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go crazy.” A little time thereafter, I went clown just in time to see this good woman take a pistol out of his pocket. He sat down, and began crying like his heart would break. He said, “I am in bad shape. I have been gambling. I feel lam ruined.” “You need not say more,” I said. “Let God into your heart.’ He then said something like this: “A certain woman in this town taught me to play cards. She is a member of the Church. I came to be an expert, and then began playing poker. Now this is the outcome.” Oh, friends, hear me! Sin will curse you is you do not forsake it. It is too late when it has got ten in Tts work. You can stop now. Listen, oh, lis ten to me. Do not let the devil fool you any long er. “The way of the transgressor is hard.” Noth ing surer than that in this world. Why had this man not waked up before? He had not been convicted of sin. Oh, if the Lord should come upon us in mighty conviction, yc u would be surprised. Oh, the effect of sin I Do you have cards in your home? Let me tell you what is a fact. I had rather be in the middle of the 'At lantic, with a millstone ’round my neck, than to have some gambler point to me, and say, “He taught me to play cards.” If anybody’s daughter had taught me to play cards, I would have gone to the devil. Thank God, nobody’s daughter ever thought enough of me to teach me to play cards. Stop that card playing, for you may be fanning the fires of hell every time you shuffle the cards. After awhile, the flame will burst out, and somebody will be ruin ed forever. Oh, “the way of the transgressor is hard”! Sin and Hell. But what about sin when the final judgment is to be met? It would be bad enough to face its con sequences on the body, the mind and the conscience, but what about the great future? God help us to answer, and yet I cannot. All I can say is “hell.” I cannot say what that is. We are only given a faint conception of it: “The lake which burneth with fire and brim stone.” “Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” “The bottomless pit.” “Everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” “The fire that never shall be quenched.” Awful! Awful! But who knows what it means? No earthly sufferer can tell. This is the last final settlement for sin. Who wants to risk it? Who will dare go on without the remedy? Nothing else will suffice. Good resolu tions cannot pay the debt. Christ shed his blood to pay the debt. His coin will pass. If has the stamp of Heaven. The devil’s coin will fail. He himself is a liar and a usurper. He knows that without Christ the world is bound for hell. Oh, come out from his power, and get the salvation of Jesus! A Maiden’s Reason. Small for her age but bright as a new dollar, a little maiden of fourteen was talking to the Editor while the Southern train was dashing her along toward her Atlanta home. “I go to Sunday at ” she said, ‘Quit I don’t like to stay there for preaching, because Mr. says such strange things. Why, he says there are lots of things in the Bible he don’t believe. So I generally leave there after Sunday school and go up to hear Mr. Motley preach. ’ ’ The maid attended Sunday school at a church, alas! where a “higher critic” preacher was pas tor, and in the simple faith of her young heart she was shocked at the “awful things” said by the pastor about the Book she had always heard was the Book of God. And so she would rather go away from her special circle of girlhood friends and hear- Robert L. Motley, pastor of the Central Baptist church who, as the old cornfield preached said, “has little enough sense to believe the Bible means just what it says.” The Golden Age for August 30, 1906. Dwight Lyman Moody. The picture of Mr. Moody which we present to our readers shows the great man as he is doubtless best remembered by the citizens of Northfield— driving early mornings briskly from point to point, watching with eagle eye the countless details of the manifold cares upon him and directing everything as a great general directs an army. Preaching, Building, Believing, Loving, D. /L. Moody lived and died, and out there on Round Top where his memory is fragrantly itali cized and perpetuated in the sunset services held every day during the great conferences, the visitor finds a little mound of earth, marked by two simple headstones, and on these stones he reads this sim ple record: Dwight Lyman Moody, 1837-1899 Feb. sth-Dec. 22nd. “He that doeth the will of God abideth forever.” The Challenge of Triumphant Faith. And when the record has been read the visitor turns his eyes instinctively from Moody’s boyhood home down across the meaidow to the inviting home stead where his famly was reared—where his soul communed with the God of nature as he looked out over the dimpling bosom of the sweeping Connect icut, on and on to the sky-kissed grandeur of the New England hills—and where, all the world knows, he lifted his eyes and hands in his last earthly hour and said in the rapturous gleam of Heaven’s dawn ing Light: “Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful! Earth is receding, Heaven is opening! God is calling me!” ~ 7 ~ A. rU * r MKlh* ; jBMiI th ’X ...jr . ■< DWIGHT L. MOODY. And as the visitor walk’s away he thinks—he can’t help thinking of two wonderful utterances in I). L. Moody’s life—one, near its morning, when he heard the declaration: “God has yet to show the world what He can do with a man wholly consecrat ed to Him,” and went to his room, fell on his face and said, “0 God, here is your man!” And the other expression in life’s evening when he made that smiling, triumphant challenge to Death and the grave: , “Some day you will read in the papers that D. L. Moody, of East Northfield, is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it! At that moment I shall be more alive than lam now. I shall have gone up higher, that is all; gone out of this old clay tenement into a house that is immortal, a body that death cannot touch, that sin cannot taint, a body like unto His own glorious body. I was born of the flesh in 1837. I was born of the Spirit in 1856. That which is born of the flesh may die. That which is born of the Spirit will live forever.” Emma C. Revell, Wife of D. L. Moody. 1843-1903, July sth-oct. 10th. “His servants shall serve Him and they shall reign forever and ever.” Our Northfield Trip. (Continued from page 2.) the passengers, were strangers, we were just far enough from home to begin to wish for a familiar face and the sound of a voice heard before, when at a station in the Nutmeg Sfate several ladies entered the car and a cheery voice rang out: “Why, good morning Mr. Upshaw! I met you last year as Northfield, and I am a delighted reader every week of The Golden Age!” She was Mrs. Rosina Bart lett who introduced her charming relatives, and soon we were “visiting” in good New England style. That proverbial phrase “Southern hospi tality” lost a part of its isolation while the train dashed along, for a New England dinner was spread and the Southerners were soon entering into the meaning of that delightful commodity which we will ever gratefully cherish as “New England hos pitality.” Broughton Delights Northfield. Arriving at Northfield just after the morning service we heard on all sides how our own great Dr. Broughton had just stirred and melted the hearts of thousands that morning—his last service before sailing for England. Whenever Dr. Broughton speaks at Northfield the people flock to hear him and we heard many expressions like this: “He has reached my heart and helped me more than any other man.” The people are widely interested in the manifold work of his great institutional church in Atlanta and seem anxious to learn everything possible about the man who speaks to more than three thousand people every Sunday in a city of a little more than a hundred thousand inhabitants. Morgan The Magnet. Everybody who has ever heard G. Campbell Mor gan preach at the great Tabernacle conferences in Atlanta or anywhere else, will not be surprised to know that he is at Northfield what he is everywhere —the marvelous magnet among the speakers, wheth er teaching the Bible with his original black-board outlines, or preaching the gospel with wonderful power. This year Rev. Johnston Ross, also ol Eng land, greatly delighted Northfield with his addresses on John. He is a growing favorite. Sunday at Northfield. Prayer meeting at seven, led by that “grand old man” Dr. Henry G. Weston, President of Crozer Theological Seminary. It is a benediction just to look at this patriarch of God who, although past his four score years, continues in the active presi dency of the Seminary and comes to Northfield every year to work while he rests. O Skeptic, look on a life like that and forevermore be still! At ten o’clock a stirring song service was led by the famous singer and composer George C. Steb bins who, if he had never done anything else, would have deserved a place among the immortals for hav ing written that matchless tune to Fanny J. Cros by’s peerless hymn, “Saved by Grace.” At eleven Dr. R. A. Torrey, with three continents of fame as an evangelist, preached a glorious sermon from the text: “He that Winneth Souls is Wise.” Surely he was at his best, and in tears “the redeem ed of the Lord” left the great auditorium saying on every side: “I will try as never before to win souls for Christ.” At night Professor Erdman of Princeton, to whom reference has already been made in this is sue, brough t a refreshingly sane and helpful mes sage on “the Holy Spirit in the heart of every be liever.” It was delightful to hear a man of such wideness of culture speak with such simplicity and such humility of heart and manner. When the day was done, everybody felt that a Sunday spent at Northfield w. is indeed “a day dropped down out of Heaven.” Miss Lucy ’ Irby at Camp Northfield. We cannot close this hurried sketch without ref erence to the rece} ition given to Miss Lucy Irby, who has been for sc 'veral years at the head of the Baracca work at the Tabernacle in Atlanta. At Camp Northfield she told the boys about her work in seeking to help a hundred and fifty Baracca boys. All hearts were* melted and heaven came (Concluded' on page 9.) 5