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SONIA.
Translated front the French nf Henri
CSreville.
BY ANNIE MURRAY.
CHAPTER VIII.
Entirely preoccupied with his protege, Boris hur
ried through with the little boy's lessons; he was in
haste to confide to Lydia the bad treatment of the
little pipe-seeker. , . , , .
She entered finally, copy-book in hand as usual,
but at the lisrt words the young man pronounced,
she interrupted him in a displeased manner.
“I do not. wish to be mixed up with servants
quarrels,” said she, “and mama has forbidden me
me to have anything to do with them.’’
“Do you never disobey your mother? asked Bo
ris, in a low voice, smilb g. .
Lydia was charming when she pouted like a
si wiled cliilcf
“That is not the reason,” began she, blushing:
then she raised her eyes to Boris, who held her hand
and was kissing it, and lx'gan to laugh. “It hat a
serious air!” she said: “come, sir, g.ve me my exer-
° Boris dictated for some-moments, then between I silk and a new cap, the conversaton changed, not
two phrases he resumed till subject. j to again resume the confidential tone of the first
The child is very unhappy here: your mother j moments.
as you used to do Do you no longer love me? I love
you still. I loved you as a colonel and I love you
all the same as a general. Is it my mustache that
displeases you?”
“Ah, Sacha, how long it is since I saw you last!”
said the general, shaking his head. “You were
about as high as that,”—he pointed to a good sized
pink in the border—‘‘and here you are a fine young
man. They say you are looked upon with great
favor at court,”
“Bah!” replied the Prince, “all that is good for
the winter, but I have not come to the country
to speok of Petersburgh. I had enough of that du
ring the six months I passed there. Let us converse
of you and of your family. Is Madame Goreline
well? I have just seen an adorable young jierson.
Is she your daughter!”.
“Yes; she is our beauty—our Lydia.” replied the
old man, radiant. “She is as amiable as she is
pretty, believe me.”
“I believe it,” interrupted Armianofi, “but I will
retract if vou cease to be* familiar with me.”
He took the arm of the good old general, who,
entirely satisfied with .his heart at rest, called Sonia
and made her bring the largest of his pipes. He of
fered it to the young man, who refused, smilingly,
and lighted a cigar.
The arrival of Madame Goreline cut short the
freedom of her husband. At the approach of that
dame, dressed, in honor of her guest, in a rolie of
does not like her.
Eugene put his bead in at the half-ojien door.
“What do you wish!” said Boris, impatiently.
“My ball,” replied the child, looking him in the
face, with a mocking air.
“Look for it quickly, and go out,” said Boris.
Eugene took five mi mites to ransack every co;
of the room, but did not find his ball, by reason of
quietly in the middle of the
his having left it lyin;
entry. .
“Leave us in peace!” cried Lydia. “I will tell
mama.”
“What will you tell mama?” asked Eugene. re»
garding his sister this time with the same air of
effrontery.
“That you are preventing me from taking my
In vain the young man tried to reanimate the
communicative gayety of his old friend—he could
not suceed. Madame 'Goreline held the die of the
conversation, and thought she was doing wonders
in asking the Prince news of the great world at
Petersburgh, of which she had lieon a resident tor
i' i merly, for the misfortunes of her husband, she was
F of g<>od family, which explained in a word the suf
ferings of the poor general: she had only decided to
many him for want of a better offer, seeing that
her beauty would not lie sufficient to counterbal
ance the absence of fortune and personal amiabil
ity.
Lydia finally came to rejoin the company, an
nouncing that tea was ready, and everybody, Bo
ris ami Eugene included. were soon seated around
lessons,” replied Lydia, blushing to the roots of her the table, covered with fruits, milk, cakes, hot rolls,
hair as she made this reply. i in fact all that which constitutes in Russia, a well-
“Oli! only that? That is not a great injury,” re- appointed country supper,
plied the little boy; uml he went out, carefully clos- Forced by the insufficiency of her resources to
ing the door, that he had found a jar. I be economical in the city, Madame Goreline lived
“Mama, come and play ball with me,” called he, j grandly in the country, where the products of the
at the top of his voice, as he passed by the window. ; farm and the garden cost almost nothing.
“Go and call Sonia.” ! Armianorfi was immediately struck with the
‘•Sonia worries me; she plays too well; I don't ; sympathetic countenance of Boris, and he began
want her. Come, mama—with you it is much more | a serious conversation in the presence af all.
amusing; you always miss the ball. i The young tutor, prejudiced against the lieauty,
“You bad boy.” the elegance, the noble origin of the intruder, in
“Come, mama—come, immediately!” | whom he feared to find a rival, had litttle to say at
Madame Goreline did not know how to resist her first, but he could not long resist the pleasant man-
d irling s voice, snd she followed her son to the end ner of the Prince.
of the garden. i The two young men soon conversed with vivaci-
Left alone, the two young people remained a mo- , ty, and Boris, ean-ied away with interest of the
ment in silence. : conversation, did not perceive that, while answer-
“I am afraid that he suspects something,” said jug him, the Prince did not take his eyes off Lydia.
Lydia. The young girl felt that she was oliser veil—her
Boris had the same though?, but he was careful cheek wore a more brilliant flush; the white dress
to conceal it for fear of disquieting the young girl, j she wore expressly for this occasion, lieeame her
“Perhaps,” said he, smiling to reassure her. “You j wonderfully: she never let any opportunity escape
see he is teasing, but not unfriendly towards us,” ; G f making herself more agreeable,
and he drew Lydia’s face down upon his shoulder to i BoriS was the favorite. An hour before now she
! affected not to see him, and this little chicanery she
A moment after, Boris spoke , continued.
I An unfortunate word from Madame Goreliiie al-
let us talk most sj sided the harmony of this agreeable evens
seriously of the little girl.” ; ing. Intoxicated by the atmosphere, the general,
“Again!” said Lydia. “We have only a moment more intelligent than usual, joined in the conversa-
and you are employing it to speak of that foolish tion of the young men. It occurred to him to ut-
little thing.” j ter some of the truths that the name of M. Prud-
“She is very unfortunate, Lydia,” replied Boris, homme has rendered illustrious, also said two or
with the same sweetness that he would have used in three times that he was right and could prove it.
trying to persuade a little child. “No one loves her | During one of these happy moments when he was
here.” ! explaining his thought to the attentive young men,
“They have good reason,,’she replied, abruptly; his wife, thinking to show herself very-superior
“I cannot bear her myself.” darted this phrase, which formed one of the habit-
“Why?” said Boris, surprised and a little hurt, ual refrains of her discourses.
“You would do l letter to keep silent, my dear,
you never talk anything hut nonsense.”
, “Well, well, my dear,” muttered the humiliated
I oh 1 "‘"Jjfi dismayed, but too accustomed to su’
! si”'' -/Vi.:\- sharply as he ought.
5* f The (Sect was m.-asTrO-tis I'J lV-'t'rOe> i: . "i
etv. his good humor suddenly fell.
embrace her.
She did not resist,
again.
‘While we are alone for a moment,
releasing her hand which he held.”
Without lieing able to explain why, Lydia felt
she had made the young man angry; a confused
feeling toid her that she had dime wrong: instead
of JeJung wliat she had against thepoor littjkgirl,
she se./.Ri uie'^st preuoCity'md thaf’w'hScfi fmaflSe
furnished her, was the best of all.
“You love her too much,” said she; “I am jealous
of her.”
Boris began to laugh and took again the hand he
had released,
“Since I love her too much,’, replied he, “you
must love her also; we will share and neither of us
need love her so much, and then she will be better
protected.”
“Wewil sjx?ak of it another time,” said she.
With this conversation, the hour soon rolled away
and there was no more said about Sonia that day.
An hour after dinner, towards six o’clock, a car-
riagte drawn by four sujierb black horses with glit
tering harness, stopjied lief ore the gates of the Gore
line family.
The servants ran to receive the unexpected guest:
but before the frightened footman could approach to
open the door, the visitor had leaped from his equip
age and given orders to his coachman, who drew
up the carriage at the end of the yard.
,, “Are the general and his lady at home!” asked
>4he new. coiner.
■“I do not know, sir—that is to say, I believe tliey
are taking a little repose after dinner,” stammered
the servant, more frightened than ever by the
splendor of the equipage and the magnificent beard
of the coachman. “Who must I announce!”
“Announce no one at present,” replied the young
visitor, “but when your master and mistress wake,
you can tell them that Prince Armianoff has taken
the lilierty to visit their garden until they are ready
to receive him.”
Upon that he directed his steps towards the gar
den, opened the little gate which communicated
with the yard, and walked along the avenue of Un
it was the hour when Lydia had left Boris after
the interview which she gave him every day near
the spring, while her parents took their nap. They
had been speaking of their future, and as it often
happens "with great, passionate souls, charmed with
ideal beauty, and failing to realize this i»erfection
on earth, Boris, usually so confident, had a fit of
melancholy.
Lydia detested these moments of sadness,
and she could not comprehend his deep anguish.
She therefore left the spring (Ussatisfied with her
1 ict rot lied, and at the turn of a path, she found
herself face to face with a handsome young man of
an eastern style, with an open, intelligent face and
irreproachable toilet
The entire winter at Moscow with its sleighs,
balls and theatres, forgotten for the last two months,
caine back to her mind at the sight of the young
townsman.
She paused, contused under the regard of those
piercing eyes, but she did not doubt for an instant
that the gentleman was their neighlior of whom so
much had lieen said and whom she had never seen.
Two generations under the Russian sun had not
weakened the purity of the Russian type in the fami
ly of Prince Armianoff. His sister was the most
lieautiful woman at court, as he was the handsom-
cavalier in Petersburg. Therefore when he said, in
his sweetest voice: “Mademoiselle Goreline, if I
am not mistaken. Allow me to introduce myself,
the Prince Armianoff,” she felt at her ease, and with
perfect grace replied, blushing:
“Permit me sir, to go and inform my parents.
“Then she made her escape a little embarassed,
for this sight of worldly life came to break the
magic spell with which the love of Boris had sur
rounded her.
The general and his wife were soon up, and
Stephen Petrovitch ran at once into the garden to
embrace the son of his old friend, whom he had
not seen since he was a little boy.
On perceiving this elegant young man, whose
whole person, irreproachably dressed, exhaled an
exquisite violet perfume, he stopped, a little aliashed.
To be familiar with this handsome cavalier, to call
him by his given name, he felt would be impossible.
But the prince did not give him time to hesitate
l0 “General,” said he, approaching quickly, “do you
not recognize the little imp whom you used to spoil?”
He folded his arms around the good old general,
who deeply moved, embraced him two or three
times as in the days when he let him climb upon his
* kn ‘lacha,” cried he, at last, “my dear Sacha!”
But suddenlv the idea came to him that this little
familiar name no longer suited the lieu of Ai mian-
off and he liegan, in a graver tone:
“Your Highness ” „ _ ,, _ „ ,
“Let us discard “your highness.” Call me Sacha,
• suliinis-
J5 Stay *
________ He cast an in
terrogative glance at Boris, who had much trouble
in not replying by a smile of pity, which his lips
indicated in spite of himself.
No one seemed surprised; Eugene ate with appe
tite; Lydia, placid, continued to move the cups on
the tea board; Madame Goreline smile with an agree
able manner.
“We will talk of this again, at leisure mv dear
General," said the Prince, placing his small and
delicate hand upon the large rough hand of the
mortified old man, “But you may lie right.”
“Certainly,” affirmed Boris, regarding the prince
with his honest gray eyes, “I am fully ready to be
lieve it. ”
“If yon liotli wish to do me the honor of visiting my
lioyhood home—I have only furnished a small part
of "mv father’s house, I will lie happy- to receive
you there, and to converse at leisure upon any r sub
ject you please. If you love flowers, mademoiselle,”
said he to Lydia, “‘these gentlemen can bring you
a boquet of very rare roses, which my gardner is
proud of having acclimated.”
“Lydia, blushing with pleasure, replied with a
smile, and soon after Armianoff took leave of his
host.
“I will count on you M. Grebof,” said he to the
young student.
“Thank you, prince,” replied he. “I will eeitainly-
come to see you.
“Armianoff mounted briskly into his superb ca-
leche, to the admiration of the servants and country
men, who had ran out to see him, and disappeared
from the amazed gaze of the crowd.
"He is so pleasant!” exclaimed Madame Goreline,
hastening to extinguish the superfluous waxen ta
pers that burned in the candle-sticks.
Boris watched Madame Goreline, and, assured
that her husband was with her, he went out to bid
his liethrohed good-night.
“Ah! y-es, very pleasant!” related the general,
still agitated by the insult of his wife", as eustomaey
as it was. ‘,Biit why did you speak to me in that
way before him.”
‘ f Is it necessary to repeat to you that you com
prehend nothing?” She threw this at him as one
would a stone at a timid dog. “You amused your
self in relating to him, with y-our tutor, a parcel of
foolish things, while he could have, during that
time, occupied himself with Lydia.
“He has. thank God, regarded her enough!” said
the brave man, whose heart warmed at the thought
of his daughter.
“So much the better,” replied his wife sharply-.
“When he returns, try and not commence again.
It is a marriage that absolutely must lie arranged.”
“Yes, dear, lie tranquil—I will be very careful.”
“It would Ik- best for you not to interfere at all:
for, with your ordinary tact ”
She went out, but her liusliand did not care to
hear the end of the sentence to appreciate the un
expressed kindness.
During this conversation, Boris, upon the terrace,
had found the means of approaching Lydia an in
stant, and whispered to hei:
“ Lydia, I adore you! Say- one little word of ten
derness. I have not dared to look at you all the
evening.”
“You have done very r well.” replied she, giving
him her hand. “It would, not do to let him see
you.”
It was not of her betrothed that Lydia dreamed
that night.
CHAPTER IX.
Goreline and Boris made the Prince the promised
visit, and soon the latter got the habit of going to
see them two or three times a week. He paid as
siduous attention to Lydia. Boris perceived this,
and several times he was on the ixiint of telling his
rival the true state of affairs. He had enough ap
preciation of the loyalty of the young man to be
persuaded that the latter would renounce his inten
tions as soon as he was informed of the truth.
But the indecision of the character of Boris pre
vented him from taking a decided step, which
moreover, would Vx» attended by- danger.
How would Lydia’s parents take that sudden
change! So he resigned himself to wait. Scarcely
a month remained before he must return to Mos
cow. and he was sure that the Prince would not fol
low them there.
The latter could indeed make a formal demand
for the hand of the young girl before the expira
tion of the term. But then it would be time to
speak. And thus Boris let the days pass.
During this time, Lvdia made her small reflee
tions. She loved Boris; his good figure, his noble
and intelligent countenance, and his passion had
lost none of its charms; but she had found some one
to compare him to; and how could the poor student
hold his hand against this brilliant visitor, this ac
complished gentleman, who, after having lived
amidst the ladies of the court, rendered her such
marked homage.
In her dreams she had not, perhaps gone so far
as to say that the name of the Princess Armianoff
was better than that of Madame Grebof; but she
had already- seen apix-ar in a vision, the sumptuous
apartments, the rich toilets, the sets of precious
stones, and, above all, the lialls at the court. These
last words made her heart beat: it enjoined up lie-
fore her a sort of gilded vapor, a vortex of laces,
of diamonds, of silk goods, of lights, of music and
perfumes, and above all, upon a glittering throne,
the imperial family- who had spoken to the Prince,
and who would one day speak to the Princess Ar
mianoff-
She did not go any father in her dream, but the
four years of waiting appeared verv long, and she
asked herself, with some fear, if at the end of those
four years, Boris would not lie able to earn an in
come equal to to that of her father—for she had in
idea of the value of things.
Every day the hour for the lesson found her calm,
the secret kisses of Boris no longer made her trem
ble; she received them as something due her, and
returned them by habit.
He dared not question her, and his heart was
broken in thinking that though by his lalxirs, he
could bring her a support, he could never give her
the feasts of the fashionable world.
The share of influence of Madame Goreline over
the thoughts of her daughter could easily lx-
guessed. She was forever saying to her:
“When you will Ik- Princess "’ and this word
surely made a lasting imprint as the continual drop
ping of water upon a rock.
The general had not so high an ambition; this
marriage appeared to him as a thing ix-rfectly nat
ural and charming; not exactly because his daugh
ter would be a great lady-, but because she would
pass six months during Spring and Summer in
their neighborhood, and he could see her almost
daily-.
They made it no secret to Boris in alluding to
this happy- future. He listened in silence, suppress
ing the horrible suffering of his heart, and search
ing the eyes of Ly-dia, t here to read some consola
tion ; but oftener than otherwise, he did not encoun
ter them.
With a sort of animal sagacity, Sonia saw that
her “master” was unhappy-. She overwhelmed
him with kind attentions, but without succeeding
in dissipating his melancholy-. She^finnlly- cease I to
talk to him; she contented herself by following him
with her eyes with the expression of a beaten dog,
and she would brighten up as soon as he cast upon
her one look, or pronounced her name.
She had ceased to render spontaneously little ser
vices, which formerly she offered to the whole
household; then they- repulsed her, and treated her
harshly, accusing her of awkwardness or incapaci
ty ; but since they- no longer had her under their
thumb, always ready, always alert, her active feet
and skillful hand were missed by- every one.
“Why are y-ou not here when you are needed!’,
said they- to her rudely.
“You'have told me a hundred times that I was
good for nothing,” replied she, and blows would
rain like hail upon her jxior meagre Ixxly, which
seemed to have been made unimpressible by dint of
stiffening.
“You are truly- good for nothing!” said Madame
Goreline to her one fine"moming.
That day Her Excellency was not in the best hu
mor in the world. Her adored son, Master Eugene,
discontented for having been awakened so early,
had begun the day- by rudeness to his mother. The
latter did much to spoil him. but onlyjat times, so
that she had replied to the impertinence of the little
boy by two Ixixes on the ears, which had resulted
in rendering mother and son furious toward each
other , yet more so to every body- else.
After having begged Boris to make Eugene labor
without pity, she entered, exaspearted, into her
chamber to make her toilet.
“You are surely good for nothing.”
Sonia in bringing a pitcher of water, pricked her
foot with a pintbdt had fallen upon the floor and she
, rsuaily,.in*.I
del- the ben -^*_q ** v ind.Jila.fng tue curtain.
Very deliberately, she placed ner pitcher upon the
floor and drew oiit the pin that had penetrated
the flesh of her bare foot.
“Just look!” cried Madame Goreline, hot with an
ger. “instead of repairing the mischief you have
done, there you are occupying yourself with y-our
foot! Will you go and bring a sponge, y-ou little
wretch!”
Sonia ran to get a sponge, and returned quickly-,
but she had forgotten the tub, and the inundation
gaining ground, a delicate colored silk robe, which
was hanging half off the lied, got wet around the
skirt and was irreparably damaged. The anger of
Madame Goreline knew no Ixmnds.
“I will throw you out in the street!” she cried,
“You can go—you shall not sleep here another
night! Go out of here, since you are good for noth
ing but to spoil everything.”
“Madame, madame, where shall I go!” said the
child, her heart full, but without shedding a tear,
for she could weep but lit tie, having accustomed her
self to stifle her tears.
‘ 'That makes n< i difference to me! Go away from
here—leave the village. I do not wish to see you
again: you are not worth the bread you eat!”
The fury- of Madame Goreline seemed to calm,
but the fire of wicked resolve shone in her eyes,
“Madame,no one wants me, I am only an orphan;
if y-ou send me away, I have only- the forests to go
to. and the wolves will eat me.”
“Go where you wish, but I must not see y-ou
again. Do you hear me?” replied the lady, coldly.
‘You are doing wrong, Madame, and God will
punish you,” said the little girl, regarding her with
a defiant air.
“If you are here to-morrow,” cried Mad imeGore
line, almost beside herself. I will have' you
whipped and locked up like a lieggar. Your moth-
did not belong here. I owe you nothing. Go!”
“God will punish you, madame,” repeated Sonia.
She went out with her head proudly erect, but
her heart bursting with an implacable indignation.
Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes flawing: she
would have killed Madame Goreline without re
morse if she had found any- weapon handy. Hap-
Tabemacle Sermons.
DISCOURSE OF
Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage.
ALL FOR THE BEST.
pilv, she found nothing.
She went to Boris's r<
room, hoping to find him
there, to relate to him what had happened, but he
was giving Eugene his lesson in the study-hall.
Without hurrying, Without replying to the rail
lery of the servants, she went out, taking from a
hiding-place known only to herself, the few clothes
she possessed, made up a small bundle and seated
herself near the door of the servants' rixim, waiting
for Boris to lx- at leisure so she could ask his advice
and protection.
Eugene did not wish his tutor to carry out his
mother’s request regarding his studies, and his first
care was to torment Boris: but seeing he was badly
received, he changed his teasing to opeh warfare.
Everv means seemed to him good, if he could an
noy the y-oung man, and in spite of his stoicism and
the small cause for these hostilities, two or three
times Boris felt the angry-blood surge to his face. Re
pressing a strong desire to throw the naughty boy
out the window, at the end of two or three hours
of patience he contented himself by sayiug:
“Tosmorrow is the Safibath, but you have had
your Sabbath to day. Go amuse yourself to-day,
for to-morrow will be school-day-.”
Eugene was furious, and went out wondering how
he could have revenge. He bit bis fingers’ ends for
about five minutes, when a bright idea came (into
his mind. He directed his steps toward his sister’s
“Lydia,” said he, gravely, “I have finished my
lesson; y-ou can go and take yours. '
After that he went out, his hands in his trowser’s
pockets, to search for his mother.
(To be Continued.)
In 1564, a Dutchman, named William Boonen,
brought the first coach into England, and, it is said,
the sight of it put both horses and men into amaze
ment. Some said it was a crab shell, brought out
of China, and some imagined it to be one of the
Pagan temples in w hich the cannibals adored the
devil.
In the reign of James I., men and women wore
looking glasses publicly—the men, as brooches or
ornaments in their hats, and the women at their
girdles, or on their bosoms, or sometimes (like the
ladies of our day) in the centre of their fans, which
were then made of feathers, inserted into silver or
ivory tubes.
Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and
know my thoughts: and see if there he any wicked way
in me, and load me in the way everlasting—I’sla.ms
exxxix., 23.
It takes alxiut fifty or sixty y-ears of hard study
to learn how little we know. There is a time in
early life when we know everything. We are im
patient at the counsel of our superiors in age, and,
with a toss of the nead, we say: “ I guees I know
what I’m alxiut.” The youthful botanist pulls the
flower to peices, gives scientific terms to each part,
and thinks he has exhausted the flower. The young
geologist, with his hammer, smites the rock, breaks
it, classifies it, and thinks he has exhausted the
rock. But, after awhile, we come up to some
hard, impa-sahle fact. We drop the plummet of
investigation in some great profound where we can
not touch bottom. The question of a child three
y-ears of age balks us. We try to survey-some new
realm of thought, and we find that there are not
enough 1 nks and chains to complete the survey.
Now, we pull spart the flower, but, instead of 1 ic
ing satisfied as though we know all about it, we lean
up against the pillar of the stamen, confouimed for
ever. For the ten thousandth time we ask the
question, “Why-!” and get for an answer the echo
of our own voice. We come up only to the outside
door-step of the great temple of mystery: we hear
within it the rabiing of many voices, and we listen
but 011 the door is one word which has kept out all
the generations of the past, and which is keeping
us out—the word “Unsearchable.” But, after all,
the greatest mystery is in our own soul We un
derstand ten thousand things better than we do our
own nature. The heart is a labyrinth more intricate
than the mausoleum of the ancient kings. There
are in our souls doors that have never been
opened, languages which have never been transla
ted. enigmas that have never been solved, monsters
that have never been hunted down, and it was in
the appreciation of that fact that the author of my
text cried out: “Search me, O God, and try me!”
There was a knight in Rome, who, notwithstanding
a great many troubles, always slept well, and after
his death, Agustus, the Emperor, sent and bought
the pillow on which he had lieen accustomed to
sleep, supposing there was something in that pillow
to bring placidity to a restles soul. It is my ambi
tion to day to shake up a pillow on which all the
weary and the troubled may put their heads for
rest. I propose to show some of the ways in which
God explores a man, and the use that comes of it.
First of all. I remark that God searches a man by
His Holy Spirit. I rememeniber hearing a stout
minister of the.Gospel,standing in my pulpit, in front
of me one Sabbath, preach about the Holy Ghost.
It was the last sermon that man ever preached. I
said within myself, that was a fit theme for the
close of auselul bf°. Oh, the power of the Holy-
Ghost! Lord Chatham was taken by a friend to
hear Cecil preach. Richard Cecil presented the
Gosjxil. Earl Cheatham did not understand it. and
he went away saying to his friend, “Do you think
anybody understood it?” “Yes,” said liis friend;
“the plainest Christian man in all that house un
derstood it.”
There are some things that only those understand
who have felt the power of the Holy Ghost. Here
is a man wo feels he is all right. A few inconsis
tencies, perhajis, and a few inaccuracies; but, upon
the whole, he is in a tolerably good condition. The
Holy Spirit seizes him. Why now does he tremble!
Why now that grief-struck look! Why now can he
not sleep nights? The Holy Spirit has' come upon
him. He finds there are inhabitants in his soul that
he ne never dreamed of The reptiles begin to un
coil and to hiss at him. The man says: “Can it be
that I have lieen carrying such a nature as this
forty, fifty, sixty, seventy years!” And he imme
diately liegins to apologise, and he reviews the bet
ter points of his character. He says: “I don’t
owe a msn a dollar.” God says, by his Holy Spirit,
“You have robbed me of a whole lifetime.” The
man says, “I am not arrogant; I don't take on airs.”
The Holy spirit savs, “You are too proud to kneel.”
The man says. “I am moral.” The Holy Spirit
“d* T py/ .:’X
The Tuan says, .“I aiu regular in attendance at
church.” The Holy Spirit says, “You cannot be
saved by outward ordinance. What a cross you
have rejected! What a risk you are running!”
And then the trumpet of resurrection is blown in
that man’s soul, and all the valleys of the human
heart are filled with a great host of iniquities bat
tling against God. The man rouses up. He says,
“I must get awr y from this; I must get into the
fresh air. I must go to business.” The Holy spirit
says, ‘ ‘ You cannot go to business; this is the mightiest
of all business—the business of the soul.” Then
all the past sins of the man’s life come Ixifore him
troop by troop. From that point many repent and
live. From that point many turn back and die.
When John Easter, the evangelist, was preaching
in .1 great forest, there was suddenly a sound over
head so tremendous that the audience were panic-
stricken, and the horses that were tied to the twigs
and the boughs broke loose. The audience looked
up among the leaves, and they were all quiet. The
historian cannot tell us what it was. Some thought
it was the Holy Gnost, like the sound of the mighty
wind. The Holy Spirit of God to-day is in this au
dience and he is searching you through and through.
But I remark again, Gixl traverses a man by
prosperity. He was amiable, he was kind, he was
generous, he was useful, while he was in ordinary
circumstances: but by sudden inheritance, or by
the opening of railroad communication with his
land, or by some stroke of commercial genius, he
gets a fortune. Now, yon say, he is a good man;
his wealth will all be sanctified, and he will be very-
grateful. Look at him. You are mistaken. God
is going to search that man by his prosperities; He
is going to see whether he will lie as humble in
the big house as he was in the small one; He is go
ing to give him enlarged resources, and see whether
his charities will keep pace with those resources.
When he was worth so much, he gave so much. He
is worth twice as much now. Does he double his
charities? God says: “I will explore that man, I
will try that man, I will search that man.” Fifteen
years ago the man said. “What good 1 would do, if
I only had the means!” He has the means now.
What does he do? He expends all on himself or his
family, or he takes on an arrogant air, passing
through the street, as much as to say, “Get out of
the way! here comes two hundred thousand dollars!”
or he goes into exhausting indulgences. Who is
that bloated debauchee blaspheming God? He was
an elder in the Christian church twenty years ago
—consistent everywhere, useful everywhere. God
tried him with prosperity. He could not stand the
test. Weighed in the balance and found wanting.
I do not care what a man's temperament is, if he
does not allow his charities to keep up with his in
come, he is not only robbing God, but damaging his
which represent the sufferings of Christ! Why! Be
cause we admire patience, and we admire it al
though we may have but very little of ourselves.
And we sit down on the Sabliatli and we study
patience, and we say: “Give us patience^ \\ hat a
beautiful grace it is-patience!” and on Monday
morning a man calls you a liar, and you knock bun
down! That is all the patience you have. How
little we understand how to bless those who curse
us It is the general mile—an eye for an eye, grudge
for grudge If a man writes an article in a news
paper about you, you write an article in the news
paper alxiut him. The man hits you, you lut back.
How red we get in the face when we are abused.
Perhaps we prided ourselves on our equilibrium of
temperament, on the suavity with which we could
bear ourselves amid those who dislikes us. God
tries us. He says: “I will show that man how very-
little of this' grace of patience he has. Now, all
the hounds of persecution, and scorn, and contempt
slip their leash, and your name becomes a foot-ball
in community- You are sneered at where you
were applauded. Some come out of tlus process
serene and lieavenlv-minded, but more come out
cross, splenetic, acrid, misanthropic, and queer By
every dun of a creditor, by every red flag of the
auctioneer flung out of the taiiestrieil window, God
has been searching you.
God sometimes explores us by- sickness. From
other misfortunes we can run away, but flat on
our backs, pain in the bead, in the heart, in the
limbs, we cannot run away. No school, however
well endowed, however supplied with faithful in
structors anil professors, can so well teach you as
the school of a sick-bed. People wonder at tiie pi
ety of Edward Payson, and Richard Baxter, and
Robert Hall. How did they get to be so good ! It
was sanctified sickness. You think you are of a
great deal of importance in commercial circles.
Gixl now shuts you in the a sick-room. You do not
know business can go on without you. Lying on
your pillow, you hear the rambling of the
wheels and the shuffling of the feet just as be
fore. God says : “lam searching this man ; by
every chill, by every restlessnessf by every pleuritic
swinge, by every neuralicparoxism, liy every night-
tweat, by every exhaustion, I shall see through and
through.’’
You hear these old Christians saying, “Well, it’s
all for the lx-st,” and you think it cant. There is no
cant about it. They- have learned that all is for the
best in their life's history. Bernard Gilpin was to
be tried for his faith in God, and lie put to death.
He was in the habit of saying, “It is all for the
best—it is all for the best.” Starting for London
to be tried for liis life and to lx: executed, he broke
his leg. His associates said, in derision, “I sup
pose you think this is for the liest!’’ “Of course,”
said he, “it is for the best my leg is broken.” Suit
proved. Before he got well enough to go to Lon
don, Quran Mary died, and instead of Bernard Gil
pin going to Condon and being tried and burned for
Christ’s sake, he went home free. It is always for
tlie best. “Ail thing work together for good tot-hose
that love God.”
Gixl tries us with bereavement. He searches a
man by taking away his loved ones. A11 author
describes a mother who had lost her children, say-
to death, “Why did yon steal my flowers !” Death
said, “1 didn’t steal them ; I’m no thief : I trans
planted them.” “Well,” said the mother, “why
did you wrench them away from ns so violently!”
And Death said, "They would never lie wrenched
away but you held on to lhem so violently.” Oh!
how hard it is, when our friends go away from us,
to realize that they are not stolen, not ‘wrenched,
hut transplanted, promoted, irradiated, einpara-
dised. But unless you have had bereavement you
do not know what a bad heart y-ou have. We do
not know how much rebellion of soul we possess un
til God comes and takes some of our loved ones
away.
I saw a Christian woman standiug by the coffin
of her husband, who had suddenly- lost his life, and
she said, to my amazement: “I resist God; this is
outrageous; there’s no mercy- in Gixl; this is cruel
in Gixl, and I will never forgive Him.” Ah! there
came afterward the peace of God that passeth all
understanding. First, relxillion. How many peo
ple there are in this house who would affirm the
truth of what I say. Now, they look liack to trou
bles that came to them years ago, ami they wonder
and say, “I don’t see how I could have fought so,
c.’.J'lti'^i.rtl.V.y.. \ - . '-1 I- --atc -iq
was searching you. By every loneliness, by the'
tramp of the pall-bearers’ feet, by the creaking gate
of the tomli, by long years of painful memory, God
was searching you through and through. I say no
man knows his heart until he has had trouble.
Well, my friends, ought we not rouse up from a
subject like this and see our stupidity! Proved by
the fact that God has to whip us so much. It is not
ihe prayer of every one in the house this morning,
“Search me, O! God, and try me?” How are we to
repent of our sins unless we know what they- are?
Would it not be a mercy if God would take them
out to-day and slay-them before our eyes! There
ought to be a soothing power in this subject for all
who are troubled. \ ou see God is doing this for
the best. He is making new- revelations to you.
He is going to purify you. He is going to lift you
up on a higher platform. He is preparing you for
the kingdom of heaven. It takes just so many turns
of the potter s wheel to make a vase or a cup, and
the pitcher of life requires just so many- turnings of
the wheel of grief. God's wheat is not ready to be
taken into the garner until the hoofs of calamity,
and the hoofs of persecution, and the hoofs of death
have trampled it out. Do you realize, then that
you are in God’s keeping? Each person in this
house is as much under the searching care of God,
the fatherly care of God, the motherly care of God,
as though he were the only- person in all the house,
in all the world, in all the'universe.
I11 a \\ estem cabin, far away from all other resi
dences, there sat a Christian mother rocking her
babe to sleep. The husband and the father had
lieen oalled suddenlv off on business, anil there had
tyen no defense provided for that lious- that night
in the wilderness. As the mother sat there in the
cabin rocking her liabe to sleep, miles away form
any other tenement, glancing to the floor she saw a
ruliiian's foot projecting from under the table.
Having rooked her child to sleep she put liim in the
cradle, and then knelt down and said: “Oh! Lord,
keep this child; keep me. Oh! Thou who never
siumbercth, watch over our cabin to-night. Let no
harm come to us. If there lie tho.-e abroad who
wish us ill, bring to them a better mind. The Lord
have mercy upon ail wanders, all who do deeils of
violence and death. Bring them to Thyself—bring
them to pardon and to heaven.’’ As she rose from
the prayer the ruffian came out from under the ta
ble and said: “There will be no harm to y-ou to
night. Fray- for me. I am the wanderer that you
sjxike of. Fray for me.” Years passed on, and that
Christian woman sat in a great meeting called in
the interest of reform. There was a great orator
that day to lx? present, and as lie preached righte
ousness. temjx'rance, and judgmen to come his
eye fell upon the countenance of that wo nan. His
cheek blanched and he almost failed in his sixx-ch
own soul. Of every dollar we make God demands j At the close of the meeting they- joined hands and
a certain percentage. If we keep it Ixick. it is at
our peril. The old story of the miser who died in
his money-cheat, liecause the lid accidentally fell
down and fastened him, was the type of ten thou
sand men in our day who are in their own money-
vault finding their sepulcher. Whatever be the
style of your prosperity, by- every dollar that you
make, by- every house that you own, by every- com
mercial success that you achieve, God is searching
you through anil through. I do not know what
your observation has lx?en, but I have not been able
to find more than one man out of a hundred who
could endure piosjicrity and keep his moral charac
ter—just about one out of a hundred.
Again: God explores a man by- adversity. Some
of you are going through that process now. You
say, “How beautiful it is, when a man's fortunes
fail, to see him throw himself back on spiritual re
sources.” Yes, it is very beautiful, but it is hard
to do. It is easy for us to cut out work for other
people, but not so easy to do it ourselves. God
says, “I will try this man now by adversity. You
tinsteil me w hen you had plenty of money in the
bank: I am going to see if you will trust me when
you have not a dollar.” There are many people
w-ho suppose they have Christian faith, when it is
only confidence in government securities. They
think they have Christian joy, when it is only the
exhilaration that comes from worldly successes.
God, after awhile, sweeps His hand acrogs the es
tate, and it is all gone. The man first scolds the
banks. He says they are not clever; they ought to
have allowed him a discount. Then he scolds the
Congress, because it imposed a tariff. Then he
scolds the gold-gamblers, because they- excited the
markets. He does not understand that all the time
God has him personally in the crucible.
I a few words of conversation passed, and some one
T,iVo y ; W * er ?4 id you . f T m the acquaintance
of that orator? Ne%-er mind.” she said. “I have
known him for many-years,” Who was it watch-
ingthe mother that night? Who was it watching
the babe? W ho was it that brought the ruffian to
Gixl in repentance tor his sin; Who is it that
watches all our cradles, an,Tall our tabled aff
our homes, and all our tablra.-aml all our homes
and all our way ! Blessed be His glorious name for-
f ver * ls . a belter which we may all run He
is a fortress 111 which we may all lx? safe. Oh ’ take
him to-day- as your God and your portion Com
plain not of your trials—they are helpful, they are
AuTfritet.^ ° ,evatms ' AU - *>V thebTt!
The longest snow stoi-m that was ever known m
Great Britain occurred in 16,4. It is rei orded ta
began^nthe isth ° f Wolton ^bert^ha ft
Degan on the 15th of January-, and continued to
snow every day until the 12th of March - The loss of
hnmanbte, as w^a^of sheep and neat catal!? was
lumtms i 'i!f >ry ° f f£ l \ ba ’ P revious to the time of Co
lumbus, is a myth, but since that time v hen Va-
lasques burned the simple natives at the s ake for
ofS t0 h^V ,P > m,S in ^fence of tin- uitegrity
of their little territory, up t • the viviu battles of
^ only would fie appro
priate with which to write its story.
f maximum tem,lerature of October is S8 de-
gi ees, the highest ever recorded at the sinn 1 office
degrras C,ty ’ ^ mimmU1U tem P eratu n? has lx?en 34