Pike County Democrat, Volume 30, Number 46, Petersburg, Pike County, 23 March 1900 — Page 7

■> MeC. STOOPS, Editor »ud ProprittOK PETEESBUBQ, s INDIANA. THE Woman in White had passed through a most triumphant day and was weary. She tossed her hat to a bed, her gloves and fan to a chair, and she herself dropped into the great willovy rocker—a mass of fluffy white draperies, her deerlike head, with its crown of red-brown hair, lifted above the foam. The Woman in White had been younger, but she had never before been so beautiful. Because she had won him—and because she had no right to him. Because he had once scorned and flouted her, and had passed her with his wife on his arm and a look of cold contempt in his eyes—and because now he had followed her for'days and days, and she had made him sue for a kind word from her—her, the scorned and despised. Because she Jhad laughed in his face and bad baited and lured him until he had thrown to the winds his decent life and all the long years of uprightness and the position among men for which he had struggled, and was ready to follow her to the world's end. And because he was the one man whose scorn had etit deep into what she called her soul!

t>he looiceu at tne radiant thing in the mirror and laughed, and turned the Hashing bracelet about and around on her wrist; and a something almost womanly came into her face as she realised that it was not the diamonds she cared for—no! she would have loved a ribbon if he had given it to her With that look on his face, and would have kissed it as she did this, with a passionate delight. * And the Woman in Gray, standing in the door, saw her kissing the bracelet. “May I talk with you a few minutes’?” asked the Woman in Gray; and the Woman in White saw her reflection in the mirror. What she saw w»s a slender, gray-clad woman, with a pale, pale face, and dark eyes with darker shadows under them, and browm hair that was beginning to whiten with early frost. Tike Woman in White stared insolently iit the reflection in the mirror and smiled. “I don’t know what my servants <jan be thinking of,” she said, without turning. “1 really have nothing for you, my good woman. Berhaps if you go down, some of my people will show’ you the way out.” “But I must see you for a little while,” said the Woman in Gray, putting aside the insult, and coming slowly nearer; and there was a deadly stillness about her as she drew a chair forward and sat down in it. Then they looked at each other—the Woman in Gray and the Woman in White. “1 think perhaps you know me,” said the Woman in Gray. “No doubt people have pointed me out to you as the wife of—of—” “They have,”' said the Woman in White, haughtily, taking up a steel paper knife from the table near at hand and playing with it. “To what do 1 owe the honor of,this visit?” The Woman in Gray looked at.the paper knife and smiled wearily. “You mistake me,” she said. “Some women might have thought of that— but you will live. See!—to-morrow I go upon a long journey; and I knew that I must see you face to face before I wrent.” «

“What possible interest can I have in your plans for traveling?” cried the Woman in White, contemptuously. “Pray consult your dressmaker instead—f «d tell her for me that she should 1 killed if she ever dresses you in gray Win. It is not becoming.” “You ; \ bitter,” said the Woman in Gray; “» \ we have so little time— and we , Iso near the tragedies of both our V A little while ago I was bitter agi I you, too; but now I am too sad % Vp very bitter. I see how past remMyit is. I am not here to beg you “to be merciful. Even if you wished, you couldn’t give me back what I have lost.” “Well, you have had your chance!” cried the Woman in White. “And you have lost it! Who but yourself is to blame?” • The Woman in White had thrown prudence to the winds with that speeph, and now rage and jealousy and - insolent triumph were curiously blended in the beautiful face, and flushed in a red glow from the eyes. “Yes—I have lost it,” said the Woman in Gray. “And having learned this? past all doubt, I would not try to keep him if I could. I am going away, and he shall live his life in peace. I have merely come to ask you what kind of life it is going to be.” The Woman in White threw herself back in her chair and raised her beau- " tiful arms above her head. “Oh, you cold-blooded woman!” she cried, clasping her hands above the shining coil of her hair. “You icy wives that go your round of what you call ‘duties,’ and sew on buttons and have good dinners and sit at the head of the table, as interesting as that Dresden shepherdess, month after month and year after year, and then are shocked and outraged when he meets a flesh-and-blood woman and loves her! What kind of life will he have? Why, he will learn for the first • time that he is alive! What right have " women like you to talk about love!— women who give a man up the first time he^ooks another way! Why, I would make myself the most beautiful and most attractive creature in the

world to him, so that he could never evao look at another woman—and then, if he looked, 1 would not go away and leave him—I would kill him!” She clutched the paper knife in her right hand—and lifted the left hand and kissed again the flashing circlet on the wrist. The Woman in Gray looked at her, and the sight was branded on her memory. When she spoke again, it was in lower tones. Her eyes were fixed on a ring—a loose, loose ring, that she was turning around on her finger. “Perhaps we were mistaken about having loved each other,” she said, absently, us though she were talking to herself. “We were both so young, and so ignorant. We were married earlier than we had intended—because my mother died, and I was left alone, and was such an unprotected child—and so we were married); and we agreed that we were to study together, because we were both so ambitious—for him. And perhaps I couldn’t have kept pace with him, at my best; but I had to take in sewing to help him along,'so I hadn't much time—and in a little while he was away beyond me. I have never caught up with him since—but 1 have always gone on studying, so that I wouldn’t quite disgrace him when he became u distinguished man.” The Woman in Gray stopped to put a delicate and tremulous hand to her throat. “When he was studying law,” she went on, presently, “his eyes were troubling him, and so I read aloud to him for many hours every day. Sometimes I almost wished his eyes would 'fail a little more—a great deal more, so that lie could be more dependent on me—for I was very young and ignorant then; and, you see, I thought

I loved him.” The Woman in White did not speak. She was sitting1 quite still, as though she were a marble woman. “And even away back at the first,” the Woman in Gray went on, in that desolate self-communing, “when we were ignorant boy and girl together, we had quite settled it with ourselves that he was to be a distinguished man. We even made a lit tie play of it, telling one another that people would one day point out with pride the poor little house where we had lived, and where we had so much trouble paying the tent; and then we would laugh so merrily—oh, where has the laughter all gone! Ami so w?e went on, looking forward always to the day when he would be famous, and working and planning for it—and 1 always pictured myself so proud, so proud of his triumphs! We cold-blooded women feel very deeply sometimes, and think long thoughts! And now he has won the honors we dreamed of—and to-morrow I am going on a long journey!” She slowly arose, and the marble Woman in White saw for the first time that she had a little package * in her thin hand. “I have something to leave with you,” said the Woman in Gray; “something to give you. See, it is a little bundle of letters. They .are the letters of an

“ OH, YOU COLD-BLOODED WOMAN ’’

undeveloped and ignorant boy to a poor little girl: I have cherished them a long time—but I give them to you now. because—because they have already gone out of my life.” , An hour afterward the Woman in White found that she had been alone for a long time, and that the last of the poor little letters was open in her hand. A withered rose had dropped from it and lay in her lap among the folds of Huffy white. The air was filled with the fragrance of the little oldtime rose, which seemed to be part of the old-time boyish love, that was dead as the rose. Once, long ago, in her life also— The radiant face of the Woman in White was pale and old and weary looking as she tied the letters in the packet again and laid this penciled line upon them: , “Do not go on the long journey—for I go on a journey of my own.” Then she slipped the bracelet into the velvet case and sealed and addressed it, and called a servant to go on two errands. “I am going away to-night, John,” she said, as his foot hesitated on the stair. “Send Susan up to pack.” And then she stood in the middle of the room, her head drooped, pressing back something that tried to come to her eyes. “And now for new fields,” she said, despairingly. “And the life in them—?”—Globe Democrat. The Roadside Idea. Hungry Higgins—What is these here “progressive dinners” the swell aristocrats is havin’? Weary Watkins—W’y you git your soup at one place, yjour fish at the next place, your meat at the next place— “An’ dog-bit at the next place?”— Indianapolis Press. Where Daniel Defoe Rests.. The resting place of Daniel Defoe is in the heart of one of London’s busiest quarters, about a quarter of a mile from the Bank of England.

WIT AND WISDOM. The man who does not know is always readiest to tell.—Barn’s Horn. The less a business man advertises the more time he has to balance his accounts.—Chicago Daily News. A St. Louis man has been jailed for calling his wife a “rubber-neck.” When he heard the sentence he remarked: “Well, I swan!”—N. Y. Press. Mother (to little Freda, who has been taken to the dentist’s to have a tooth pulled)—“Freda, if you cry 111 never take you to a dentist's again.’*— Philadelphia Press. Mrs. Yeast—“They soy nothing is wasted; are fish tails any good?” Mrs. Crimsonbeak—“Weil,*yes; some that my husband tells are jimdandies!”—Yonkers Statesman, Thorne—“Do you think there will ever be such a thing as universal peace?” Bramble—“I am sure there will not be. My wife would never agree to it.”—N. Y. Journal# :f‘ Nelly—“I don't see how getting one’s feet wet causes toothache.” Jack—“You don’t? If you had ever had a tooth pulled you would know that the roots run down to your toes.” —Answers. ; ~- Watts—“No, I am not monkeying with that memory system any more. It is a fraud.” Potts—“Get into trouble?” “Yes. Our new minister is named Joi’dan. and the second time I met him I called hint Mr. Banks."’— Indianapolis Press. Wilkins—“How do you like our new preacher?” Eiikins—“He talks too loud.” Wilkins—“That isn't a valid ODjection provided he says something good or instructive.” Bilkins—“O, I didn’t hear what he said. I only know I was trying to sleep and couldn’t.”— Ohio St at e Journal.

A FALSE BEARD. Why a Youcg American Crater in Europe Was Obliged to Wear Artificial WiiUkera. Among the varied bric-a-brac, objects of art and souvenirs of travel that adorn the walls of one of the coziest bachelor “dens” in New Orleans is a false beard and mustache put together on a false foundation and supplied with a pair of delicate wire hooks to go over the ears. It is jet black in color, and ite effect is a trifle piratical. “Those false whiskers.” said the young broker who occupies the apartment, “are an interesting relic. "When I tell you thaf I used them in all the banking business I did when I was abroad a couple of years ago you will no doubt look for the dark lantern and jimmy to comple te the set. My experience, however, was not burglarious, and the story, in a word or two, is this: 1 had never been to Europe before, and wasn’t posted as to the best way to carry money, so on ! the advice of a friend who ought to j itfive had more sense I got an old-fash-ioned letter of credit in New York— j one of those idiotic arrangements that have a photograph of the holder past ed in a little circle at the top of the page. “When I procured the letter I was wearing a full beard, which, I am to.d. changes me very materially, but wh ile staying in London I got tired of it, and one day, on a sudden impulse, I had it taken off, never thinking of that confounded letter of credit. I had no occasion to use the document until I arrived in, Paris, and when I presented it at a bank there was turned down ha rd. The teller, or whoever he was, told me he couldn’t think of paying money to a man who bore no resemblance whatever to the official photo, and, when I explained the situation, shrugged his shoulders and advised me to come back after I grew another beard. Going out I chanced to notice a costumer’s shop,' and was seized with an inspiration, I rushed over, bought that curio now on the wall, and returned to the bank, clapped it on my classic mug, and said: Now gimme that money.’ Thera was some talk, but I got it, and afterward I worked the same scheme from one end of Europe to the other. The bank people regarded it as an amusing American eccentricity. Without it I would have lost at least a month, laying up somewhere waiting for my bristles to break oiit.”—N. O. Times-Democrat.

. PufirlliRtic Alligators. Trained alligators are an innovation The professional trainers have gotten as far as seals which play musical instruments, but there is no record that the gray matter which reposes beneath the skull of an alligator had eve]* responded sufficiently to the inspiration of human efforts to show ant* intelligence until Dr. Howard Pursell*, of Bristol, tried it. Dr. Pursell has jus t re- | turned from a trip to Florida, and brought with him three or four baby l alligators. He has worked untiringly | with tkem until he has taught them ! a number of tricks, which seem almost iimpossible, when one considers the apparent lack of intelligence on the part of the subjects. In his Mill street h ouse he has a large bulk window, and here the alligators are displaced. They have been taught to do flip-flaps and turn somersaults ahd put on tiny boxing gloves for a fistic encounter. One is named Sharkey and the other Jeffries, and their passages at arms? arc eagerly watched by spores of Bristol people, who have never seen a real prize fight.—Philade lphi a K ecord. Information While You Wal t. Mr. Spellem, of Hiighlandtown.. writes: “Dere Sur: ► Please tell me wat is the holesumest food fer children?” You will find doughnuts aboui; the “holesomest” articles of diet.—Baltimore American. ^ , . Healthy People in the Klondike. Many physicians have left Dawson for want of practice, and no less than fiv* private sanitariums have closed ou account of lack of patronage.* -N. Y. Times.

fHE DRAMATIC ART. Dr. Talmage Gives His Views of the Theater. *»r» til* Drama. Rightly Directed, Ia a Source of Good—Should Be Perilled, Hot Sappreased— Good oad Bad Plays. [Copyright, WOO. by Louis Klopsch.J Washington. March 18. At a time when the whole country is in controversy as never before concerning1 the theater, and some plays are being arrested by the police, and others are being patronized by Christian people, this sermon bf Dr. Talmage is of much interest. The text is I Corinthians vii., 31: “They that use this world aa not abusing it.” My Teason for preaching this discourse is that I have been ki ndly invited by two of the leading newspapers of this country to inspect and report on two of the popular plays of the day—

to go some weeks ago to Chicago and see the drama “Quo Vadis” and criticise it with respect to its moral effect and to go to New York and see the drama “Ben-B^r” and write my opinion of it foi^public use. Instead of doing that I propose in a sermon to discuss what we shall do with the dramatic element which God has implanted in many of our natures, not in 10 or 100 or 1,000, but in the vast majority of the human race. Some people speak of the drama as though it were something built up outside of ourselves by the Congreves and the Goldsmiths and the Shakespeares and the Sheridans of literature and that then we attune our tastes to correspond with human inventions. Not at all* The drama is an echo from the feeling which God has implanted in our immortal souls. It is seen first in the domestic circle among the children three or four years of age playing with their dolls and their cradles and their carts, sgen ten years after in the playhouses of wood, ten years after in the parlor charades, after that in the elaborate impersonations in the academies of music. Thespis and Aeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides merely dramatized what was in the Greek heart. Terence and Plautus and Seneca merely dramatized what was in the Roman heart. Congreve and Farquhar merely dramatized what was in the English heart. Racing, Corneille and Alfieri only dramatized whatr was in the French and Italian heart. Shakespeare only dramatized what was in the great world’s heart. The dithyramb!c and classic drama, the sentimental drama, the romantic ‘ drama, were merely echoes of the human soul. ’ I do not speak of the drama on the poetic shelf, nor of the drama in thje playhouse, but I speak of the* dramatic element in your soul and We make men responsible for They are not responsible. They are responsible for the perversion of it, blit not for the original implantation. God did that work, and I suppose He knew what He ^vas about when He made us. We are nearly all moved by the spectacular. When on Thanksgiving day we decorate our churches with the cotton and the rice and the apples and the wheat and the rye and the oats, our gratitude to God is stirred. WTien on Easter morning we see written in letters of flowers *the inscription: “He Is Risen,” our emotions are stirred. Every parent likes to go to the school exhibition with its recitations ai d its dialogues and its droll costumes. The torchlight procession of the political campaign is merely the dramatization of principles involved. No intelligent man can look in any secular or religious direction without fin ling this dramatic* element Revealing, unrolling, demonstrating itself. What shall we do with it? mine, it.

bnull we suppress it 7 i ou can as easily suppress its Creator. You may direct it, you may educate it, you may purify it, you may harness it to multipotent usefulness, and that it is your duty to do. Just as we cultivate the taste for the beautiful and the sublime by bird-haunted glen and roistering stream and cataracts let down fh uproar over the mossed rocks, and the daylifting its banner of victory in the east, and then setting everything on fire as it retreats through thfegates of the west;, and the Austerlitz mid Waterloo of an August thunderstorm blazing their batteries into a sultry- afternoon, and the round, glittering tear of a world wet on the cheek of the night— as in this way we cultivate our taste for the beautiful and sublime, so in every lawful way we are to cultivate the dramatic element in our nature, by every staccato passage in literature, by antithesis and synthesis, by every tragic passage in human life. Now, I have to tell you not only that God has implanted this dramatic element in our natures, but I have to tell you in the Scriptures HeTqultiv*tes it, He (appeals to it, He develops'^ I do not care where y ou open the Bible, yopr eye will fall upon a drama. Here it is in the book of Judges, the fir tree, the vine, the Olive tree, the bramble— they all make speeches. Then at the close of the scene there is a coronation,': and the bramble is proclaimed king. I Thiit is a political drama. Here it is in I the book of Job: Enter Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, Elihu and Job, The opening act of the drama, all darkness; the closing act of the drama,*all sunshine. Magnificent drama is the book of Job? Eere it -is in Solomon's Song: The region, an oriental region—vineyards, pomegranates, mountain* of myrrh, flock of sheep, garden of spices, a wooing-, a bride, a bridegroom, dialogue— intense, gorgeous, all suggestive drama is the book of Solomon’s Song. Here it is in the book of Luke: Costly mansion in the night! All the windows bright with illumination. The floor 4 quake '

with the dance. Returned 8on in or «tly garments which do not very we 1 fit him perhaps, for they were not x iade for him, but he must swiftly lean ft off his old garb and prepare for ^hii; ex* temporized leveel Pouting son a .‘the back door, too mad to go in, because they are making such a fuss! Tears of sympathy running down the old n an’s cheek at the story of his son's wai dering and suffering and tears of joy t\ t his return! When you hesyrd Murdoc c recite “The Prodigal Son” in one b: his readings, you did not know wheth. sr to sob or shout. Revivals of religion lave started just under the reading of that soul revolutionizing drama of "jThe Prodigal Son.” Here it is in the book of Revela ion: Crystalline sea, pearly gate, op iline river, amethystine capstone, showering coronets, one vial poured out incarnadining the waters, cavalrymen of Heaven galloping on white horses, nations in doxology, halleluiahs to the right, of them, halleluiahs to the left of them. As the Bible opens with the drama of the first Paradise, so it closes wit h the

drama of the second I’aradise. Mind you, when I say drama I dp not mean myth or fable, for my theolchy is of the oldest type—500 years old, i Uousands of years old, as old as the I ihle. When I speak of the drama at th i beginning' and the closeof the Bible. I do not mean an allegory, but I mean the truth so stated that in grouping d id in startling effect it is a God-given, yp irldresounding, Heaven-echoing dr ima. Now, if God implanted this drajhatic elemept in our natures, and if Hi has cultivated and developed it in the fe :riptures, I demand that you recogni :e it. Because the drama has again and again been degraded and employp'l'for destructive purposes is nothing itg: inst thetframa, any more than music b ight to be accursed because it has i oeen taken again ar.d again into the teii turnalian wassails of 4.000 years. Wil you refuse to enthrone music on the ah ireh organ because the art has >een trampled again and again under; the feet of the lascivious dance? . Rev. Dr. Bellows, of New York! r. any years ago, in a very brilliant bu s much criticised sermon, took the position that the theater might be renpv ited and made auxiliary to the chvrch. Many Christian people are of thje same opinion, I do not agree with the; a. I have po idea that success is in tjhii t direction. What I have said’ heretofore on this subject, as far as I remen her, is my sentiment now. But td-d.iy I take a step in advance of my jfoi mer theory. (Wtetijihity is goinf to take full possession of this world arid control its maxims, its laws, its lit era ure, its science and its amusementsl shut out from the realm of Christianity anything, and you give it up to sin 'and death. rt If Christianity is mighty enough to manage everything but the ‘an usement$ of the world* then it is a ter /de-f fective Christianity. Is it capable of keeping account of the fears of the; world and incompetent to make record: of its smiles? Is it good to follow the funeral, but dupib at the world’s play? Can it control all ihe other elements of our nature but thfe dramatic element? My idea of Christianity is that it can and will conquer everything. Ij the good time coming, which the worldcalls the golder age and the poci the elysian age and the Christijan ; the millennium, wo have positive antac t ncement that the amusements oil the world are to be under Christian sway. “Holiness shall be upon the bells oj the horses,’’ says one prophet. So, ;yor. see, it will* control even the sleigh r dek. “The city stall be full of boys and girls playing in the streets therectf,” says another prophet. So, you see] it s to control the hoop rolling and the kite flying and the ball piling. Now, what we want is to hasten that time. low' will it be done? By the church going over to the theater? It will not go.? By the theater coming to the church? It will not come. What we want is ;> reformed amtisement association in every

city and town of the Lnited! states. Once announced and explained and illustrated, the Christian and 1 philanthropic capitalist will come fo^v aid.to establish it, and there will be public spirited' men everywhere who wi|l do this work for the dramatic element of our natures. We need a new institution to meet and recognize and devjelOp and defend' the dramatic element! of our nature. It need's to be distinct from everything that is or has been.! I would have this reformed amusement, association haying in charge this new institution of the spectacular ake possession of some hall or academy. It might take a smaller building at; the start, but it would soon heed {bed irgest hall, and even that would ndf. hold the people; for he who opens before the dramatic element in hnmah na lire an opportunity of gratification without compromise and without) danger does the mightiest thing of this century, and the tides of such ah institution would rise as the Atlantic ris^s at Liverpool docks. There are tens of thousands of Christian homes where the'Sons and daughtersare held back from dramatic entertainment for reasons which some of you would say are good, reasons and others would say are ppor reasons, but still held back. But on the establishment of such an institution thjey would feel the arrest of their anxieties and would say oh the establishment of this new institution which I have caked the spectacular: ‘‘Thank God, tliife is v hat we have all been waiting for.? Now, as I believe that I mjake suggestion of an institution which wiser men will develop, I want to give some characteristics of this new institution, this spectacular, if it is to be a grand social and moral success. In the first places its entertainments must be compressed within an hour and thyee-quar-ters. What kills sermons, prayers and lectures and entertainments of all sorts is prolixity. At a reasonable hour every night every curtain of pjutl e entertainment ought to drop, pery church service ought to cease, tie in

struments of orenestras ought: to be unstrung. W^t comes more than this comes too late. On the platform of this new institution there will be & drama which before rendering has been read, expurgated, abbreviated and passed upon by a board of trustees connected with this reformed amusement association. If there be in a drama a sentence suggesting evil, it will be stricken out. If there lie in a Shakespearean play a word with two meanings, a good meaning and a bad meaning, another word will be substituted, an honest word looking only one way. The caterer* to public taste will have to learn that ShaTcespearean nastiness is no better than Congrevean nastiness. You say: “Who will dare to change by expurgation or abbreviation & Shakespearean play?” I dare. The board of trustees of this reformed amusement association will dare. It is no depreciation of a drama, the abbreviation of it. I would like to hear 30 or 40 pages of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” read at one time, but I should be very sorry to

hear the whole booh read at one sitting. Abbreviation is not depreciation. On the platform of this new institution this spectacular, under the care of the very best men and women in the community there shall be nothing witnessed that would be unfit for a parlor. Any attitude, any look, any word that would' offend you seated at your -own fireside in your family circle will be prohibited1 from that platform. By what law of common sense or of morality does that which is not fi ; to be seen or heard by five people become fit to be seen or heard by l.SOO’ people? On the platform o£ that spectacular all the scenes of the drama will be as chaste as was ever a lecture by Edward Everett or a sermon by F. W. Robertson. On the platform shall come only such men and women as you would welcome to your homes. I do not make the requisition that they be professors of religion. There are professors of religion that I would not want in my parlor or kitchen or coal cellar. It is not what we profess, but what we are. AH who come cn that plat form-of the spectacular will be gentlemen and ladies in the ordinary acceptation of those terms, persons whom you would invite to sit at your table and whom you would introduce to your children and with whom you would not be compromised if you were seen passing down Pennsylvania avenue or Broadway with them. On that platform there shall be no cSrpuser, no inebriate, no cyprian, no foe of good morals, masculine or feminine. It is often said we have no right to Criticise the private morals of public entertainers. Well, do as you please with other institutions, cn the platform of this institution we shall have only good men and good women in the ord inary social sense of goodness. Just as soon as the platform of the spec-* tacular is fully and fairly established many a genius who hitherto has suppressed the dramatic element in his nature because he could not find the realm ih which to exercise it will step over on the platform.' and- giants of the drama, their name known the world over, who have been toiling for the elevation of the drama, will step over on that platform—such women as Charlotte Cushman of the past, such men as Joseph Jefferson of the present. The platform of that new institution, of that expurgated drama, occupied only by these purest of men and women, will draw to itself millions of people who have never been to see the drama more than once or twice in their lives, or never saw it at all. As to the drama-of your life and mine, it will soon end. There will be no encore to bring us back. At the beginning of that drama of life stood a cradle, at the end of it will stand a grave. The first act, welcome. The last act, farewell. The intermediate acts, banquet and battle, processions, bridal and funeral, songs and tears, laughter

arid groans. ; ; It was not original with Shakespeare when he said: “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.” He got it from St. Paul, who, 15 centuries before that had written: “We are made a spectacle unto the world and to angels and to men.” A spectacle in. a coliseum fighting with wild beasts in an amphitheater, the; gaileries full, looking down. Here we destroy a lion. Here we grapple with a gladiator. When we fall, devils shout. "When- we rise, angels sing. A spectacle before gallery above gallery, gallery above gallery. Gallery of our departed kindred looking down to see if we are faithful and worthy of our Christian ancestry, hoping for our victory, wanting to throw us a garland, glorified children and p'arents, with cheer on cheer urging us on. Gallery of the martyrs looking down—the Polycarps and the Ridleys and the Me Kails add the Theban legion and the Scotch Covenanters and they of the Brussels market place and Of Piedmont—crying down from the galleries: “God gave us the victory, and He will gite it you.” Gallery of angels looking down—cherubic, seraphic, archangelic—elapping their wings at every advantage we gain. Gallery of the King, froip which there waves a scarred hand and from which there eomes-as^Tnpathetic voice saying: “Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” Oh, the spectacle in which you and I are the actors! Oh, the piled «p galleries looking down! Scene: The la»| day. Stage: The rocking earth. Enter: Dukes, lords, kings, beggars, clowns. No sword. No tinsel. No crown. For footlights: The kindling flames of a world. For orchestra: The trumpets that awake the dead. For applause: The clapping floods of the sea. For curtain: The Heavens rolled together as a scroll. For tragedy: “The Doom of the Profligate.” Fot the last scene of the, fifth act: The tramp of nations across the stage, some to the right, others to the left. Then the bell of the last thunder will rimr, and the curtain will drop!