Pike County Democrat, Volume 26, Number 25, Petersburg, Pike County, 1 November 1895 — Page 3

M. MoO. STOOPS, Editor sad Proprietor. PETERSBURG. • • • INDIANA. SHE AND HER PARENTS. There's • house • few miles from the city 1 frequently linger outside: "*Tts the home of » msid who i» pretty, A meld I would like for my pride Jf fesr that 1 never shell win her. My passion is boneless and mute. *m sure that her pareuts would skin her If they thought that she smiled on my suit , Her eyes are the purest and brightest That ever encouraged a hope: Her skin Is the softest and whitest That ever shed luster on soap: Her hair la the richest and goldest That ever a hairdresser dressed: , .And her parents are surely the coldest A heroine ever possessed. iHer voice, it's a mezzo-soprano. Would make even Patti afraid. .And the way that she plays the piano Puts Rubinstein quite in the shade. More perfect she Is than perfection; Resign her I can’t and I won’t! • .And she looks upon me with affection. But her parents—oh. bother them!—don't ‘They Intend her to marry a title; They want to address her, “Your grace.” Tney’ve made up their minds this Is vital. Which scratches me out of the raoe. , Nor do I, in theory, blame them; She's worthy a duke, I aver. , . It’s true I'd be puzzled to name them A duke that Is worthy of her. Oh, I know she’s beyond and above me: I deserve to be hung, l*m aware. For presuming to think she could love me, But 1 don’t altogether despair. For my heart undergoes an expansion When 1 think, what I’ll tell you about, <Of tbat night when 1 called at her mansion And her parents, God bless them, were out. •When I think of the way she received me, » Of the way and the words that I spoke; -Of the day that she blushed and believed me; Of the sixpence we solemnly broke; Of tbe mutual hopes we confided. As we blended our voices In song, .And that rapturous kiss we divided— Well, her parents oango to Hong Kong! -Idler. ALMOST A TRAGEDY

m (Stories oJ rivals in love being to.%ether on the trapeze are common •enough, but the following is true.) We had been partners, Jim and I, for just upon ten years in the flying trapeze line of business. We were •called the Brothers Darealli, and, ’without boasting (“gassing,” we called It in the profession), we deserved the name, for-there was no feat, however -difficult or risky, but what we would undertake and excel in. We were devoted to our work and to each other. J im was twenty-seven and I was twenty-nine; we had started before either of us was twenty. We were both single and had nothing to worry .-about, so were as happy as it is possible for two young fellows to be. Our attachment was so noticeable that our associates called us the Corsican brothers and other classic names which I don’t recollect. And, I repeat, we were as happy as possible until H •woman came between us. A woman! Tfo, she was a witch, a fiend. To all appearance she was a veritable Arcadian, so guileless did she seem. She was sweetly pretty, had a charming little figure and a sweet voice; but was as deceitful as delightful. I fell a victim to her wiles first, and if ever a man was an abject slave to a woman I was. If I were clever with my pen, perhaps I might express myself more poetically, but in plain^ prose I was “fool and tool!” * I’ve heard of serpents fascinating 'their victims with a glance. If ever there was a human serpent, that reptile was Flora Denbigh. If ever there * was a poor creature absolutely enchanted, that victim claims to be the writer of this narrative. I had never been in love before, so was as clay in the hands of the potter. It came about this way:

One evening1, after the performance, <* telegram was handed in to Jim. I noticed he looked agitated, and asked the reason. “My mother!” he faltered. “She is •dangerously ill, Jack—she is asking for me. I must go to her.” “Why, of course you must,” said I “But how about the engagement? Old Morritz won’t let us break it without paying forfeit, and that’ll be hard on you, Jack.” “Not so hard as you being prevented -from seeing your mother,” I rejoined. *“It won’t ruin us, Jim; besides, perhaps he’ll let me do a single turn till .you get back.” “No,, no, Jack,” he exclaimed. “'You’ve not been used to it of late. You’ve got too heavy for leaps—why, .you’ve only been bearer the last few years,” which was true enough, the "bearer being the one who catches the •other as he does flying leaps, etc. Still I felt confident in my powers, and told Jim so. Well, it was arranged at last that I «houldmo a ground show—that is, on the platform only—with a whispered suggestion from old Morritz, our proprietor, that I could do a “hariel hact,” --as he called it, when Jim was gone. I nodded assent, and saw my partner off by the train to London that very might. On the second evening I walked Into the private bar of the hotel where we - were stopping and met my fate! The first glance she shot at me out -of her violet eyes (with a gleam of yellow in them) did the business. I •called for refreshment, and then stammered out: *Er—good evening, miss. 1—er—haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you before.” “But I’ve seen you,” she said; the melody of her voice no one could imagine and she smiled as an angel might. •“Yes, I’ve seen you,” she repeated; “at. the circus last night. How splendid you looked, and how brave you must be. I’m so pleased to know you.” I must here mention that I was doing a “hariel hact” in accordance with «the governor’s wish, -and good reason

I lwd to be thankful for it, as after events will show. When she said she was pleased to know me I blushed like a girl and muttered some idiotic answer. ‘•You see,*’ she continued, “I’vs been on a visit, and only came home last night. I'm, the daughter of the house, as they call it.” ’• She laughed delightfully, and I stayed there completely captivated until her father bloeed the bar. From that time every hour and minute I had at my disposal I passed in her society. At last I mustered up courage, told her I loved and worshiped her, and asked her to marry me. She would give no definite answer, but I thought it would be all right, she seemed so single minded and affectionate. Three weeks flew by, and I lived in a fool’s paradise, until one evening I was positively startled on seeing Jim walk in. Of course, I was delighted to see him. Aa we shook hands heartily he told me that his mother had quite recovered. “Pray introduce me to your friend, Mr. Darealli,” said Flo, as she flashed a glance at him. , “lie is my partner, friend and brother,” I responded. “Jim, this young lady is Miss Flora Denbigh; I am permitted to eail her Flo, and so may you, if she does not object.” “Oh, I don’t mind, as he’s your brother,” she said, smiling archly, “and a much younger brother, too.” “Not much younger,” observed Jim. pressing the hand she presented; then, us my eyes followed Flora’s, I noticed for the first time how much more handsome and juvenile-looking he was than myself; then, with a pang, I felt sorry he had returned; the next moment I was soundly rating myself for the evil thought; but instinct was right and affection wrong in this case. We renewed our old performance, and I noticed that Flora was at the circus far more often than when I was doing my single turn. It was then that jealousy got hold qf me, and I began to entertain a feeling of distrust for my partner and friend. Of course, I watched him closely, and it soon became plain to me that he was as much in love with Flora as I was. Be it here recorded to his credit that from a shamefaced feeling, bashfulness or stupidity—call it what you will—I had not mentioned that I was virtually, if not actually, engaged to the girl. It is certain that she did not say anything about it, and she, to all appearance, reciprocated Jim’s feelings. At last I got .wrought up to a pitch of desperation and resolved to put an end to the matter.

“Will you be my wife or not, Flo? I asked her one night, when we happened to be alone. She still temporized, and I fully believe now that she thoroughly enjoyed torturing me. “Well, Jack, I like you well enough,” she answered, “but I cannot say I love you yet. Besides, there are—” “Others,” I interposed. “Oh, yes, I know you have dozens of admirers as well as me and one of the principal of them is—” “Jim?” sne suggested, promptly. “You may as well say it as think it. Of course, he likes me, and I like him. But,*’ she added, cOaxingly, “I like you, too, Jack; still, you must wait—"' “And supposing you had never seen Jim?” I suggested. “Oh, goodness knows!” she tittered. “Perhaps I should have accepted you by this time. But there goes eight o’clock; you’ll be late for your turn, as you call it, if you don’t hurry.” I turned and walked slowly away, having plenty of time before me, and no inclination for work. The way to the circus, which was a canvas one, in an open space on the outskirts of the town, was through a shady lane. As I rambled moodily along t noticed, as I neared a bend, a man who drew behind o clump of bushes as I passed. One glance was sufficient—it was Jim! In

to meet Flo. Restraining my passion with grim determination I passed on. then crept through a gap in the hedge and stealthily returned to the spot to listen, like the coward f was, to the forthcoming interview. In a few minutes she came tripping along; the next moment Bhe was in his arms, while he showered kisses upon her upturned faoe. The sight maddened me, and only by tremendous efforts did I restrain myself from rushing upon them. At last she said, as she released herself: “There, that’ll do, Jim. I want to tel! you something.” Then in her pretty, artless fashion, she related our last conversation. Jim listened patiently to the end, and then said, very gravely: “Poor old Jack; I’m sorry to hear this. I wish I’d known it before.” “That wouldn’t have prevented you falling in love with me, though, Jim,** she reasoned. "No,” he retorted, still more gravely, “perhaps not; but it would have prevented me confessing it. Good heavens! What will Jack think of the friend and partner who steals his sweetheart from him?” “Don’t be a baby,” she cried; "you haven’t stolen his sweetheart. I never was his sweetheart. I like old Jack very much—no one could help doing that; but I don’t love him, Jim, like I do— well, some one who is not a hundred miles away.” It was dusk, so it was impossible to see her face, but I could well imagine how she looked at him as she said this. I’m sure no man on earth would have re* si sted the temptation, and Jim didn’t. He embraced her again. I could stand it no more and rushed frantically away, reaching the circus in a state of agitation that was noticed by everyone. “For ’eaven’s sake, Jack, what’s tho matter?” asked old Morrita, “ ’Ave you been a-drinkin?” “No!” I almost shouted. “Pm as sober as a judge. Leave me alone.” He shrank away with a positive |ook of fear on his greasy Jewish features. Having dressed myself, J saw to tho fixing of onr apparatus, taking more

than usual cure to make sure that an the gear wait sound and In good order; whja I knew not, but I shall be thankful for that extra bit of precaution to my dying day. At the very last moment Jim arrived, and had just time to get his war-paint on—that is, don his theatrical finery—when the bell rang for our appearance. As we prepared to go on he looked at me earnestly and whispered: “What’s wrong, Jack?” “I know all!" I hissed. “Let us go through this night’s business, and then part, before worse comes of it.” He flushed crimson through his make-up, but said nothing, and we went on together as usual, meeting with a splendid reception. That evening Jim fairly surpassed himself in skill, grace and daring. I could perceive among the sea of faces below that, of Flora Denbigh, with her eyes fixed admiringly upon him. My blood boiled, I felt sick and giddy, half mad with jealousy and a desire for revenge. We had now reached one of our final acts. I was hanging from the bar by my feet, Jim was at the other trapeze preparing for a flying leap to my hands, whence he was to take a couple of somj ersaults into the net beneath us. He gave the signal, and the next instant was shooting toward me like an arrow. We gripped, and took the usual swing to and fro; us I prepared to let go I felt his clasp on my wrist tightening spasmodically. I knew something was wrong. 1 ; looked down; his eyes met mine with- ; out a sign of intelligenee; they were rolling horribly, filmy and bloodshot —his features were purple and looked swollen, while his form was stiffened | like that of a corpse. Then the awful* I truth came to me like a shock; he was I in a fit of some kind. I was so startled that I nearly let go my hold; w e swayed to and fro more slowly, and stopped dead; the perspiration rolled like rain from my own on his upturned face; the tension on my muscles was becoming unbearable. 1 tried to call for help, but no sound escaped my parched throat. It was evident the onlookers, | professionals and all, thought we wvre i about to perform some new and startI ling feat.

li l was maa oeiore wnn jealousy, 1 was crazy now with horror. What could 1 do? If I dropped him he would falll an inert mass into the net, and either break his neck or burst through and reach the ground crushed and bleeding, if not killed outright, at least crippled for life. His head now fell back and his hold relaxed. What could I do? To support him much longer was impossible. At that suI preme moment there came to me a temptation, so revolting that I shudder now to think of it. He, my rival, was in my power; all 1 had to do was to let him fall, and all would be over. No one could blame me, and no person but Flora could possibly suspect anything. I instinctively looked at her; it was evident that she could see we were in trouble; her eyes were full of a horror too terrible for me to attempt to describe. The temptation grew stronger. Some demon seemed to whisper: ‘ “Let go, fool! Now is your chance. Let go! You can soon get another partner.’* That word restored all my manhood like an electric shock; the reaction was almost unbearable, but I withstood it. With a silent prayer I braced myself up for a last effort to save or die with him. It was now that the result of having recently worked the aerial act singly came to my aid. It had made me as supple and strong as a tiger. Exerting all my powers in a final superhuman effort, I drew Jim up until I clasped him round the waist with my left arm, then raised myself and burden to the bar, grasped it with my disengaged hand, got astride, and dragged Jim up beside me. When it is borne in mind that I had been all this time suspended by my feet, the extraordinary exertion required to perform this act may be imagined. It is certain none but a trained ^thlete could have done it. And exactly how I did it myself I never could tell, but by Heaven’s help I did do it, and we were comparatively safe. By this time the audience had scented danger and were awe-struck; our fellow performers were the same, and a stupendous silence reigned in the vast tent. After a brief rest I regained my power of speech, and called out hoarse

“The rope! the rope!” This aroused the professionals from their stupor, and the climbing rope by which we ascend to the trapeze was brought within my clutch. More dead than alive I slid down it with Jim still in my arms. ******* I was totyl afterward that I cried like a child when I recovered from the swoon into which I had fallen, and learned doctor who happened to be present, also regained his senses. I pulled myself round sufficiently to go with old Morritz, and bow my acknowledgements to the deafening applause with which I was greeted. It was a terrible experience, and I have never been on a trapeze sinee— neither has Jim. We set up in business as makers of gymnastic apparatus, are doing fairly weli and remain better friends than ever. What became of Flora Denbigh ? Oh. she jilted us both and married a rich, retired old tradesman. She,buried him recently, and is quite ready to lead another victim to the altar—but It won’t be Jim or me.—Tit-Bits. There was Dr. Belman. He was playing whist one qvetiing with a maiden lady for a partner. She trumped his best card, and at the end of the hand he ask* 1 her the reason why. “Oh, Dr. Belman," (smilingly), “I judged it judicious.” “Judicious! judicious!! judicious!!! You old fooL** She never again touched a —London Saturday Re view. partner had, by the aid of a When She Tramped.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. Wr«t Disoouree to His New Congregation in Washington. t—oas Drawn from the Roman Aoaphl-thMlm-TiM rtiht Aialait Sin UkMMl to ContwU In th. Arann. Her. T. DeWitt Talmage delivered his opening sermon to his new congress tion in Washington to an audience that filled every portion of the church and left hundreds outside the portala His subject was: “All Heaven Looking On.” being based on the text: Seeing we also are compassed about with •o greet a cloud of witnesses.—Hebrews xiL, i. In this, my opening sermon in the national capital, I give you heartiest Christian salutation. I bethink myself of the privilege of standing in this historio church so long presided over by one of the most remarkable men of the century. There are plenty of good ministers beside Dr. Sunderland, but I do not know of any man except himself with enough -brain te have stood successfully and triumphantly fortythree years in this conspicuous pulpit. Long distant be the year when that Gospel chieftain, shall put down the silver trumpet with which he has marshaled the host* of Israel, or sheathe the sword with which he has struck such mighty blows for God and righteousness. I come to you with the j same Gospel that he has preached, and | to join you in all kinds of work for j making the world better, and I hope to see yon all id your own homes and have you all come and see me, but don’t all come at once; and without any preliminary discourses as to what I propose to do, I begin here and now to cheer you with the thought, that all Heaven is sympathetically looking on. “Seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses.” Crossing the Alps by the Mont Cenis pass, or through the Mont Cenis tunnel, yo\i are in a few hours set down at Verona, Italy, and in a few minutes begin examining one of the grandest ruins of the world—the Amphitheater. The whole building sweeps around you in a circle. You stand in the arena where the combat was once fought or the race ran, and on all aides the seats 'rise, tie? above tier, until you count forty elevations, or galleries, as I shall see fit to call them, in which sat the sena

tors, the kings, and the twenty-five thousand excited spectators. At the sides of the arena, and under the galleries, are the cages in which the lions and tigers are kept without food, until, frenzied with hunger and thirst, they are let out upon some poor victim, who, with his sword and alone, is condemned to meet them. I think that Paul himself once stood in such a place, and that it was not only figuratively, but literally, that he bad “fought with beasts at Ephesus.” The gala day has come. From all the world the people are pouring into Verona. Men, women and children, orators and senators, great men and small, thousands upon thousands come, until the first gallery is full, and the second, third, the fourth, the fifth— all the way up to the twentieth, all the way up to the thirtieth, all the way up to the fortieth. Every place is filled. Immensity of audience sweeping the great circle. Silence! The time for the contest has come. A Roman official leads forth the victim into the arena. Let him get his sword, with firm grip, into his right, hand. The twenty-five thousand sit breathlessly watching. I hear the door at the side of the arena creak open. Out plunges the hal f-starved lion, his tongue athirst for blood, and, with a roar that brings all the galleries to their feet, he rushes against the sword of the combatant. Do you know how strong a stroke a man will strike when his life depends upon the first thrust of his blade? The wild beast, lame and bleeding, slinks back toward the side of the arena; then, rallying his wasting strength, he conies up with fiercer eye and more terrible roar than ever, only to be driven back with a fatal wound, while the combatant comes in with stroke after stroke, until the monster is dead at his feet, and the twenty-five thousand people clap their hands and utter a shout that makes the city tremble.

sometimes the audience came to Bee a race; sometimes to see gladiators fight each other, until the people, compassionate for the fallen, turned their thumbs up as an appeal that the vanquished be spared; and sometimes the combat was with wild beasts. To an amphitheatrical audience Paul refers when he says: "We are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses.” The fact is, that every Christian man has a lion to fight. Yours is a bad temper. The gates of the arena have been opened, and this tiger lias come out to destroy your soul. It has lacerated you with many a wound. You have been thrown by it time and again, but in the strength of God you-have arisen to drive it back. I verily believe you will conquer. 1 think that the temptation is getting weaker and weaker. You have given it so many wounds that the prospect is that it will die, and you shall be victor, through Christ. Courage, brother! Do not let the sands of the arena drink the blood of your soul! Yopr lion is the passion for strong drink. Yon may have contended against it twentv years; but it is strong of body and thirsty of tongue. You have tried to fight it back with broken bottle or empty wiueilask! Nay! that is not .the weapon. With one horrible roar he will seise thee by the throat and rend thee limb from limb. Take this weapon, 'sharp and keen—reach up and get it from God’s armory; the 6word of the Spirit With that thou mayest drive him back and conquer! But why specify, when every man and woman has | lion to fight If there be one here who has no besetting sin, let him speak out for him have I offended. If you liara net

fought .the lion, it ta because you have let the lion eat you up. This very moment the contest goes on. The Trojan celebration, where ten thousand gladiators fought, and eleven thousand wild beasts were slain, was not so terrific a struggle as that which at this moment goes on in many a souL That combat was for the life of the body; this is for the life of the souL That was with : wild beasts from the jnngle; this is with the roaring lion of helL Men think,when they contend against an evil habit, that they have to fight it all alone. No! They stand in the center of an immense circle of sympathy. Paul had been reciting the names of Abet, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac. Joseph. Gideon and Barak, and then says: "Being compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses.” Before I get through, I will show you that you fight in.an arena, around which circle, in galleries above each other, all the kindling eyes and all the sympathetic hearts of the ages, and at every victory gained there comes down the thundering applause of a great multitude that no man ean number.; "Being compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses.” On the first elevation of the ancient amphitheater, on the day of a celebration, sat Tiberias, or Augustus, or the reigning king. So, in the great arena of spectators that watch our struggles, and in the firpt divine gallery, as I shall call it, sits our King, one Jesus. On His head are many crowns! The Roman emperor got his place by coldblooded conquests; but our King hath come to His place by the broken hearts healed, and the tears wiped away, and the souls redeemed. The Roman emperor sat, with folded arms, indifferent as to whether the swordsman or the lion beat; but our King's srapathies are all with us. Nay, pnheardof condescensions! 1 see Him come down from the gallery into the arena to help us in the fight, shouting until all up and down His voice is heard: "Fear not! I will help thee! I will strengthen thee by the right hand of my power!” They gave to the men in the arena, in the olden time, food to thicken their blood, so that it would flow slowly, and that for a longer time the people might gloat over the scene. But onr King has no pleasure in our wounds, for we are bone of His bone, flesh of His flesh, blood of His blood. In mil the anguish of our heart.

iao nttu ui ouuun a uumj u u. Once, in the ancient amphitheater, a lion with one paw caught the com* batant’s sword and with his other paw caught bis shield. The man took his knife from his girdle and slew the beast. The king, sitting in the gallery, said: “That was not fair; the lion must be slain by a sword." Other lions were turned out, and the poor victim fell. You cry: “Shame! shame!” at such meanness. But the »King, in this case, is our brother, and Ue will see that we have fair play. He will forbid the rushing out of more lions than we can meet; He will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able. Thank Qod! The King is in the gallery! His eyes are on us. His heart is with us. “Blessed are all they who put their trust in Him!" I look again, and 1 see the angel to gallery. There they are; the angel that swung the sword at the gate of Eden, the same that Ezekiel 6aw upholding the throng of God, and from which 1 look aw«J for the splendor is insufferable Here are the guardian angels. That one watched a patriarch; this one protected a child. That one has been pulling a soul out of temptation! All these are messengers of lightl Those drove the Spanish Armada on the rocks. This turned Sennacherib’s living hosts into a heap of one hundred and eighty-five thousand corpses. Those yonder chanted the Christmas carol over Bethlehem, until the chant awpke the shepherds. These, at creation, Btood in the balcony of Heaven and serenaded the new-born world wrapped in swaddliug clothes of light. And there, holier and mightier than all is Michael, the archangel. To command en earthly host gives dignity; but this one is

leader of leader of the twenty thousand chariots of God. and of the ten thousand times ten thousand angels. I think God gives command to the archangel, and the archangel to the seraphim, and the seraphim to the cherubim, until all the lower orders of Heaven hear the command, and go forth on the high behest. Though the arena be crowded with temptations, we shall, with the angelic help, strike them down in the name of our God. and leap on their fallen carcasses. Oh, bending throng of bright, angelic faces, and swift wings and lightning foot! I hail you, to-day, from the dust and struggle of the arena!. Hook again, and I see the gallery of the prophets and apostles. Who are those mighty ones up yonder? Hosea, and Jeremiah, and Daniel, and Isaiah, and Paul, and Peter, and John, and James. There sits Noah, waiting for all the world to come into the ark; and Moses, waiting till the,last Red sea shall divide; and Jeremiah, waiting for the Jews to return; and John, of the Apocalypse, waiting for the swearing of the angel that Time shall be no longer. Glorious spirits! Ye were howled at; ye were stoned; ye were spit upon! They have been in the fight themselves, and they are all with us. Daniel knows all about lions. Paul fought with beasts at Ephesus. 1 look again, and I see the gallery of the martyrs. Who is that? Hugh Latimer, sure enough! He would not apologize for the truth preached; and so he died, the night before ^swinging from the bed post in perfect glee at the thought of emancipation. Who are that army of six thousand six hundred and sixty-six? They are the Theban legion who died for the faith. Here is a larger host in magnificent art ayeight hundred and eighty-four thousand—who perished for Christ in the persecutions of Diocletian. Yonder is a family group, Felicitas, of Rome, and her children. While they'were

dying for the faith aha stood encouraging thorn One son wan whipped to death by thorn; another was flung from a rock; another was beheaded. At last the mother became a martyr. There they are, together—a family group in Heaven! Yonder is John Bradford, who said* in the fire: “We shall have a merry supper with the Lord to-night!" Yonder is Henry Yoes, who exclaimed, as he died: “If I had ten heads, they should all fall off for Christ!" The great throng of the martyrs! They had hot lead poured down their throats; horses were fastened to their hands, and other horses to their feet, and thus they were pnlled apart; they had their tongues pnlled out by red-hot pincers; they were sewen np in the skins of animals, and then thrown to the .dogs; they were daubed with combustibles and set on fire! If all the martyrs’ stakes that have been kindred could be set at proper distances, they would make the midnight, all the world, over, bright as noonday! And now they sit yonder in tW^ martyrs’ gallery. For them the fires of persecution have gone out. The swords are sheathed and the mob hushed. Now theywatch us with an all-observing sympathy. They know all the pain, all the hardship, all the anguish, all the injustice, all the privation. They can not keep stilL They cry: “Courage! The fire will not consume. The floods can not drown. The lions can not .devour. Couragel down there in the arena.” What, are they all looking? This night we answer hack the salutation they give, and cry: “Hail! sons and daughters of the fire!” „ I look again, and I see another gallery, that of eminent Christians. What strikes me strangely is the mixing in companionship of those who on earth could not agree. There I see Martin Luther, and beside Jum a Roman Catholic who looked beyond the superstitions of his church, and is saved. There is Albert Barnes, and around him the presbytery who tried him for heterodoxy! Yonder is Lyman Beecher, and the chureh court that denounced him! Stranger than all there is John Calvin and James Arminius! Who would have thought that they would sit so lovingly together. There is George Whiteflld, and the bishops who would not let him come into their pulpits because they thought him a fanatic. > There are the sweet singers. Toplady, Montgomery, Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts and Mra. Sigourney. If Heaven had had no musie lu, 9 — - - - 4 1, a n M«A M 4 .. M 4 V. n n Y IkOWA

started the singing. And there, the band of missionaries: David Abeel, talking of China redeemed; and John Scudder, of India saved; and David Brainerd, of the aborigines evangel* ized; and Mrs. Adoniram Judson, whose prayers for Bormah took Heav* en by violence! All these Christians are looking into the arena. Oar struggle is nothing to theirs Do We, in Christ’s cause, suffer from the cold? They walked Greenland's icy mountains. Do we suffer from the heat? They sweltered in the tropics. Do we get fatigued? They fainted, with none to care for them but canni* bals. Are we persecuted? They were anathematized. And as they looltjfrom their gallery and see us falter inHhe presence of the lions, I seem to bear Isaac Watts addressing us in his old hymn, only a little changed: - Must you be carried to the skies On flowery beds of esse. While others fought to win the prise. Or sailed through bloody seas? Toplady shouts in his old hymn: Your harps, ye trembling saints, Down from the willows take; Loud to the praise of lore divine. Bid every string awake. I look again, and I see the gallery ol our departed. Many of those in the other galleries we have heard of; but these we' knew. Oh! how familial their faces! They sat at our tables, and we walked to the house of God in company. Have they forgotten usl Those fathers and mothers started us on the road of life. Are they oareless as to what be* comes of us? And those children: do they look on with stolid indifference as to whether we win or lose this bat* tie for eternity? Nay; I see that child

running ms n&na over your crow ana saying: “Father, do not fret.” “Moth.* er, do not worry.” They remember the day they left us. They remember the agony of the last farewell. Though years in Heaven, they know out faces. They remember our sorrows. They watch this fight for Heaven. Nay; I see them rise up and lean over, and wave before us their recognition and encouragement. That gallery it not full. They are keeping places fox us. After we have slain the lion th$y expect the king to call us, saying: "Come up higher!” Be* tween the hot struggles in the arena 1 wipe the sweat from my brow, and stand on tiptoe, reaching up my right hand to clasp theirs in rapturous hand*shaking, while,their voices come ring* ing down from thef gallery, crying: “Be thou fakhful unto death, and yon shall have a crown!” Sure I must fight it I would reign— Be faithful to my Lord; And bear the cross, endure the pain. Supported by Thy word. Thy saints in ail this glorious war Shall conquer, though they die; They see the triumph from afar, And seize it with their eye. When that illustrious day shall rise. And all thine armies shine In robes of victory through the skies. The glory shall be thlta My hearers! shall we die in theareun or rise to join our friends in the gal* lery? Through Christ we may come off more than conquerors. A soldier, dying in the hospital, rose up in bed in the last .moment and cried: “Herel here!” His attendants put him back on his pillow and asked him why he shouted “Here!” “Oh; I heard the roll-call of Heaven, and I was only answering to my name!” I wonder whether, after this battle of life ia over our names will be called in the master roll of the pardoned and glorified, and with the joy of Heaven breaking upon oar soals, we shall cry: “Here! herel"