Pike County Democrat, Volume 26, Number 45, Petersburg, Pike County, 20 March 1896 — Page 3

«hr5ihc<£ounty5fiuofrat M. McC. STOOPS, Editor mod Proprietor. PETERSBURG. - - - INDIANA. 'i THE PICTURE IN MY WATCH* The watch Is rather old, sir, ^ And not of modern m&ke^ '' But ne’er shall It be sold, sir. Though not for ltii own sake. It often tells me lies, sir. About the time of day; It’s really not a prise, sir. At least, so dealers say. But memories surround it That make it dear to me. And 1 have ever found it All that I’d have It be. I'd hardly recommend it At any time or place. And yet I must contend it Reveals a charming face. For, when I look within it. I’m always sure .to see. While it ticks out t he minute, A face that smiles on me. 4 The lecture's somewhat faded, The llnea are dim and faint. For dust has here invaded And left its woeful taint. But still the watch I prize, sir. Just.for the picture’s sake, Though It may tell me lies, sir. And be of ancient make; And It shall ne'er be sold, sir, At any time or place. JCo matter if it’s old, sir. While ”slie'- is in the case. —Chicago Post. ..... ——.. k FOOTHILLS HEROINE,

OONEK or later the trouble was bound to come. For weeks, even months, the lire had been smoul®deringr, ready at the slight est draught to burst

• tjjjjr im ; ojK'n name. Oi tld* me pu was aware, for she commanded the sources of information <h»s«*d to those w ho dwell behind the lattice of respectabllitv. and she made it her business to know everything that concerned Maxwell. The relations • between the two were’strictly honest, nl H-it none gave them credit for that. Hot even Maxwell's w ife, whose vworse fault was a dfeep-rt Kited jealousy of her husband. A positive denial might have carried conviction to the camp, for the girl had never been known to lie: but she was pruud»and reticent, and of tJie law !* ss c iiurt over w hich she reigned none dared to question her, except, later on. dim Brady. and he, learning the truth from her own lips, belie veil; but that was not until events had already precipitated the crisis. is ad managemen* anu a system of shameless peculation had brought affairs at the San Sacn da mine within measurable distance of ruin. The m vv* manager found himself confronted with the task of cleansing an Augean ( table, a pmvss never wholly devoid of risk, but distinctly dangerous in an i.-olatcd community, where the grip of tic* law is'uncertain and every man carries his six-shooter handy. But lucre, as is ever elsewhere, was a party oil the side of order and fair jplay. Maxx*eli relied on the loyal minority to back him ,up. and his own authority end nerve tp do the rest. Within a month of his arrival tie had demonstrated pretty clear!y that he;was often neither to bribery nor intimidation. )!:s ifiiswvr to the first incautious att< riij»t to buy him over was the prompt tiidl vigorous ejection of the agent. He went about unarmed, and the camp knew |t and respected his pluck. Ncvvrlheless. the situation was fraught with jteril, for the malcontents banded th'-msches together and held m<*cti: gs. with elaliorade precautions a> to ki;ri cy. which made occasion lor much ttdl talk, attended by no inconsiderable .consumption of whisky. As the l Mr -rvniated the <»-ntiin.t nt> waxed increasingly incendiary, and dark hints were dropped to the effect that people who would not listen to jeasnn- might find themselves, some fine night, fitted to a “wooden jacket’’ free of charge.- The raw material of mutiny was ready to hand, needing only time and the man to work it up. into the finished product.—murder. All unwittingly, the girl supplied both, for Brady, mad with jealousy and hungering for the word which ht was too proud to ask and she to give.

C A to 111 HER BY THE WRIST. went out to the Cave of Adullam and •wore with many strange oaths to ©bey the commands of the brotherhood, even to the breaking of the older com-, maud, which is ciulsjdied in the sixth clause of the i>ecalogue. The lot was cast and fell, as might have been expected, on the new member, with Silas Field as understudy, in case of accidents. which precaution seemed unnecessary, seeing tha t Brady could snuff * a candle at 50 yards and knock thy pin out of an ace at half that distance. Had the man been a, chinmon ruffian to fere on an osarmal vlctua, MaxwelTs life had paid forfeit/for his honesty. ' but the digger had in his veins good Irish blood, albeit puddled through two or three genenttcoi of monsrel

stoak, and he sent his challenge, like s gentleman, though, for obvious rea sons, it was anonymous. Maxwell laid the document before the girl, for it was through her that he felt t|ie pulse of the camp. He laughed as he did so, tracing with his forefinger the rude outline of a coffin, which did duty as a crest at the top of the paper; but there was no answering smile on her lips, for she recognized the handwriting and knew instinctively that this was no idle threat. She was no alarmist, but she fmplored him to carry a revolver, and chafed when Maxwell refused point blank to do so. “If I*m potted from the rear,” he said. “I’d have no time to use it. and so far events have proved that I’m safer without. Why should I change my habits in obedience to an anonymous threat? .I’m not going to be bullyragged by a set Of thieves. It isn’t the first time theyVe tried the game, either; I’ve had warnings before.” “But not like this.'” She was studying the soiled, crumpled missive, trying to read between

tne lil-speii fines. “Did she—your wife—see this?” He hesitated, for she had never yet been named between them, but the need for open speech was strong1 upon him,»and after a pause he answered her as he would have answered another woman. “Xo; we had a bit of a scene about it. too. She took it into hef head that it was—an assignation. 1 let her think so. It was better than breaking her heart with the truth, though I hate a row, it makes things so uncomfortable.” Bv this she understood that his laugh had not been genuine. , ; “Then you know?” she said, slowly. “Oh. yes, I know,” “And yet will take no precautions?” He shook ht£ head with a smile. “Not though l tell you this means death T “I can't help that, I won't be dictated to." Quite suddenly she caught his hand apd kissed it. “If you had been free—if you had only eared, I—but what use is there «u saying it? I shall save you. and then —then I w ill never see you again." He tried to reason with her. but she .pushed him fiercely iaw ay. “(io!” she said, passionately; “do vou hear me? (io away, go now. at once!” Sorely puzzled, he obeyed, and, as the door closed i>< hind him. she fell to bit?er weeping. Thus, she’ buried the first pure love she had ever known, and on I its grave prepared to sacrifice that which was clearer to her lawless nature | than life itself - her liberty. An hour | later Brady came up the street atul the girl went out to meet him. He tried [■fo pass, but she'la id her hand upon his t’arm. “Come in," she said; “I want a word with you.” The big man shook from head to foot; he could not meet her steady gaze, but he let her lead him into the house. They were alone th- re. she had taken care of that. She stood up facing him. and her eyes never left his for a moment. f “Oh, you fool!” she said; “you fool! hat good eoukl come of it? If I loved the man, should I be so ready to take you when your hands were wet with j blood? And I do not love him. There has been no word of love between us. no,word of aught but honest friendship.'such as those hogs you have Come from know*nothing of. I would have told you that long since, if you had dared to cusk me. I tell you now, of my own free will, and when have 1 ever lied* She threw back her head with a suin' rh gesture of defiance. “But I tell you this. too. my life answers for his. Touch one hair of his head and 1 pay the forfeit with my ow n hand. 1 swear it, before* God. and you know that I shall keep my word.” He strode a step nearer and caught her by the wrist. “Vou love him!" he said, hoarsely. “Vou must, c** yon wouldn't care.” She look* 1 him straight in the eyes and lied intlim hingly., as is the way of a woman who, habitually truthful, is driven to falsehood for the compassing •f grea°t and'unselfish ends. “1 do not -Ifflfe him. but 1 love you. and I will not lyive you a common murderer. A murderer you would be, Jim Brady, for w hat wrong has the man even done to you? It is in your hands. >;ive him and 1 am yours, body and soul, to go where you go, foHow you. live for you. die for you, if need be.” She crept closer and held him.her face level with his. for she was tall, and built on lines a goddess had not disdained. “All that,” she whispered, “for us both, or—for me—your gift. You taught me how to use* it. You know if your pupil did credit to her mister. It will be easier than a card at 23 paces, just to rest the muzzle here.” She raised her huger significantly to her temple. He broke away with a groan and fell into a chair beside the table, hiding his face on his folded arms. She waited a moment, and then knelf down, twining her arms about him. letting her head rest against his shoulder. "My life.” she murmured, “your love, our happiness. Surely it is worth the price of innocent blood.”

He took her roughly by the shoulders. “There has been nothing between \ou—you swear it?*’ “Nothing but honest friendship. I swear it, so help me God!” There was silence, for he knew she was speaking the truth and the knowledge had come too late. As the grip on shoulders loosened, she leaned forward closer. “You will save him—and me? “I san’t. I have sworn to do it. If I backed out now they—I—” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. His eyes were.glazed with passion and wide with a great fear. She drew his face down to hers and kissed him on the mouth. “Tell me,” she whispered, “when?** The man was mad. and she knew it as

The manager’s wife stood in the door way of the little house among.the pine trees. Her eyes were turned away from the track up toward the hills, but her thoughts were far away in the English home she had left to face an unknown world beyond the seas. She had cheerfully turned her back on the old, luxurious life, because then she did not know the meaning of the phrase “rough iiig it;” and to her it had seemed that any life must be beautiful if shared with the man she loved. Sometimes she wondered whether, after all, she bad not made a great mistake. She wondered now, for her heart was heavy with doubts. She could not forget the incident of the letter, and each time she thought of it her anger blazed up afresh, for jealous}” is a master passion, and she believed, had the girl been there, she could have crushed her. Yet, when a shadow fell across the threshold, and the two women stood face to face, it was the wife who started and recoiled. The start was a tribute to the other's marvelous beauty, for they had never met before. The recoil was involuntarily and instinctive. It stung the girl like the stroke of a whip, but it gave her also her opportunity. ♦ She spoke a dozen rapid words, and the Englishwoman uttered a little cry. “Is it—true?” "It is God's truth, and there is only half an hour. If you want to save your

CXCKO BWXD HEH FATHER’S NECK. husband—and he is yours, all yours— we must save l\im together. Neither you nor 1 ban do it aloiie. Are yov ready?” e ’ “1 am ready,—yes—my liat!” She ran into the house. Through the o{>en door the gir* saw her snatch the child from among its playthings on the' tioor, and press it passionately fo her bosom. A light leaped info her eyes. “The child!” she cried, “bring the child! Thev are fond of her, perhaps—” They set out, the mother carrying the baby; but before they had covered a hundred yards she stopped. “Will you take her?” she said. ' “She is heavy—we should—get on faster.” Their eyes met, and the girl understool. She lifted the little one almost reverently. When Maxwell eanSe out of the office he found them together. A hot color flamed in his bronzed cheek, but the girl’s eyes, meeting his. were eloquent, and, though his lips parted, he said nothing. The two women walked on either side, and no one spoke. A few yards from the water ditch they passed a man. e It was Brady. Neither Maxwellnor his wife appeared to not5ce hiskm'es-' enee. but the girl looked him straight iu the face. A moment later a but* let whistled past the manager’s head. He felt the swift beat of the cleft air against his cheek, and, for the space of Half a second, he faltered; then he set his teeth and went on without so much as a backward glance. The women were keeping step, and neither changed feet, though the wife’s breath was drawn in gasps and her faeC was white as marblei Omlyj the child, startled by the sudderk3t‘p°rt- hid her head on the girl’s shoulder and the girl looked ahead to where Silas Field stood waiting. With a sudden movement, she thrust the child into Maxwell’s arms.

“lake her. quick," she said, and her voice shook ever so lightly. “She’s frightened, and I’m tired.” The baby clung around her father’^ neck, pressing her rosy face against his cheek, i Her hat had fallen back; and her fait hair, caught by the wind, was blown across Maxwell’s eves, a golden veil, through the meshes of which; he saw the sudden glint of sunlight on steel. I And they were level with the emissary, of vengeance; but even as they passed, the girl, falling a step behind, covered the manager's body with her own, for they were so near a height that aim at one had meant short shift (or l»oth. The instructions of the Brotherhood had not provided.for such a contingency. Field s nerve forsook him, and his hand dropped with an oath. The three stood at the door of the little house among the pine trees. It was the girl who spoke first. “I must go back,** she said, “there it still something to be done.” Her eyes sought those of the manager's wife. There was in that look both pride and humility; a question and a prayer. For answer, the wife kissed her, weeping. Then, before they had realized what had happened, she was gone. To Maxwell she said nothing, not even good-by.. At dawn, the camp was roused by the clatter of horses’ hoofs. The deputy sheriff, none knew how, had got wind of trouble at the mine, and had ridden “hell for leather” to the manager's aid, for the two were chums of long standing, and had done great things at the wickets in old days, for the honor of Harrow school. But before this Brady and the girl had fled. Her word w as her bond; she saved Maxwell and she never saw him again.—Chap-Book. -Ltrecxnlng about knives Indicates cumin w lawsuits.

TALMA.G1TS SERMON. A Discussion Apropos of the Partins Bli-Zisard of Winter. the Warmth of Christ's Righteousness and Lore-Bow the World Shall bo Ueat<»d —The Benign Power of Sawing Grace.

Rev. T. IieWitt Talmage took a timely topic duri&g the recent freezing storms that swept the country, apparently as the parting blizzard of winter. ' He took for his text: Who can stand before His cold?—Psalm cxlvii.. IT. The almanac says that winter is ended and spring has come, but the winds, and the frosts, and the thermometer, in some places down to zero, deny it. The Psalmist lived in a more genial climate than this, and yet he Oiust sometimes have been cut by the sharp weather. In this chapter he speaks of the snow like wool, the frost like ashes, the hailstones like marbles, find describes the eongealment of lowest temperature. We; have all studied the heat. How few of us have studied the power of the frost! “Who can stand before his e^>Tct?\’ This challenge of the text^ h^s many times been accepted. October 10, 1812, Napoleon's great army began its retreat from Moscow. One hundred kfid fifty thousand men, 50,000 horses, 600 pieces of cannon, 40,000 stragglers. It was bright weather when they started from Moscow, but soon something Wratliierthan the Cossacks swoopud upon their flanks. An army of arctic blasts, with icicles for bayonets and hailstbnes for shot, and commanded by voice of tempest, marched after them. The flying artillery ot the heavens in pursuit. The troops at hightfall would gat her into circles and h uddle themselves together, for warmth;) but when the day broke, they rose no;, for they were dead, and the ravens came for their morning meal of corps s. The way was strewn with the rich stuffs of * the east, brought as booty from the Russian capital. An invisible power seized 100,000 men and hiirled them dead into the snow drifts, and on the hard surfaces of the jchill rivers, and into the maws of the dogs that had followed them from Moscow. The freezing horror, which has appalled history was proof to all ages that it is a vain thing for any earchallenge oif stand before t he snow ba war the erv lily power to accept the my text: “Who could 11is cold?\^ In the middle of December, 1777, at Valley Forge., 11,000 troops were, with frosted ears and frosted hands and frosted Feet; without shoes, without blankets, lying op the white pillow of ;ak. As during our civil was: “On to Richmond!” when the trjoops were not ready to march, so in the revolutionary war there was a oemand for. a wintry campaign until Washington lost his equilibrium and wrote,, emphatically: “I assure those gentlemen it is easy enough seat-eld by a good fireside and in comforts Lie homes to draw out campaigns fjor the American army; but D tell them it is not so easy to lie on a bleak hillside. without blankets and without shoes.” Oli, the frigid - horrors that gathered around the American army ii^ the winter of 1777! Valley Forge was one of the tragedies.of the century. Benumbed, senseless, dead!: “Who can stand before II is cold?" “Not we," say the frozen lips of Sir John Franklin and his men, dying in Arctic exploration. “Not we," answer Schwatka and his crew, falliug back from the fortress of ice which they had tried in vain to captureX “Not we." Say the abandoned and cradled decks of the Intrepid, the NReristanee and the Jeannette. “Not we," say the procession of American martyrs returned home for American sepulture L)e Long and his men. The highest pillars of the earth are pillars of ice—Mont Blanc, Jungfrau, the Matterhorn., The largest galleries of the world are galleries of ice. Some of the mighty rivers much of the year are in captivity of ice. The greatest sculptors of the ages are the glaciers, with arm and hand and chisel and hammer of ice. The-cold is imperial and has a crown of glittering crystal, and is seated on a throne of ice, with footstool of ice and scepter of ice. Who can tell the sufferings of the winter of 1433| when all the birds of tlermany perished?, Or the winter of 1658 in England. when the ctages rolled on the Thames, and temporary houses of merchandise were built on the ice? Or the winter of 1821 in America, when New York liar oor was frozen over and the heaviest teams crossed on the ice to Staten Island? TlSn come down to our own winters, when there have been so many wrapping themselves in furs, or gathering themselves around fires, or threshing their arms about them to revive circulation—the millions of the temperate and the arc :c zones who are compelled to confess: “Nonp ojf us can stand before His cold."

One-half of the industries of our day are employed in battling inclemency of the weather. The furs of the north, the cottok of the south, the flax of our own fields, the wool of our own flocks, the coal from our own mines, the wood from our own forests, all employed in battliiig these inclemencies, and still eveiy winter, with blue lips and chattering teeth, answers: “None of us can stand before His cold.” Now, this beirig such a cold world, I am glad that the dod of the frost is the God of the heat; that the God of the snow is the God of the white blossoms; that the God of January is the God of June. The question as o how shall we warm this world up is & question of immediate and all-enco upassing practicality. In this me and weather there are so many fireless hearths, so many broken window panes, so many defective roofs that i ift the snow. Goal and wood an d fls unels and thick coats are better I'or vanning up such a place tH»n trusts and Bibles and creeds.

Kindle that fire where it has gone out. Wrap something around those shivering limbs. Shoe those bare feet. Hat that bare head. Coat that bare back. Sleeve that bare arm. Nearly all the pictures oL~ Martha Washington represetit her in courtly dress as bowed to by foreign embassadors ; but Mrs. Kirkland, in her inter

esuug lwok, gives a more inspiring portrait of Martha Washington. She comes forth from her husband’s hut in thfr encampment, the hht 16 feet long by 14 feet wider-she comes forth from (hat hut to nurse the sick, to sew the patched garments, to console the soldiers dying of the cold. That is a better picture of Martha Washington. Hundreds of garments, hundreds of tons of coal, hundreds of glaziers at broken window-sashes, hundreds of whole-souled men and women, are necessary to warm the wintry weather. What are we doing to alleviate the condition of those not so fortunate ns* we? Know ye not, my friends, there are hundreds of thousands of people who can not stand before His cold? It is useless to preaeh to bare feet, and to empty stomachs, and to gaunt visages. Christ gave the world a lesson in common sense when, before preaching the Gospel to the multitude-in the wilderness, He gave them a good dinner. When I was a lad I remember seeing two rough woodcuts, jbut they made more impression upon; me than any pictures I have ever seen. They were on opposite pages. The one. woodcut represented the coming of the snow in 'winter, and a lad looking out at the door of a great mansion; and he was’ ail wrapped in furs, and his eheeks were ruddy, and with glowing countenance he shouted: “It snows! it snows!” On the next page there was R,ble tenemeut, and the door n. and a child, wan and sick red and wretched, was looking 1 he said: “Oh! my God, it The winter of gladness or of iccording to _ our eircumBut, my friends, there is an one way of warming up mis com world, for it is a cold wgrld in more respects than oue, and I am here to consult with you as to,the best way of warming up the world. I want to have a great heater introduced into all your churches and, all your homes throughout the world. It is a heater of divine patent. It has many pipes with which to conduct heat: aud it has a door in which to throw the fuel: Once get this heater introduced, and it will turn the arctic zone into the temperate, and the temperate into the tropics. It is the powerful heater, it is the glorious furnace of Christian sympathy. The question ought to be, instead of how much heat can we absorb? how much heat can we throw out? There ''agpt men who go through the world ing icebergs. They freeze everything with their forbidding look. The hand with which they shake yours is as cold as the paw of a polar bear. If they float into a religious meeting, the temperature drops f/om! SO above to 10 degrees below zero. There are icicles hanging from their eyebrows. They float into a religious meeting, and they chill everything with their jerimiads. Cold prayers, cold songs, cold greetings, cold sermons. Christianity on ice! - The church a great refrigerator. Christians gone into winter quarters. Hibernation! On the other hand, there are people who go through the'world like the* breath of a spring morning.; Warm greetings, warm prayers, warm smiles, warm Christian influence. There are such persons. We bless God Tor them. We rejoide in their companionship. A, general in the English army, the army haviug halted for the night, having lost his baggage, lay down tired and‘sick without any blanket. An officer came up and said: “Why. you have no blanket. I'll go aiid get' you a blanket.” He departed for a few moments and then came b$ck aud covered the general up with a very warm blanket. The general said: “Whose blanket is this?" The officer replied: “t got .that from a private soldier in the Scotch regiment, Ralph McDonald.” “Now^” said the general, “you take thbkblanketright back to that .'soldier. He can, no more do without it than I can do without it. Never bring to me the blanket of a private soldier.” How man}’, men like that general would it take to warm the world up? The vast majority of us are anxious to get more blankets, whether anybody else is blanketed or not. Look at the fellowfeeling displayed in the rocky defile be- j tween Jerusalem and Jericho in Scrip- j

ture times, nere is a uian no uas been sfet upon by the baud its. and in the struggle to keep his property, he has got wounded* and mauled, and stabbed, and he lies there half dead. A priest rides along. He sees him and says: “Why. what's the matter with that man? Why, he muse be hurt, lying on the flat of ’ his back. Isn't it strange that he should lie there? lint I can't stop. I am on my way to temple services. Go along, you beast. Carry me up to my temple duties.” After awhile a Levite comes up. He looks over and says: “Why that- man must be very much hurt. Gashed on the forehead. What a pity. Stabbed under his arm. What a pity: Tut. tut* What a pity! Why, they have taken his clothes nearly all away from him. But I haven’t 1 time to stop; I lead the choir up in the | temple service. Go along, yon beast. Carry me up to my temple duties.” After awhile a Sjrmaritan comes along, one who you might suppose through a national grudge might j have rejected this poor wounded Israelite. Coming along he sees this: man and .says: "Why, that man must! be terribly hurt. I see by his features he is an Israelite, bnt he is a man . and he is a brother.” “Whoa!” says the Samaritan, and he gets down off the beast and comes np to this wounded man, gets down on one knee, listens to see whether the heart of the unfortunate tnan is still beating, makes up his mind there |s a chance for resuscitation, goes to work at him, takes Out of his sack a bottle, of oil and a bottle of wine, cleanses the

wound with some wine, then pour* some of the restorative into the wounded man's lips, then takes some oil and. with it soothes the wound. After awhile he takes off a part of h!»’ garments for a bandage. Now that sick and wounded man sits up, pale1 and exhausted, but very thankful. Now the good Samaritan says: “You must get on my saddle, ant| I willt walk.” the Samaritan helps andl tenderly steadies, this wounded man! until he gets him on toward the tav* era, the wounded man holding on with, the little strength he has left, ever and anon looking down at the good Samar*' itan and saving: “You are very kind; I had no right to expect this thing of * Samaritan when I am an Isrelatie; you are very kind to walk and let me ride.’* Now they have come up to the tavern. The Samaritan, with the help of the landlord,^ assists the sick and wounded man to dismount and puts him to bed. The Bible says the Samaritan stayed ail night. In the morning, I suppose, the Samaritan>&ent in to lock how his patient was and ask him how he passed the night. Then he comes out—the Samaritan comes but and he says to the landlord: “Here is money to pay that man's board, and if his convalescence is not as rapid as I hope for, charge * the whole thing to me. Good morning, all.” He gets on the beast and; says: “Go along, yon beast,' but, go slowly, for these bandits sweeping through the land may have left somebody else wounded and half dead.** Sympathy!; Christian sympathy! How many such men as that would it take to warm the cold world up? Famine in Zarepthath. Everything dried up. There is a widow with a son and no food except a -handful of meal. She is gathering sticks to kindle a fire to cook the handful Of meal. Then she is going to wrap her arms around her boy and die. Here comes Elijah. His two black servants, thes raven, have got tired waiting on him. He asks that woman for food. Now, that handful of meal is to be divided into three parts. Before it was to be divided in-, to two parts. Now, she, says to Elijah: “Come in and sit down at this solemn table and take a third of the last morsel.” How many women like that wonici it take to Avarm the cold world up:

| count mat uay lost wnose low descending sua ; Views from the hand uo generous action done. It was His strong sympathy that brought Christ from a warm Heaven to a cold world. The land where He <f welt had a sereue sky. balsamic atnSdsphere, tropical luxuriance. No storm blasts in Heaven. No chill fountains. On a cold December night Christ stepped out of a warm Heaven into the world's frigidity. The thermometer in Palestine never drops befclow zgro, but December is a cheerless month, and the'pasturage is very poor on the hilltops. Christ stepped out of a warm .Heaven into the cold world that cold December night. The • world’s reception was cold. The surf - of bestormed Galilee was cold. Joseph’s sepulcher ; was cold. •••• Christ came, the great warmer, to warm the ea,rth, and all Christendom to-day feels the glow. He will keep on warming the earth until the tropic will drive away the arctic, and the antarctic. He gave an imitation of what He was going to do when He broke up the funeral at the gate of Nain and/ turned it into a reunion festival, and when with His warm lips He melted the Galilean hurricane and stood on the deck and stamped His foot, crying, “Silence!1* and the waves crouched and the tempests folded their, wings. Come in by the great Gospel flre- . place, Notwithstandingall the modern inventions for heating, I tell you there is nothing so full of geniality and sociality as the old-fashioned country fireplace. The neighbors were to come ht for a winter evening of sociality. lit the middle of the afternoon; in the best -room in the house, some one brought in a great back log with great strain and put it down on the back of the hearth. Then the lighter wood was put o.n, armful after armful. .Then a shovel of coals was taken from another room and put under the dry pile, and the kindling began, and the Crackling, and it rose until it became a roaring flame, which filled all the room with geniality and, was reflected from the family, pictures on the wall Then the neighbors came in two by two. They sat down, their faces to the fire, which ever and anon was stirred with tongs and read justed on the andirons and there were such times of rustic repartee, and story-telling, and mirth as the black stove and the bHnd register never dreamed of. Meanwhile the table was

oemg spread, ana so iair was tne cloth and so clean was the cutlery they glisten and glisten in our mind to-djiy. And then the luxury of orchard and farm yard was roasted and prepared for the table, to meet the appetites, sharpened by the cold ride. Oh! my friends, the Church of Jesus Christ is the world's fireplace,, and the woods are from the cedars of Lebanon, and the fires are fires of love, and with the silver tongs-of the altar we stir the flame and the light is reflected from all the picthres on the wail—pictures of those who were here and are gone now. Ohl come up close to the fireplace. Have your worn faces transfigured in the light. Put your cold feet, weary of the journey, close up to the blessed conflagration. Chilled through with trouble and disappointment, come close np until you can get warm clear through. Exchange experience, talk over the harvests gathered, talk all the Gospel news. Meanwhile the table is being spread. On it, bread I of life. On it, grapes of Eshcol. On it, new wine from the kingdom. On it, a thousand luxuries celestial. Hark! as a wounded hand raps on the table, and a tender voice comes through, saying; “Come, for all things are now ready. Eat. oh,' friends! drink, yea, drink abundantly,-oh, beloved!” My friends, that is the way the cold world is going to be warmed up by the great Gospel fireplace. All nations will come in and sit down at that banquet, While 1 was musing, the fire burned. “Come in out of the cold, come in out of the coldT