral effect on the lads of that neighborhood- A boy dare not “sass” you when you have his cap in your hands, for he is, if 1 may put it that way, h andicapped in the controversy. I soon found, however, that there was a more objectionable small boy than the one who rapped at the fence. This was the boy (generally there were two of them), who rang the electric bell at the back gate. He then ran around the corner and appeared to be amused at the blank look of the servant as she gazed up and down the street trying to discover who had called her unnecessarily from .her work. i

One afternoon 1 heard the prolonged ring of the bell anil then the rapid footsteps of two urchins as they ran along the walk outside of the fence, and so I thought the time had come to teach. these youngsters a lesson. I slipped silently down the lawn, under the trees, into the shadow of the greenhouse, and peered cautiously over the fence, so that they might not see me. There the two young villains stood close to me and craning their necks to see who opened the garden door. I heard the click of the latch as the garden entrance was opened, and then, the two ragamuffins, with many giggles, backed-closer to the fence so the servant could not see them. They were so preoccupied in watching danger from one direction that they did not see the real calamity that hovered near them. Before they were aware of it my two hands dropped down on them, as it were from the skies, and 1 had a firm clutch of each by the back of his collar. Talk about the pleasures of hooking a salmon, it is nothing at all to the excitement of catching an energetic small boy and getting a good firm hold of the collar of his coat. For the next two minutes I had all I could do. They squirmed and wriggled, and kicked at the fence, threw themselves down, and did every mortal thing they could think of in trying to escape, but I held on, and finally it dawned on them that they were nabbed. Then the elder said defiantly: “Say, mister, if you don’t let me go I’ll yell'for a policeman.” “Yell,” 1 answered^that’s just what I want you to do, and when the policeman comes I’ll be very glad to hand you over to him.” Now the boys, if they had only known it, were per fee tty within their legal rights • in calling a policeman, and if a policeman had been called I don’t know how I could have justified my own action. I was committing an assault on them for an offense I had not seen them commit, and which, perhaps, was not punishable by the law if therehad been witnesses. I was taking the law and the young rascals into my own hands, which is not a thing to be permitted. However, there was, as a matter of course, no policeman in sight, and I thought I would chance it. I hauled the lighter of the two boys over the fence, while the other wriggled and struggled to escape. It was no easy task getting the youngster over, for he clawed and fought like a cat. but at last I had him on my side and then putting him on the ground with my foot on him to' hold him down I turned my attention and both hands to the larger boy, and soon had him over. “Now, my lads,” I said, “when any one rings a door bell he expects to come in. I am sorry to have to dragyou over the garden fence, but you should have waited at the door; when you could have entered with much less wear and tear to your clothing.” “We didn’t want to come in,” answered the eldest boy. “Then you should not have rung the bell. Now, you see, I have you in here alone. I have not quite made up my mind what I am going to do with you, but l am certain no one has seen you come in, and I am certain no one'will see you go out again. I may imprison vou for life in the ooal cellar, dr I may V

put yon to death In some slow, torts* ous way.” I had now brought the boys, drag* ging their feet along the lawn, up before my wicker chair. I knew that as soon as I let go of them they would bolt, but I did not think they would succeed, because, lying on my chair was a cane with a hook on the end of it and I thought I might induce the boys to stay even after 1 had let go of the coat. Mj surmises proved to be correct, for when I let go of one boy to pick up my cane be bolted, but by the crook 1 caught him by the foot and he fell on the grass. “It's no use," I said to him. “You can't get away, and if you did I would slaughter you before you could get over the back fence, so you had better stand the racket peaceably and quietly. You rang the bell and evidently wanted to see me. Now, nere you are. What is it you want?” I sat down in the chair with the stick handy to prevent any attempt at , escape, and the boys stood before me. j i |“I didn't ring the bell," said one of j the boys. “Yes lie did,” said the other, ; “’twasn’t me.” “You’re a liar,” said the other, and before 1 knew it they had clinched fingers in each other’s hair, and were swearing horribly and tossing about , the lawn in a free fight. The table ( went over before 1 could prevent it. “Here, you young ruffians,” I cried, “are you going to fight on my lawn?" I tried to separate them and succeeded after some strenuous efforts, and stood them on their feet again. The little fellow was game to the back- 1 bone. I knew that by the way he struggled and scratched and" fought when I dragged him over the fence. | He drew his hand defiantly across his nose and glared ajj,the other, who stood looking as if he find gotten the worst of the tussle. “Now, boys,” I said, “you must behave yourselves and answer my questions: . “Which one of you rang the bell?” Both of them answered simultane- I ously: \ “He did, sir.” And the little one said , strenuously to the elder: “You’re a liar,” and then threw himself on t%p of the elder and began to pummel him. ; I inserted the crook of the stick be- 1 hind the littlo one’s collar and pulled him off. “You yotfng villain, stand up,” I said, j “Now don't bp so ready to call each other liars, but answer my questions, j What is your name?” “His name,” said the younger, nodding toward his companion, “is Chinn- 1 my Fadden.” ] “He’sgfliar,” said the elder; “that’s his own name.” “No, it isn’t,” said the younger. “You're a liar,” passed between them simultaneously, and in a moment they were at it again, and rolling about on the grass, screaming aqd using the . most horrible language. I tore them apart and stood them once more on their feet, and said to the smaller one: “You little rascal, if you call him a liar again, or if you pitch into him again, I’ll thrash you with my cane. Do you understand?” „ “You daren’t do it,” said the small boy. “My father had a man fined for striking me with a stick.” “Oh, did he?” I said; “and who ia your father, and where does he live? I'll go with you and give him a chance of finishing me; but I’ll have the value of the fine out of you in the first place, and don’t you forget it.” By this time the neighbors, hearing the, fearful language, and the noise of conflict, came to their windows, and j evidently thought I had hired two rag- j amuffins from the streets to set them j at lighting each other. I saw that if I J did not speedily get rid of thd twc ! young villains I was going to lose the ! respect of the entire suburb. “Now,” 1 continued to the younger, “tell me your name and where yoc live.”

tils name is omiui, saiu me umer, “and he lives in the Lovelace road.” “lie’s a liar,” said the elder, where* upon the youngster spatted him instantly on the mouth, and they were at it again. There was no need to tel] me he was a liar, for I knew th« Lovelace road was the most aristocratic road in the neighborhood. The screams of the combatants rent the air and when I once more separated them the nose of each was bleeding. In the silence that followed the combat I was made aware, by the remark? I heard through ‘ the fence, that s crowd had gathered and were listening to the struggle, evidently thinking from the sounds that reached them, that a family difference of some intensify was raging behind the wall. The bigger boy was blubbering ancrubbing the blood from his nose al over his face, and making a most re pulsive object of himself. The youngei was glaring scornfully at him. and ap parently ready to spring at his throat at the lightest provocation. My greatest desire in life now was_t< get rid of these two most objectionabli citizens. I flung away my stick an< said: • “You just wait till I get something that will take the nonsense out of you.1 Then I retreated a few stejte towart the house. Instantly their difference* were forgotten. Casting a wild lool ovettheir shoulders, they made a bol for the sub-back yard, and before an; one could say “Jack Robinson,” the; had thrown themselves oyer the fenc* and tumbled out into the road. I rai after them as far as the fence, but the; were out of sight down the street be fore I reached there. Which one o them has murdered the other I haw not been able to find out, but I suspea the small boy, who “was all hot san< and ginger,” is the victor.—Detrci Free Press. —The Pharisees mentioned in thi New Testament took their name Iron the Hebrew word meaning separated They were so called because they con sidered themselves better than th( other people of that time and separated themselves from them.

TALMAGE’S 8ERM0N. The Glories of Heaven Pictured by a Master Hand. •Eye Bath Mot Smb Sot Ear H« »rd"-No ttcknoM and Mo Trouble* Ttiero— The Groat Family Reunions —Sons* of Hen eon. Her. T. DeWitt Talm&ge prepared the following sermon on “Su-paasing Splendors" for publication this week. It is based on the text: Eye bath not seen nor ear heard.—I Cor. 11.». “I am going to Heaven! 1 am going to Heaven! Heaven! Heaven! Heaven!” *!fhese were the last words uttered a few days ago by m3’ preeious wife as she ascended to be with God forever, and is it not natural, as well as Christianly appropriate, that our thoughts be much directed toward the glorious residence of which St. Paul speaks iu tlie text 1 have chosen. s The city of Corinth has been called the Paris of antiquit3*. Indeed, for splendor,the world holds nosuch wonder to-day. It stood on an isthmus washed by two seas, the one sea bringing the commerce of Asia. From her wharves, % in the construction of which whole kingdoms had been absorbed, war-galleys with three banks of oars pushed out and confounded the navy yards of all the world. Huge-handed machinery, such as modern invention cannot equal, lifted ships from the sea on one side and transported them on trucks across the isthmus and set them down in the sea on the other side. The revenue officers of the city went down through the olive groves that lined the beach to collect a tariff from all nhtions. The mirth of all people sported in her isthmian games, and the beauty of all lands sat in her theaters, walked her porticoes, ami threw itself on the altar of her stupendous dissipations. Column, and statue, and temple bewildered the beholder. There were white marble fountains into which, from apertures at the side, there rushed waters every where known for health-giving qualities. Around these basins, twisted into wreaths of stone, there were all the beauties of sculpture and architecture; while standing, as if to guard the costl3’ display, was a statue of Hercules of burnished Corinthian 'brass. Vases of terra-cotta adorned the cemeteries qf the dead—vases so costly that Julius Caesar was not satisfied until he had captured them for Home. Armed officials, the “Corinthiarii,” paced up and down to see that no statue was defaced, no pedestal overthrown, no bas-relief touched. From the edge of the cit3’ a hill arose, with its magnificent^ burden of columns, aud towers, and temples (one thousand slaves awaiting at one shrine), and a citadel so thoroughly impregnable that Gibraltar is a heap of sand compared with it. Amid all that streugth and magnificence, Corinth stood and defied the world. Oh! it was not to rustics who had never seen anything grand that St. Paul uttered this text. Thej’ had heard the best, music that had come from the bests instruments in all the world; the>’ had heard songs floating from morning porticoes and melting in evening groves; they had passed f ivViaIg 1 i vac o ivo xr a mnnrr nm.

tures, and sculpture, and architecture, and Corinthian brass, which had been molded and shaped, until there was no chariot wheel in which it had not sped, and no tower ia which it had not glittered, and no gateway that it had not adorned. Ah, it was a bold thing for Paul to stand there amid all that, and say: “All this is nothing. These sounds that come from the temple of Neptune are not music compared with the harmony of which I speak. These waters rushing in the basin of Pyrene are not pure. These statues of Bacchus and Mercury are not exquisite. Yon citadel of Aeroeorinthus is not strong compared with that which I offer to the poorest slave that puts down his burden at that brazen gate. You, Corinthians, think this is a splendid city; but I tell you ^eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.’”. You see my text sets forth the idea, that however exalted our ideas may l>e of Heaven, they come far short/of the reality. Some wise men have iWen calculating how many furlongs long and wide is Heaven; and they have calculated how many inhabitants there are on the earth; how long the earth will probably stand; and then they eome to this estimate: that after all the nations had been gathered to Heaven, there will be room for each soul—a room sixteen feet long and fifteen feet wide. It would not be large enough for me. I am glad to know that no human estimate is sufficient to take the dimensions. “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,” nor arithmetic calculated. I first remark that we can in this worl4 get no idea of the health of Heaven. When you were a, child, and you went out in the morning, how you bounded along the road or street—you had never felt sorrow or sickness. Perhaps later—perhaps in these very summer days—you felt a glow in your cheek, and a spring in your step, and an exuberance of spirits, and a clearness of eye, that made you thank God you were permitted to live. The nerves wore harp strings, and the sunlight was a doxology, and the rustling leaves were the rustling of the robes of a great cro4vd rising up to praise the Lord. You thought that you knew what it was to be well, but there is no perfect health on earth. The diseases of past generations come down to us. The airs that float now on earth are unlike those which floated above Paradise. They are charged with impurities -and distempers. The most elastic and robusc health on earth, compared with that which those experience before whom the gates have been opened, is nothing but sickness and emaciation. Look at that fool

standing before the throne. On earth she was a life-long invalid. See har step now and hear her Toice now! Catch, if you can,one breath of that celestial air. Health in all pulses! Health of vision; health of spirits; immortal health. No racking cough, no sharp pleurisies, no consuming fevers, no exhausting pains, no hospitals of wounded men. Health swinging in the air; health flowing in all the streams; health blooming on the banks. No headaches, no sideaches, no backaches. That child that die<} in the agonies of the croup, hear her voice now ringing in the anthem! That old man that went bowed down with the infirmities of age, see him walk now with the step of an immortal athlete—forever young again! That night when the needlewoman fainted away in the garret, a wave of the heavenly air resuscitated her forever. For everlasting years, to have neither ache, nor pain, nor weakness, nor fatigue. “'Eye hath not seen it, ! ear hath not heard it” I remark, further, that we can in this world get no just idea of the splendor of Heaven. St. John trie* to describe it He says: “The twelve j gates are twelve pearls,” and that j “the foundations of the wall are gar- ] nished with all manner of precious ( stones.” As we stand looking through \ the telescope of St John, we see a blaze 1 of amethyst and pearl, and emerald, j and sardonyx, and chrysoprasus, and j sapphire—a mountain of light, a cataract of color, a sea of glass, and a city like the sun. St John bids us look again, and we see thrones, thrones of the prophets, thrones of the patriarchs, thrones of the angels, thrones of the apostles, thrones of the martyrs, throne of Jesus —throne of Got}, And we turn round to see the glory and it is—Thrones! j Thrones! Thrones! St John bids us look again, and we ; see the great procession of the re- i deemed passing: Jesus, on a white j horse, leads the march, and all the j armies of salvation following on white horses. Infinite cavalcade passing, I passing; empires pressing into line, j ages following ages. Dispensation j tramping on after dispensation. Glory j in the track of glory. Europe, Asia, j Africa and North and South America pressing into lines. Islands of the sea ; shoulder to shoulder. Generations ! before the flood following generations after the flood, and as j Jesus rises at the head of that i great host and waves His sword in signal of victory, all crowns are lifted, and all ensigns flung out. and j all chimes rung, and all hallelujahs j chanted, apd some cry; “Glory to God j most high;” add some: “Hosauna to i the Son of David;” and some: “Worthy j is the Lamb that was slain”—till all j exclamations of endearment and homage in the vocabulary of Heaven are j exhausted, and there come up surge j after surge of “Amen! Amen! Amen!” “Eye hath not seen it, eai hath not j heard it.” Skim from the summer wa- j ters the brightest sparkles, and you ' will get no idea of the sheer of the! everlasting sea. Pile up the splendors j of the earthly cities, and they would ; not make a stepping stone by which | you might mount to the city of God. Every house is a palace. Every step a j triumph. Every covering of the head I a coronation. Every, meal is a ban- i rmot Ti*irovxr ct i*i f rr»tn tlia f Aivoi* n r

wedding bell. Every day is a jubilee, every hour a rapture,-and every mo-^ meat an ecstacy. “Eye hath not seen it, ear hath not heard it” I remark, further, we can get no idea on earth of the reunions of Heaven. If you have ever, been across the sea, and met a friend, or even an acquaintance, in some strange city, you remember how your blood thrilled and how glad you were to see tym. What, then, will be our joy, after we have passed the seas of death, to meet in the bright City of the Sun those from whom we have been long separated! After we have been away from our friends ten or fifteen years, and we come upon them, we see how differently they look. The hair has turned, and wrinkles have come in their faces, and we say: “How you have changed!” But oh, when you stand before the throne, all cares gone from the face, all marks of sorrow disappear, and feeling the joy of that blessed land/methinks we will say to each other, with an exultation we can not long imagine: “How you have changed." In this world we only meet to part. It is good-by, good-by. Farewells floating jn the air. We hear it at the rail-car 'window, and at the steamboat wharf—good-by. Children lisp it, and old age answers it. Sometimes we say it in a light way— “good-by;” and sometimes with anguish in which the soul breaks down. Good-by! Ah! that is the word that ends the thanksgiving banquet; that is the word that oomes in to close the Christmas chant. Good-by! good-by! But not so in Heaven. Welcomes in the air, welcomes at the gates, welcomes at the house of many mansions—but, no good-by. That group is constantly being augmented. They are going up from our cities of earth to join it— little voices to join the anthem—little hands to take hold of it in the great home circle—little feet to dance in the Eternal glee—little crowns to be cast down before the feet of Jesus. Our friends are. in two grodps— a group this side of the river, and a group on the other side of the river. Now there goes one from this to that, and another from this to that, and soon we will all be gone over. How many of your loved ones have,already entered upon that blessed place? If I should take paper and pencil, do you think I could put them down? Ah, my friends, the waves of Jordan roar so hoarsely, we can not hear the joy on the other side, where their group is augmented. It is graves here, and coffins and hearses here. A little child’s mother had died, and they comforted her. They said: “Your mother has gone to Heaven—don’t cry;” and the next day, they went to the gravayard, and they laid the body of the mother down into the ground; and the little girl came up to the verge of the/ grave, and, looking down at the baby of heir mother, said: “Is this % i

Heaven?” Oh, we have no idea wha4 Heaven is. It is the grave here—it ha darkness here—bnt there is merry* making yonder. Methinks when at soul arrives, some angel takes ib around to show it the wonders of that blessed place. The uaher-angei say* to the newly arrived. “These are the martyrs that perished at Piedmont; these were torn to pieces at the Inquisition; this is the throne of the great/ Jehovah; this is Jesus!” “I am going* to see Jesus,” said a dying negro boy.1 “1 am going to see Jesus;” and the missionary said: “You are sure you will see Him?” “Ob! yes; that's what t want to go to Heaven for” “But,* said the missionary, “suppose that Jesus should go away from Heaven— what then?” “I should follow Him,* said the dying negro boy. “But if Jesus went down to hell—what then?* The dying boy thought for a moment, and then he said: ”Massa, where Jesus is there can be no helL* Oh, to stand in His presence. That will be Heaven! Oh, to put our hand in that hand which was woundfd for us on tlie cross—to go around amid all the groups of the redeemed, and shake hands with the prophets, and apostles, and martyrs, and with our own dear, beloved ones!. That will be the great reunion; we cam not imagine it now, our loved ones seem so far away. When we are in trouble and lonesome, they don't seem to come to us. We go on the banks of the Jordan and call across to them, but -they don't seem to hear. We say: “Is it well with the child? it is well with the loved ones?” and we listen to hear if any voice comes back over the waters. None! none! Unbelief says: "They are dead and extinct forever,” Inft, blessed be God. we have a Bible that tells us different. We open it and find that they are neither dead nor extinct —that they never were so much alive as now—that they are only waiting for our coming, and that we shall join them- on the other side of the river. Oh. glorious reunion; we can not grasp it now. “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.” I remark again, we can in this World get no idea of • the song of Heaven. You know there< la nothing more inspiring than music. In the battle of Waterloo, the Highlanders were giving away, and Wellington found out that the hands of music had ceased playing. He sent a quick dispatch, telling them to play, with utmost spirtt, a battle march. Th* music started, the Highlanders were rallied, and they dashed on till the day was won. We appreciate the power of secular music; hut do we appreciate the power of sacred song? There is nothing more inspiring to me than a whole congregation lifted up on the ways of holy melody. When we sing some of those dear old psalms and tunes they rouse all the memories of the past. Why, some of them were cradle-songs in our father’s house. They are all sparkling with the morning dew of a thousand Christian Sabbaths. They were sung by brothers and sisters gone now—by voices that were aged and broken in the

cause they did tremble and break. When 1 hear these old songs sung, it seems as if all the old country meet- - ing -homes joined in the chorus, and Scotch kirk and Sailor’s Bethel and Western cabins, until the whole continent lifts the doxology and the scepters of eternity beat time to the music. Away then with your starveling tunes^ that chill the devotions of the sanctuary, and make the people sit silent when Jesus is coming to Hosanna, But, my friends, if music on earth is so sweet, what will it be in Heaven! They all know the tune there. Me* thinks the tune of Heaven will be made up partly from the songs of earth: the best parts of all our hymns and tunes going to add tp the song of Moses and the Lamb. All the best singers of all the ages will join it— choirs of white-rooed children! choirs of patriarchs! choirs of apostles! Morning stars clapping their cymbals. Harpers with their harps! Great . anthems of God, roll1 on! roll on!— other empires joining the harmony till the thrones are full of it. and the nations all saved. Anthem shall touch anthem, chorus join chorus, and all the sweet sounds of earth and Heaven be poured into the ear of Christ. David of the harp will be there. Gabriel of the trumpet will be there. Germany, redeemed, will pour forth '* its deep bass voice into the song, and Africa will add to the music with her matchless voices. I wish we could anticipate that song. I wish in the closing hymns of the churches to-day we might catch an echo that slips from the gates. Who , knows but that when the Heavenly doors opens to-day to let some soul through there may come forth the strains of the jubilant voices until we catch it? Oh, that as the song drops down from Heaven it might meet half Way a song coming up from earth! Church Work. When the church comes to be looked upon by its members as a very respectable place, for respectable people, and no one else, it is recreant to duty and does not represent Christ, who came to seek and save the lost. We hear, it is said, that the Gospel has not done all we mightexpect in any one country, city or village. I reply: The Gospel has never yet been accepted, lived and practiced by all the inhabitants of any land, city or tillage. If it had, it would have made a paradise. —Rev. William Wilkinson, Minneapo-, lis, Minn. The Church In Danger. * > The church has gone over into the world. The world has entered the pew. Wealth, not piety, controls far* too many of our churches. The modern; church is too ready to sanction any form of worldliness that is not toe open and flagrant a breach of all rea-' sonableness. Christianity must first save itself before it can hope to save America — Rev. S. H. Fitzwilliam*, Baptist, Pittsburgh, Pa