Pike County Democrat, Volume 26, Number 17, Petersburg, Pike County, 6 September 1895 — Page 3

®tu l^itu €0tmtt) fmuvixt K. KeO. STOOPS, Editor tad Proprietor. PETERSBURG. - - - INDIANA. ON THE HOCKS. BT MARY KYLE DALLAS.

T is such a pretty place— such ft sweet place! I am so glad we came here! It is not a Tillage, or a lot of cottages

Attached to a hotel, or a place wnere .you can look out of the window and aee a row of houses going up and a plumber putting in gas-pipes. It’s not suburban. It is rural. In fact, it is Teal country. The people, too, how nice they are! They try to make you happy. There is not an extra for anything, and they 4five you the best things to eat. Fruit and milk—all the milk you wankjand I want plenty—and home-made bread and pie and cake. Numl num! nurn! How good it is! And curds and whey and pot-cheese and smear-kase and ■cream. No, they are not the same. ‘There’s a great difference. Ask Aunt Abby if there is not. Aunt Abby is Uncle Abijah’s wife. She doesn’t want us to call her Mrs. Smith. She says if w*e do she shall think we are not comfortable. So we never do. She calls her husband “Pa,M ,and he calls her *‘Ma,” though they haven't any chil- • dren, and never had any but a little baby, who died. She says it looked exactly like Lilly’s wax doll. Lilly is my little niece. There is a big wooden •cradle in the sitting-room, always made up with a pink patchwork quilt and a ruffled pillow, and once Lilly put her doll into it. Aunt Abby came in, and saw it, and began to cry.

Then she told Sister Laura about tne "baby, and how much it looked like the ^doll. It made her feel badly that day, but since then she often asks Lilly to put it there, au4,she say? she can sit •♦down in the rocking-chair and darn Uncle Abijah’s stockings, and sing “‘Bye-o-Baby Bunting” and “Rock-a-"bye Baby Upon the Tree-Top,” and aft■«er awhile the present flies away and the past comes back, and pretty soon she -feels as if she was a pretty young mother again, and Lilly’s doll her baby -asleep in its cradle. I know what she means; I have had •day dreams like that. Dear me, I hope 3 am not growing sentimental; it would not be a bit like me if I were. I’ve always laughed at sentimental people. □ I remember, when Sister Helen was •engaged, I used to laugh at her because she looked, at the moon and •■quoted Tennyson; and when Mr. Boreinn took me to see “Claud Melnotte,” I laughed at it. Mr. Boreum was offended; he shed tears, and that made me laugh harder. Oh, dear me, what is it that Romeo says: “He jests at scars who never telt a wound." -She, also, I suppose. I was very young sand light hearted then, when I saw all those plays with Mr. Boreum, who nv-as so much iu love with me, and l laughed at everything. I laughed most of all at him, a middle-aged man, who looked as if he had “stolen a bag of meal.’Uike the king in the nursery rhyme, and buttoned his coat over to hide it. He used to sigh like a furnace. I declare, I’m quoting poetry my«aelf now. I wonder what has come ♦over me? And I believe grandma ♦wanted me to marry him. She said he was a perfect gentleman of the old ■school, and that there were few like .■him in this world, nowadays. “Such a fine presence—so chivalrous.” And I •said: “Why don’t you have him yourself, grandma?” and she boxed my •oars. I really meant it; I should,have liked him very much for a step-grand-father. & ” Afterward I kissed grandma’s hand .and apologized, and told her I’d do any penance she appointed. That I’d go down to Trinity church, all the way

THE VERT EDGE OF A BIG BOWLDER SITS FRED.

•down Broadway, with peas in my -shoes, or go down cellar and flog mysself with the carpet beater, or have my head shaved and go to the next .Small-and-Early so, or anything, and 1 xnade her laugh at last; and then shfe made me cry, for she told me that she had had many offers of marriage sinee grandpa died, but had refused all, be■cause a woman who had loved once never loved again, and the very suggestion that she could marrj? a second time made her furious, even now that she was fifty-five. Yen, it is five years ago since she Boxed ray ears—five years since I refused Mr. Boreum, who would propose ~tt> me. I was seventeen then. I am “twenty-two now, and very much alst scars who never felt a ■wound ” I’ve quoted that before, but it keeps coming into my »ind. I wouldn’t have Sister Laura know it for worlds, but since then I’ve been in •love myself. If grandma was right, 1 "tered. '“He Jests

shall never love again. I often wonder if that is so. Women who truly love, love but once. And, ah! 1 truly loved him. My heart isn’t broken, and I’ve just as good an appetite as ever; but live years ago I wouldn’t have come here when I could have gone to a place where there were fashionable folk and great dinners, and dancing and driving and beaux—above all, beaux. Aunt Starling would have taken me to such a place, but I chose to come here with Laura and Lilly and the baby. Laura came here for the children’s sake. And the only change we have is when my brother-in-law comes down on Saturday afternoons. Of course,, that is delightful for Laura. And Frank sleeps in the hammock all Sunday. And I take Lilly out into the woods or up ’The Rock,” as they call it It is a great rock on the summit of a hill, overhanging a meadow. I love Lilly dearly. I intend to live for her. Iam studying medicine— I forgot to mentiem that—and 1 shall graduate, and get a large practice, and make a fortune, and leave it all to her. I must live for other people’s children now, if grandma was right and women love but once. I go up there on the Rock on Sunday afternoon, and think it all over. We sit under a wild cherry tree. Lilly adores wild cherries, and stuffs herself with them; and I keep the child on the gre,en, sloping side of the hill. On the other the Rock bulges over, and it seems a good way above the world, almost like a mountain; and I think and think until, as Aunt Abby says, it a{l seems more real thau real things do. j I am eighteen again* and Fred and I—I used to eall him Fred to myself— | Frederic Farnham is his name—are out |

m the Men vales’ yacht. They at home did not like my going; neither mamma nor grandma approved of Mrs. Meri■vale, and I only wanted to go because Fred was going. Oh, those moonlight nights! I feel frightened sometimes, they come back to me so plainly, and I see Fred’s eyes again—actually see them all full of love. Fred has such wonderful eyes; they blazed like diamonds. Yes, even when it was almost dark; and when he held my hand I was perfectly happy. I thought him so good and trusted him so implicitly, until the time when I saw him with his arm around Mrs. Merivale’s waist. I had noticed little things before, but that was the final blow. It was late, and they thought I had gone to sleep, but I came back to look for a scarf which I had dropped, and there they were. A married woman! I was so angry that I did not break down before them- Fred tried to make me believe that there was ho harm in it, next day. She said she felt*gi<idy and asked him to keep her from falling, he told me. Even if that was true, I answered him, he should have refused or offered his arm. “She said: ‘Put your arm around my waist, I am going to fall.’” He laughed. “Come, now, what sort of a cad would I have been not to do it?” “Suppose it had been I and Mr. Merivale?” I said. “An utterly different case,” he answered. But I would not be persuaded that black was white. It ended in a downright quarrel. All was over when I went home. > “You were right about Mrs. Merivale, and I wrong.” was all I told even mamma. Fred and I have never met since. He seems to have vanished from the world. I wonder where he is gone? If I should meet him I would simply ignore him, and yet I shall never feel to anyone as I did to him, never! And no doubt a wicked woman has some power'; nice ones do not understand to make men do foolish things. I don’t suppose Fred was anything but foolish, but that sort of folly in a husband would make a wife’s life unendurable. There is the stage driving up to the door. Some one getting out of it. It is a man with a valise. Well, if we must have other boarders, 1 am glad they are not women. Men go away and fish or shoot, and women are “in evidence” all the time; so is their hideous fancy-work. But I’ve ratherhated women, I confess, since that experience on the Merivales’ yacht. Yes, I am becoming a sour, unpleasant spinster. I don’t love anybody but you, Lilly. You are your aunty’s streak of sunshine. There’s the tea-bell. Come along. For people with good appetites, like you and me, Lily, Aunt Abby's teas make life worth living. “Miss Fannie, we’ve got a new boarder,” said Aunt Abby. “Pa brought him down quite unexpected. He’s real good-lookin’, too. Just a nice beau for you. And he’s a great traveler. Been to Egypt, pa tells me, with an expedition, and has seen all them sphinxes and pyramids and things that the dominie tells us about in his sermons. I should say he’d be interesting company. The stage got in some late, and lie’s upstairs, washing his face and hands. It wiU be livelier for you, won’t it?”

The next minute I heard Uncle Abijah coming along the entry, talk* ing at the top of his voice, as he alI ways did. “Yes,” he was saying, ”it’s a sightly place, and it was right lonely when I first remember, but non there’s a lot of folks scattered ’round. In father’s early days the deer used to come down out of the woods to eat the buckwheat. He shot many a one over them fences This is the dining-room; walk right in. Folkses, this is our new boarder. This here is my wife. *These is Mrs Morton and her little gal. This is her sister, Miss Fannie. You can sit down ’longside of her, Mr.—I dis remember your name, and can’t call It-” “My name is Farnham,” said a voice I well remembered, and looked up and saw Fred, and for a moment all the faces around the table danced' before me. Fred there, and he had been to Egypt! That was how he had vanished from the face of the earth. To Egypt! WtisJL a strange place for Fred, who always seemed to me to belong so completely to New York that 1 could not

fancy him in any other surrounding*— and he had been to Egypt! There was something comical in the idea that saved me from fainting* and enabled me to eat my supper as usual. Laura did not know Fred. Our little affair had begun and ended while she was away in Europe. Frank took her to Europe when they were married* and they staid a year. One little year. What a difference it can make in a per* son’s life! Does he fancy that I hare no principle? I told him that I never would speak to him again, and I haven’t, and I will not—never, never, never again. A whole week has passed* and I have been true to myself—not a word have 1 uttered. It is bunday; Frank is down. Laura and he are making fools of themselves over the baby. Aunt Abby is sitting beside the old woodea cradle with Lilly’s doll in it, reading “Watt’s Hymns.” I’ve brought Lilly out here to the Rock. As I sit “looking off,” as Aunt Abby says, I am thinking again. If I had never caught Fred with his arm about Mrs. Merivale’s waist, and had not quarreled and had been married* should we have begn happy now, as Laura and ifrank are? When years had gone by, should I have been as fond of him as Aunt Abby is of that queer old Uncle Abijah, or would we be among the people who have found marriage a mistake? It is silly to ask myself the question, now that I have resolved to study medicine and devote myself to Lilly. Hut just as I came to this— “Man. do you want some cherries?” pipes her little voice, and she stretches her hand out across me, full of the black fruit, and I look. On the very

edge of a big bowlder, with his feet hanging over, sits Fred, looking at me. And he says: “Thank you,” and takes the fruit from her purple-stained paw, and in doing so his hand touches me. It is not like the touch of any other person’s hand, and the next moment he has the impudence to say: “Fannie, how long do you mean to keep this up?” But 1 simply turn my head away. “What is the use, dear?” he goes on. “We must be friends again some day, nothing can part us forever. I’ve been to Egypt, but you were there with me. Yes, on the top of the pyramids yon came and sat beside me, as we sit here.” “No such thing,” said I, “it was Mrs. Merivale, and you had your arm about her waist! Come, Lilly, let us

THERE THET WERE.

go down, since intrusive persons will follow-us about.” 1 stretched out my hand to take that* of the child, but she was not there. When she slipped away I do not know. 1 am sure I was not conscious of neglecting her for a moment. But as I stood up 1 saw her in the meadow be* low, the meadow where a Oreadf ul bull gra zes. She has a little gerAnium-colored sack on, and the creature sees it and lowers his head, and she just stands and looks at him, and long1 before I could get to her—“Oh, my Lilly! My Lilly! My little love!” “Don’t be frightened. I’ll save her!” shouts Fred. And over the rock he goes, catching at a root, a projecting stone, a bough, dropping to his feet straight in front of the bull, snatching Lily up, and in a moment more dropping her oVer the fence. She is safe; but he hasn’t time to cross it. Uncle Abijah is coming with a pitchfork, but he must be too late, and I faint away. The first thing I hear after that is Laura saying: “Now, don’t go off again, Fannie. Here’s Lilly, safe and well. Kiss her.” I lift my head and grow giddy again; but 1 look at Aunt Abby and ask a question with my eyes. She under

stands. , “He is not much hurt, only considerably bruised,” she says. “Pa got there just in time with his pitchfork, though, and we all have reason to be thankful this blessed Sabbath'day.” And I lay back upon my pillow and cried softly, and thought what I would say to Fred when we met again; but, really, I did not say anything. When he was first able tp come downstairs 1 just held out my hand, and he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. We are going home to-morrow, and Fred and I haw come up to the old Rock to say good-by to it. He has been telling me how he thought of me in Egypt, and how he tried to get the sphinx to tell him whether he could ever win my heart again. We are very merry and we laugh a great deal, but it would take very little to bring tears to my eyes. Oh, those long, lonely days when I never dreamed that an hour like this could come! But I shall never teU Fred anything about that Let a man talk of his love, but a woman should keep silence; it is enough for her to feel. ‘ When we go, Laura will leaw Lilly’s doll with Aunt Abby. Lilly will like a new one just as well. And Aunt Abby says it is such a comfort to see it lying in the cradle. Dear old place, good-by! I suppose, being human, time must bring me sorrow, but I cannot believe it just now. Iam too utterly and completely happy. —N. Y. Ledger.

TALMAGFS SERMON. Christ “Cliiefest Among Ten Thou* sand.” Tb« Most Contplrnoni Character of Bis* lory—The Portion of All Via aad , tho Correction of All Evil —Chief 1b Horn von. Rev. T. DeWitt To] mace made selection of a sermon for publication this week on the subject of “The Chieftain.” basin? it upon the text: The chiefest among ten thousand.—Canticles v., 10. . The most conspicuous character of history steps ont upon the platform. The finger which, diamonded with light, pointed down to him from the Bethlehem sky, was only a ratification 6t the finger of prophecy, the finger of genealogy, the finger of chronology, the finger of events—all five fingers pointing in one direction. Christ is the overtopping figure of all time. He is the “vox humana” in all music, the gracefulest line in all sculpture, the most exquisite mingling of lights and shades in all paintings, the acme of all climaxes, the dome of all cathedraled grandeur, and the peroration of all language. The Greek alphabet is made up of twenty-four letters, and when Christ compared himself to the first letter and the last letter, the Alpha and the Omega, he appropriated to himself all the splendors that yon can spell out either with those two letters or all the letters between' them: “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.”

What does tryst Scripture mean which says of Clirist: “He that cometh from Above is above all?” It means after you have piled up all Alpine and Himalayan altitudes, the glory of Christ would have to spread its wings and descend a thousand leagues to touch those summits. Pelion, a high mountain of Thessaly; Ossa, a high mountain, and Olympus, a high mountain; but mythology tells when the giants warred against the gods they piled up these three mountains, and from the top of them proposed to scale the heavens; but the height was not great enough, and there was a complete failure. And after all the giants—Isaiah and Paul, prophetic and apostolic giants; Raphael arid Michael Angelo, artistic giants; cherubim and seraphim and archangel, celestial giants—have failed to climb to the top of Christ’s glory, they might all well unite in the words of Paul and cry out: “Above all!” “Above all!” Bat Solomon in my text prefers to call Christ “The Chieftain,” and so to-day I hail Him. < First. Christ must be chief* in our preaching. There are so many books on homiletics scattered through the country that all laymen, a:; well as all clergymen, have made up their minds what sermons ought to be. That sermon is the most effectual which most pointedly puts forth Christ as the pardon of all sin and the correction of all evil—individual, social, political, national. There is no reason ' why we should ring the endless changes on a few phrases. There are those who think that if an exhortation or a discourse have frequent mention of justification, sanctification, covenant of works and covenant of grace, therefore it must be profoundly evangelical, while they are suspicious of a discourse which presents, the same truth, but under different phraseology. Now, I say there is nothing in all the opulent realm of anglo-Saxonism, of all the word treasures that we inherited from the Latin and the Greek and the Indo-European, but we have a right to marshal it in religious discussion. Christ sets the example. His illustrations were from the grass, the flowers, the barnyard fowl, the crystals of salt, as well as from the seas and the stars; and we do not propose in our Sunday-school teaching and in our pulpit address to.be put on the limits. i <i

I know that there is a great deal said in our day against words, as though they Vtfere nothing. They maj’ be misused, but they have an imperial power. They are the bridge between soul and soul, between Almighty God and the human race. What did God write upon the tables of stone? Words." What did Christ utter on Mount Olivet? Words. Out of what ' did Christ strike the spark for the illumination of the universe? Out of words. “Let there be light,” and light was. Of course, thought is the cargo, and words are only the ship; but how fast would your cargo get on without the ship? What you need, my friends, in all your wx>rk, in your Sabbathschool class, in your reformatory institutions, and what we all need is to enlarge onr vocabulary when we come to speak about God and Christ and Heaven. We ride a few old words to death, when there is such illimitable resource. Shakespeare employed fifteen thousand different words,for dramatic purposes; Milton employed eight thousand different words for poetic purposes; Rufus Choate employed over eleven thousand different words for legal purposes; but the most of us have less than a thousaud words that we can manage, and that makes us so stupid. When we come to set forth the love of Christ we are going to take the tenderest phraseology wherever we find it, and if it has never been used in that direction before all the more shall we use it When we come to speak of the glory of Christ the Conqueror we are going to draw our similes from triumphal arch and oratorio and everything grand and stupendous. The French navy have eighteen flags by which they give signal, but those eighteen flags they cau put into sixty-six thousand different combinations. And I have to tell you that these standards of the cross may be lifted into combinations in- ■ finite and varieties ev erlasting. And let me say to these young men who come from the theological seminaries into our services, and tire, after awhile, going to preach Jesas Christ You will have the largest liberty and an*

limited resource. Ton only have to present Christ in your own way. Brighter than the light, fresher than the fountains, deeper than the seas, are all these ,Gospel themes. Song has no melody, flowers no sweetness, sunset sky no color compared with these glorious themes. These harvests of grace spring up quicker than we can sickle them. Kindling pulpits with their lire, and producing revolutions with their glory, they are the sweetest thought for the poet, and they are the most thrilling illustration for the orator, and they offer the most intense scene for the artist, and they are to the embassador of the sky all enthusiasm. Complete pardon for direst guilt. Sweetest comfort for ghastliest agony. Brightest hope for grimmest death. Grandest resurrection for darkest sepulcher. Oh. what a Gospel to preach! Christ the Chief. His birth. His suffering. His miracles. His parables, His sweat. His tears. His blood, His atonement. His intercession—what glorious themes! Do we exercise faith? Christ is its object Do we have love? It fastens on Jesus. Have we a fondness for the church? It is because Christ died for it Have we a hope of Heaven? It is because Jesus went there, the herald and the forerunner. The royal robe of Demetrius was so costly, so beautiful, that after he had put it off no one ever dared to put it on; but the robe of Christ, richer than that, the poorest apd the. weakest and the worst may wear. “Where sinjibounded. grace may much more abound"”

“Oh, my sms, my sms; said Martin Luther to Staupitz,“my sins, my sins!” The fact is that the brawny (German student hath found a LatinBible that made him quake; and where he found how, through Christ, he was pardoned aiid saved, he wrote to a friend, saying: “Come over and join us great and awful sinners saved by the grace of God. You seem to be only a slender sinner, and you don’t much extol the mercy of God; but we that have been such very awful sinners praise llis grace the more now that you are so desperately egostistical that you feel yourself in first-rate spiritual trim, and that fronj the root of the hair to the tip of the toe you are scarless and immaculate? What you need is a looking-glass, and here it is in the Bible. Poor and wretched and miserable and blind and naked from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot, full of wounds and putrifying sores. No health in us. And then take the fact that Christ gathered up all the notes against us and paid them, and then offered us the receipt! And how much we need Him in our sorrows! We are independent of circumstances if we have His grace. Why, He made Paul sing in the dungeon, and under that grace St John from desolate Patinos heard the blast of the apocalytic trumpets. After all other candles have been snuffed out, this is the light that gets brighter and brighter unto the perfect day; and after, under the .hard hoofs 5of calamity, all the pools of worldly enjoyment have been trampled into deep mire, at the foot of the eternal rock the Christian, from cups of granite lily-rimmed, puts out the thirst of his soul. Again I remark, that Christ is chief in dying alleviations. I have not any sympathy with the morbidity abroad about our demise. The emperor of Constanstinople arranged that on the day of his coronation the stonemason should come and consult him about the tombstone that after awhile he would need. And there are men who are monomaniacal on the subject of departure from this life by death, and the more they think of it the less they are prepared to go. This is an unmanliness not worthy of you, not worthy of me. Saladiu, the greatest conqueror of his day, while dying, ordered that the tunic he had on him be carried after his death on his spear at the head of his army, and that then the soldier, ever and anon, should stop and say: “Behold all that is left of Saladin, the

emperor ana conqueror: ui au x.ne states lie conquered, of all the wealth lie accumulated, nothing did he retain but this shroud.” I have no sympathy with such behavior, or such absurd demonstration, or with much that we hear uttered in regard to departure from this life to the next There is a commonsensical idea on this Sub* ject tthat you need to consider— there are only two styles of departure. A thousand feet underground, by light of torch, toiling in a miner’s shaft, a ledge of rock may fall upou us, and we may die a miner’s death. Far out at sea, falling from the slippery ratlines and broken on the halliards, we may die a sailor’s death. On mission of mercy in hospital, amid broken bones and reeking leprosies and burning fevers, we may die a philanthropist’s death. On the fif&d of battle, serving God and our country, slugs through the heart, the gun cartridge may roll over us, and we may die a patriot’s death. But, after all, there are only two styles of departure—the death of the righteous and the death of the wicked—and we all want to die the former. God grant that when that Jiour comes you may be at home. You want the hand of your kindred in your hand. You want your children to surround you. You want the light on your pillow from eyes that, have long reflected your love. You want your room still. You do not want any curK ous strangers standing around watching you. You want your kindred from afar to hear your last prayer. 1 think that is the wish of all of ns. But is that all? Can earthly friends hold us up when the billows of death come up to the girdle? Can human voice charm open Heaven’s gate? Can human hand pilot us through the narrows of death into Heaven’s harbor? Can any earthly friendship shield us from the arrows of death and in the hour when Satan shall practice upon us his infernal archery? No, no, no, no! Alas! poor soul, if that is aU. Better die in the wilderness, far from tree shadow and

——. .. from fountain, atone, vulture# circling through the air waiting for our body, unknown to men, and to hare no burial, if only Christ could say through the solitudes: “I wilt never leave thee. I will never forsake thee.” Prom that pillow of atone a ladder would soar ^Heavenward, angels coming and going; and across the solitude and the barrenness would come the sweet notee of heavenly minstrelsy. What did the dying Janeway sayf “I can as easily die as doee my eyes or turn my head in sleep. Before a few honrs have passed I shall stand on Mount Zion with the one hundred and forty and four thousand, and with the just men made perfect, and we shall ascribe riches, and honor, and glory, and majesty, and dominion unto God and the Lamb.” Dr- Taylor, condemned to burn at the state, cm hia way thither broke away from the guardsmen, and went bounding, | and leaping, and jumping toward the fire, glad to go to Jesus, i and to die for Him. Sir Charles Hare, j in his last moments, had such Jraptur- | ons vision that he cried: "Upward, upward, upward I” And so great was the peace of one of Christ's disciples, that he put his finger upon the poise | in his wrist and counted St and ob- ' served it; and so great was his piacid- | ity that after awhile he saidt j "Stopped!” and his life had ended here ! to begin in Heaven. But grander than j that was the testimony of the wornout ! first missionary.when.id the Maraertine i dungeon, he cried: "I am now.ready to j be offered, and the time of my depar- ! ture is at hand; 1 have fought the good

fight, I have finished mveourse, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid i up for me a crown of righteousness, ! which the Lord, the righteous Judge, j will give me in that day, and not to ms ' onlvyimt to them that love Disappearing!” Do you not see that Christ is Cnief in dying alleviations? Toward the last hour of our eatthly residence we are speeding. When I see the sunset, I say: “One day less to live.” When I see the spring blossoms scattered I sav: “Another season gona forever.” When I close' the Bible on Sabbath night, I say: “Another Sabbath departed.” When I bury a friend I say: “Another earthly attraction gone forever.” What nimble feet the years havel The roebucks and the lightnings run not so fast From decade to decade, from sky to sky, they go at a bound.. There is a place for us, whether marked or not where yon and I will sleep the last sleep, and the men are now living wb<* will, with solemn tread, carry us 16 our resting place. Aye, it is known in Heaven whether our departure will be acoronation or a banishment Brighter than a banqueting hall through which the light feet of the dancers go up and down to the sound of trumpeters will be the sepulchere through which rifts the holy light' of Heaven streamejdu God will watch you. He will send His angels^to guard your slumbering dust until, ( at Christ’s behest, they shall roll avtay the stone. So, also, Christ is chief in Heaven. The Bible distinctly says that Christ is the chief theme of the celestial ascription, all the thrones facing Ris , throne, all the palms waved before His face, all the crowns down at His feet. Cherubim to cherubim, seraphim to seraphim, redeemed spirit to redeemed spirit, shall recite the Saviour’s earthly sacrifice. Stand oh some high hill of Heaven, and-in all the radiant sweep the most glorious object will be Jesus. Myriads gazing on the scars of His suffering, ia silence first, afterward breaking ferth into acclamation. The martys, all the purer for" the liame through which they passed, wiil say: “This is the Jesus for whom we died.” The apostles, all the happier for the shipwreck and scourging through which ther went, will say: ‘This is the Jesus whom we preached at Corinth, and at Cappadocia, and at Antioch, and at ; Jerusalem. Little children clad in white will say: “This is the Jesus who took us in His arms and blessed us, and when the storms of the world were too cold and loud.

brought us into this beautiful place.” The multitude of the bereft will say: “This is the Jesus who comforted us when our heart broke.” Many who wandered clear off front God and plunged into vagabondism, ; bat were saved by grace, will say: This is the Jesus i who pav^pned us. We were lost on the J mountains, and He brought us home. , We were guilty, and He has made us \yhite as snow.” Mercy boundless, grace unparalleled. And then, -after each one has recited his peculiar deliverandes and peculiar mercies, recited them as by solo, all the voices will come together into a great chorus, which will make the arches echo and re-echo with the eternal reverbration of triumph. ’. Edward I. was so anxious to go to the Holy Land that when he was about j to expire he bequeathed one hundred and sixty thousand dollars to have hia heart, after his decease, taken to this Holy. Land, in Asia Minor, and his request was complied with. Bnt there are hundreds to-day whose hearts are already in the holy land of Heaven. Where your treasures are, there are your hearts also Quaint John Banyan caught a glimpse of that place, and in his quaint way he said: “And I heard in my dxeam, and, lo! the bells of the city rang again for joy; and as they opened the gates to let in the men I looked in after them, and, lo! the city shone like the sun, and there were streets of gold, and men walked on them, harps in their hands, to ring praises withal; and after that they shut up the gates, which when I had seen I wished my self among them!” Linn. There are many forms of lying. There is the open, bold, vulgar lie, the business man’s lie, tbe lie by insinuation—the most dangerous of all—^and the hypocritical lie, when a man pro* fesses to serve God with the lips, yet in his heart and by his life serves the deviL—Rev. J. W. Sproull. Reformed Presbyterian, Pittsburgh, Pm