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I
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
f
i
LIFE IN RETROSPECT.
DR. TALMAGE CALLS THE ROLL OF STIRRING
flEMORIES OF THE PAST.
Draws Helpful Lessons From Past Experiences
Vicissitudes—Advantages of Early Home
Teachings and Surroundings.
and
Washington, May 7.—This sermon of
Dr. Talmage calls the roll of many stir
ring memories and interprets the meaning
of life’s vicissitudes. The text is Psalms
xxxix, 3, “While I was musing the Are
burned.”
Here is David, the psalmist, with the
forefinger of his right hand against his
temple and the door shut against the
world, engaged in contemplation. And it
would be well for us to take the same pos
ture often while we sit down in sweet soli
tude to contemplate.
In a small island eff the coast of Nova
Scotia I once passed a Sabbath in delight
ful solitude, for I had resolved that I
would have one day of entire quiet before
I entered upon autumnal work. I thought
to have spent the day in laying out plans
for Christian work, but instead of that it
became a day of tender reminiscence. I
reviewed my pastorate; I shook hands
with an old departed friend, whom I shall
greet again when the curtains of life are
lifted. The days of my boyhood came
back, and I was 10 years of age, and I
was 8, and I was 5. There was but one
house on the island, and yet from Sabbath
daybreak, when the bird chant woke me,
until the evening melted into the bay of
Fundy, from shore to shore there were ten
thousand memories, and the groves were
a-hum with voices that had long ago
ceased.
Youth is apt too much to spend all its
time in looking forward. Old age is apt
too much to spend all its time in looking
backward. People in midlife and on the
apex look both ways. It would be well
for us, I think, however, to spend more
time in reminiscence. By the constitution
of our nature we spend most of the time
looking forward. And the vast majority
of people live not so much in the present
ns in the future. I find that you mean to
make a reputation, you mean to establish
yourself, and the advantages that you ex
pect to achieve absorb a great deal of your
time. But I see no harm in this, if it does
not make you discontented with the pres
ent or disqualify you for existing duties.
It is a useful thing sometimes to look back
and to see the dangers we have escaped
and to see the sorrows we have suffered
and the trials and wanderings of our
earthly pilgrimage and to sum up our en
joyments. I mean, so far as Gcd may help
me, to stir up your memory of the past,
so that in the review you may be encour
aged and humbled and urged to pray.
There is a chapel in Florence with a
fresco by Guido. It was covered up with
two inches of stucco until our American
and European artists went there, and after
long toil removed the covering and re
traced the fresco. And I am aware that
the memory of the past, with many of
you, is all covered up with obliterations,
and I now propose, so far as the Lord may
help me, to take away the covering, that
the old picture may shine out again. I
want to bind in one sheaf all your past
advantages, and I want to hind in another
sheaf all your past adversities. It is a
precious harvest, and I must be cautious
how I swing the scythe.
Onr Early Associations.
Among the greatest advantages of your
past life were an early home and its sur
roundings. Tho bad men of the day, for
the most part, dip their heated passions
out of the boiling spring of an unhappy
home. We are not surprised to find that
Byron’s heart was a concentration of sin
when we bear his mother was abandoned
and that she made sport of his infirmity
and often called him “the lame brat.”
Be who has vicious parents has to fight
every inch of his way if he would main
tain his integrity and at last reach the
home of the good in heaven. Perhaps
your early home was in a city. It may
have been when Pennsylvania avenue,
Washington, was residential, as now it is
commercial, and Canal street, New York,
was far up town. That old house in the
city may have been demolished or changed
into stores, and it seemed like sacrilege to
you, for there was more meaning in that
small house than there is in a granite
mansion or a turreted cathedral. Looking
bock, you see it as though it were yester
day—the sitting room, where the loved
one sat by the plain lamp light, the moth
er at the evening stand, the brothers and
sisters, perhaps long ago gathered into the
skies, then plotting mischief on the floor
or under the table, your father with firm
voice commanding a silence that lasted
half a minute.
Oh, those were good days! If you had
your foot hurt, your mother always
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had a soothing salve to heal it If you
were wronged in the street, your father
was always ready to protect you. The
year was one round of frolic and mirth.
Your greatest trouble was an April show
er, more sunshine than shower. The heart
had not been ransacked by trouble, ncr
had sickness broken it, and no lamb had
a warmer sheepfold than the home in
which your childhood nestled.
Perhaps you were brought up in the
country. You stand now today in mem
ory under the old tree. You clubbed it
for fruit that was not quite ripe, because
you couldn’t wait any .longer. You hear
the brook rumbling along over the peb
bles. You step again into the furrow
where your father in his shirt sleeves
shouted to the lazy oxen. You frighten
the swallows from the rafters of the barn
and take just one egg and silence your
conscience by saying they will not miss it.
You take a drink again out of the very
bucket that the old well fetched up. You
go for the cows at night and find them
pushing their beads through the bars.
Ofttimes in tho dusty and busy streets you
wish you were home again on that cool
grass or in the rag carpeted hall of the
farmhouse, through which there came the
breath of new mown hay or the blossom
of buckwheat.
Memories of Home.
You may have in your windows now
beautiful plants and flowers brought from
across the seas, but not one of them stirs
in your soul so much charm and memory
as the old ivy and the yellow sunflower
that stood sentinel along the garden walk
and the forgetmenots playing hide and
seek mid the long grass. The father who
used to come in sunburned from the field
and sit down on the doorsill and wipe the
sweat from his brow may have gone to
his everlasting rest. The mother who
used to sit at the door a little bent over,
cap and spectacles on, her face mellowing
with the vicissitudes of many years, may
have put down her gray head on the pil
low in the valley, but forget that home
you never will. Have you thanked God
for it? Have you rehearsed all these
blessed reminiscences? Oh, thank God
for a Christian father! Thank God for a
Christian mother! Tbank God for an
early Christian altar at which you were
taught to kneel! Tbank God for an early
Christian home!
I bring to mind another passage in the
history of your life. The day came when
you set up your own household. The days
passed along in quiet blessedness. You
twain sat at the table morning and night
and talked ovtniyour plans for the future.
The most insijiiflcant affair in your life
became the subject of mutual consultation
and advisement. You were so happy you
felt you never could bo any happier. One
day a dark cloud hovered overgour dwell
ing, and it got darker and darker, but
out of that cloud the shining messenger of
God descended to incarnate an immortal
spirit. Two little feet started on an eter
nal journey, tend you were to leaj them,
a gem to flash' in"TAaven’s coronet, and
you to polish it. Sternal ages of light
and darkness watching the starting out of
a newly created creature. You rejoiced
and you trembled at the responsibility
that in your possession an immortal treas
ure was placed. You prayed and rejoiced
and wept and wondered. You were ear
nest in supplioation that you might lead it
through life into the kingdom of God.
There was a tremor in your earnestness.
There was a double Interest about that
home. There was an additional interest
why you should stay there and be faithful,
and when in a few months your house
was filled with the music of the child’s
laughter you were struck through with
the fact that you had a stupendous mis
sion.
Have yon kept that vow? Have yon
neglected any of these duties? Is your
home as much to you as it used to be?
Have those anticipations been gratified?
God help you in your solemn reminisoenoe,
and let his mercy fall upon your soul, If
your kindness has been 111 requited. God
have mercy on the parent on the wrinkles
of whose face Is written the story of a
child’s sin. God have mercy on the mother
who, In addition to her other pangs, has
the pang of a child’s iniquity. Oh, there
are many, many sad sounds in this sad
world, but the saddest sound that is ever
heard is the breaking of a mother’s heart!
I find another point in your life history.
You found one day you were in the wrong
road; you oould not sleep at night; there
was just one word that seemed to sob
through your banking house or through
your office or your shop or your bedroom,
and that word was “eternity.” You said:
“I’m not ready for it. Oh, God have
mercy!” The Lord heard. Peace came
to your heart. In the breath of the hill
and in the waterfall’s dash you heard the
voice of God’s love; the clouds and tbs
trees hailed you with gladness; you came
into tbe house of God. You remember
how your hand trembled as you took up
the cup of the communion. You remem
ber the old minister who consecrated it,
and you remember tbe church officials
who carried it through the aisle; you re
member the old people who at the close of
the service took your hand in theirs in
congratulating sympathy, as much as to
say, "Welcome home, you lost prodigal,”
and, thopgh those hands be all withered
away, that communion Sabbath is resur
rected today. It is resurrected with all its
prayers and songs and tears and sermons
and transfiguration. Have yon kept those
vows? Have you feeen a backslider? God
help you. This day kneel at tbe foot of
mercy and start again for heaven. Start
now as you started then. I rouse youl
soul by that reminiscenoe.
But I must not spend any more of my
time in going over the advantages of youl
life. I just put them in one great sheaf,
and I call them up in your memory with
one loud harvest song, such as the reapers
sing. Praise the Lord, ye blood bought
immortals on earth! Praise the Lord, ys
crowned spirits of heaven!
Is Ike Shadows.
But some of you have not always had ■
smooth life. Some of you are now in the
shadow. Others had their troubles year*
ago. Yon are a mere wreck of what you
once were. I must gather up the sorrow*
of your past life. But how shall I do it!
You say that is impossible, as you have
had so many troubles and adversities.
Then I will just take two—the first trou
ble and the last trouble. As when you are
walking along the street and there hat
been music in tbe distance you uncon
sciously find yourselves keeping step to
the music, so, when you started life, youl
veiy life was a musical time beat. Tbe
air was full of joy and hilarity. With the
bright clear oar you made the boat skip.
You went on, and life grew brighter, un
til after awhile suddenly a voice from
heaven said, “Halt!” and quick as the
sunshine you baited, you grew pale, yon
confronted your first sorrow. You had no
idea that the flush on your child’s cheek
was an unhealthy flush. You said it can
not be anything serious. Death in slip
pered feet walked round about the cradle.
You did not hear the tread. But aftet
awhile the truth flashed on you. You
walked the floor. Oh, if you could, with
your strong, stout hand, have wrenched
that child from tbe destroyer! You wont
to your room, and you said: “God, save
my child! God, save my child!” Th*
world seemed going out in darkness. You
said, “I can’t bear it; I can’t bear it."
You felt as if you could not put the long
lashes over the bright eyes, never to see
them again sparkle. If you could have
taken that little one in yonr arms and
with it leaped the grave, how gladly you
would have done it! If yon could let youi
property go, your bouses go, your land
and your storehouse go, how gladly you
would have allowed them to depart if you
could only have kept that one treasure!
But one day there came up a chill blast
that swept through the bedroom, and in
stantly all the lights went out, and there
was darkness—thick, murky, impenetra
ble, shuddering darkness. But God did
not leave you there. Mercy spoke. As
you took up the bitter cup to put it to
your lips God said, “Let it pass,” and
forthwith, as by tbe hand of angels, an
other cup was put into your hands. It
was the cup of God’s consolation. And as
you have sometimes lifted the head of a
wounded soldier and poured wine into his
lips, so God puts his left arm under your
head and with his right hand he pours in
to your lips the wine of his comfort and
his consolation, and you looked at the
empty cradle and looked at your broken
heart, and you looked at the Lord’s chas
tisement, and you said, “Even so, Father,
for so it seemeth good in thy sight.”
Ah, it was your first trouble. How did
you get over it? God comforted you. Yon
had been a better man ever since. You
have been a better woman ever since. In
the jar of the closing gate of the sepulcher
you heard the clanging of the opening
gate of heaven, and you felt an irresistible
drawing heavenward. You have been
spiritually better ever since that night
when the little one for the last time put
its arms around your neck and said;
“Good night, papa; good night, mamma.
Meet me in heaven. ”
But I must come to your latest sorrow.
What was it? Perhaps it was sickness.
The child’s tread on the stair or the tick of
the watch on the stand disturbed you.
Through the long weary days you counted
the figures in the carpet or the flowers ixf
the wall paper. Oh, the weariness of ex
haustion ! Oh, the burning pangs! Would
God it were morning, would God it were
night, was your frequent cry. But you are
better, or perhaps even well. Have you
thanked God that today you can come out
in the fresh air; that you are in your place
to hear God’s name and to sing God’s
praise and to implore God’s help and to
ask God’s forgiveness? Bless the Lord
Who healeth all outdiseases and redeem-
eth our lives from destruction.
Perhaps your last sorrow was a financial
embarrassment. I congratulate some of
you on your lucrative profession or occu
pation, on ornate apparel, on a comroodl-
uas residcifee-~ fverj »
hands on seems to turn to gold. Eot >
there are others of you who are like the
ship on which Paul sailed where two seas
met, and you are.broken by the violence
of the waves. By an unadvised .indorse
ment, or by a conjunction of unforeseen
events, or by fire or storm, or a senseless
panic, you have been flung headlong, and
where you once dispensed great charities
now you have hard work to win your
daily bread. Have you forgotten to tbank
God for your days of prosperity and that
through your trials some of you have
made investments which will continue
after the last bank of this world has ex
ploded and the silver and gold are molten
in tbe fires of a burning world? Have
you, amid all your losses and discourage
ments, forgot that there was bread on
yonr table this morning and that there
shall be a shelter for your head from tho
storm, and there is air for your lungs and
blood for yonr heart and light for yonr
eye and a glad and glorious and trium
phant religion for your soul?
Perhaps your last trouble was a bereave
ment. That heart which in childhood
was your refuge, the parental heart, and
whioh has been a’source of the quickest
sympathy ever since, has suddenly become
silent forever. And now sometimes, when
ever in sudden annoyance and without
deliberation you say, “I will go and tell
mother,” the thought flashes on you, “I
have no mother.” Or the father, with
voice less tender, but with heart as lov
ing, watchful of all your ways, exultant
over your success without saying much,
although the old people do talk it over by
themselves, his trembling hand on that
staff which you now keep as a fanjjjly
relic, his memory embalmed in gratelul
hearts—is taken away forever. Or there
was your companion in life, sharer of yonr
joys and sorrows, taken, leaving the heart
an old ruin, where tbe ill winds blow over
a wide wilderness of desolation, the sands
of tbe desert driving across the place
which once bloomed like the garden of
God. And Abraham mourns for Sarah at
the cave of Machpelah. As you were mov
ing along your path in life, suddenly, right
before you, was an open grave. People
looked down, and they saw it was only a
few feet deep and a few feet wide, but to
you It was a cavern, down which went all
yonr hopes and all your expectations. But
cheer up, in the name of the Lord Jesus
Christ, the Comforter. He is not going to
forsake you. Did the Lord take that child
out of your arms? Why, he is going to
shelter it better than you could. He is
goiug to array it in a white robe and palm
branch and have it all ready to greet you
at your coming heme. Blessed the broken
heart that Jesus heals! Blessed the im
portunate cry that Jesus compassionates!
Blessed the weeping eye from which the
soft hand of Jesus wipes away the tear!
The Closing of Life.
Some years ago I was sailing down the
St. John river, which is the Rhine and
the Hudson commingled, and while I was
on the deck of the steamer a gentleman
pointed out to me the places of interest,
and he said, “All this is interval land,
and it is the richest land in all the prov
inces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. ”
“What,” said I, “do you mean by ‘inter
val land?’” “Well,” he said, “this land
is submerged for a part of the year. Spring
freshets come down, and all these plains
are overflowed with the water, and the
water leaves a rich deposit, and when the
waters are gone the harvest springs up,
and there is a richer harvest than I know
of elsewhere.” And I instantly thought,
“It is not the heights of the church, and
it is not the heights of this world that are
the scene of the greatest prosperity, bul
the soul over which the floods of sorrow
have gone—the soul over which the fresh
ets of tribulation have tom their way—
that yields the greatest fruits of righteous
ness and the largest harvest for time and
tbe richest harvest for eternity.” Bless
God that your soul is interval land!
There is one more point of absorbing
reminiscence, and that is the last hour of
life, when we have to look over all our
past existence. What a moment that will
be! I place Napoleon’s dying reminiscence
on St. Helena beside Mrs. Jndson’s dying
reminiscence in the harbor of St. Helena,
tbe same Island, 30 years after. Napo
leon’s dying reminiscence was one of de
lirium—“Tete d’armee”—“Head of the
army.” Mrs. Judson’s dying reminis
cence, as she came home from her mis
sionary toil and her life of self sacrifice
for God, dying in the cabin of the ship in
the harbor of St. Helena, was, “I always
did love the Lord Jesus Christ.” And
then, the historian says, she fell into a
sound sleep fur an hour and woke amid
the songs of angels. I place the dying
reminiscence of Augustus Caesar against
the dying reminiscence of the apostle
Paul. The dying reminiscence of Augus
tus Caesar was. addressing his attendants,
“Have I played my part well on tho stage
of life?” and they answered in the affirma
tive, and he said, “Why, then, don’t yon
applaud me?” The dying reminiscence of
Paul the apostle was, “I have fought a
good fight, I have finished my course, I
have kept the faith; henceforth there is
laid up for me a crown of righteousness,
which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will
give me in that day, .and not to me only,
but to all them that love his appearing.”
Augustus Caesar died amid pomp and
great surroundings. Paul uttered his
dying reminiscence looking up through
the wall of a dungeon. God grant that
our dying pillow may be the closing of a
useful life and the opening of a glorious
eternity.
“The builders of sleeping cars, ” says the
Providence Journal, ‘‘are running short
of names, and there is a demand for new
systems of nomenclature. Mere number
ing would be too prosaic for imaginative
travelers. Talker of the Day suggests that
the titles of works of fiction might bo used
for this purpose and that the experiment
would demonstrate the comparative sopo
rific power of our novelists. It is an ex
cellent idea, and we should like to see it
tried. We have a notion that the sleeping
car‘The Christian’would soon become a
favorite, with ‘The (Sorrows of Satan’ a'
good second.”
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One result of the Spanish war has been
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position secondary only to that of Great
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From the position of fourth rank two
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Years ago we established a coal pile at
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France has coal piles In tbe West Indies
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shall islands in the Pacific, but not one is
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Army and Navy Journal
AN EXCITING BATTLE.
Lawrence C. Doyle of Port Angeles re
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river. The big animal suddenly appeared
at the entrance to a cave and, with a roar,
crouched to spring at the Indian.
“I threw my fish spear at him, and the
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“The animal then crouched to spring at
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“First I tried to drown him. When 1
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He would spring into the air and throw
me four to five feet. ' He would double up
and try to chew tbe spear pole in two. All
the time he was screeching and screaming
like a cat.
“Toward tbe end I nearly gave up.
Finally the Indian returned after a 13
mile trip for a gun. His first shot wound
ed the beast in t,lie side and made bis an
ger something terrible. The seoond car
ried away the greater part of his bead. It
was an hour before I was able to walk.”—
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