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•REV. tTR. TALMAGE The Eminent Divine’s Sunday Discourse. Subject . The Garden of the Klnc—Christ the Founder and Gardener—-The Flow ers and Fruits or i:eli B lous Devotion —The Beauty of lllght I.lvinß. [Copyright lik'd.[ Washington D. C.-This sermon Dr. Taimage sends from a halting place in his journey through the valleys of Switz erland. It seems to liave been prepared amid the bloom and aroma of a garden midsummer. The text is Song of Solo mon v. 1. lam come into my garden ” The Bible is a great noem. We have in it faultless rjiythm and bold imagery and startling anthithesis and rapturous lyric and sweet pastoral and instructive narra ti\e and devotional psalm; thoughts ex pressed in style more solemn than that of Montgomery, more bold than that of Milton, more terrible than that, of Darile, more natural than that of Words worth, more impassioned than that of Pollok, more tender than that of Cowpcr more weird thjin that of Spenser. This great poem brings all the gems of the earth into its coronet, and it weaves the flames of judgment into its garlands and pours eternal harmonies in its rhythm Everything this book touches it makes beautitUi, from the plain stones of the summer thrashing floor to the daughters of Nahor filling the troughs for the cam els; from the fish pools of Heshbon up to the psalmist praising God with diapason of storm and whirlwind, and Job’s im agery of Orion, Arcturus and the Pleiades. lay text leads us into a scene of sum mer redolence. The world has had a great many beautiful gardens. Charle magne added to the glory of his reign bv decreeing that they be established all through the realm—deciding even the names of the flowers to he planted there. Henry IV., at Montpelier, established gardens of bewitching beauty and lux*- riance, gathering into them Alpine. Py renean and French plants. One of the sweetest spots on earth was the garden of Shenstonc, the poet. His writings have made but little impression on the world, but his garden, ‘‘The Leasowes,” will be immortal. To the natural advantages of that place was brought the perfection of art. Arbor and terrace, and slope and rustic temple and reservoir and urn and fountain here had their crowning. Oak and yew and hazel put forth their richest foliage. There was no life more diligent, no soul more ingenious than that of Shenstone, and all that diligence and ge nius he brought to the adornment of that one treasured spot. He gave £3OO for it; he sold it for £17,000. And yet I am to tell you to day of a richer garden than any I have mentioned. It is the garden spoken of in my text, the garden of the church, which belongs to Christ, for my text says so. He bought it, He planted it, He owns it, and He shall have it. Walter Scott, in his outlay at Abbots ford, ruined his fortune, and now, in the crimson flowers of those gardens, you can almost think or imagine that you see the blood of tha<, old man’s broken heart. The payment of the last £IOO,OOO sacri ficed him. But I have to tell you that Christ’s love and Christ's death were the outlay of this beautiful garden of the church, of which my text speaks. Oh, how many sighs and tears and pangs and agonies! Tell me, ye women who saw Him hang! Tell me, ye executioners who lifted Him and let Him down! Tell me, thou sun that didst hide! ye rocks that fell!- “'Christ loved the church and gave Himself for it.” If the garden of the church belongs to Christ, certainly He has a right to walk in it. Come, then, O blessed Jesus, to-day; Walk up and down these aisles, and pluck what Thou wilt of sweetness for Thyself! The. church, in my text, is appropriately compared to a garden, because it is a place of choice flowers, of select fruits and of thorough irrigation. That would be a strange garden in which there were no flowers. If nowhere else, they would he along the borders or at the gateway. The homeliest taste will dictate something, if it be only the old fashioned hollyhock or dahlia or daffodil, but if there he larger means, then you will find the Mexican cactus and blazing azalea and clustering oleander Well, now, Christ comes to His Garden, and He plants there some of the brightest spirits that ever flowered upon the world Some of them are violets, inconspicuous, but sweet as heaven. You have to search and find them. You do not see tli-erri very of ten, perhaps, but you find where they have been by the brightened face of the invalid and the sprig of geranium on the stand and the new window curtains keep ing out the glow of the sunlight. They are, perhaps, more like the ranunculus, creeping swiftly along amid the thorns and briers of life, giving kiss for sting, and many a man who has had in his way some great black rock of trouble has found that they have covered it all over with flowery jasmine running in and out amid the crevices. These flowers in Christ’s garden are not like the sunflower, gaudy in the light, but .wherever darkness hovers over a soul that needs to be comforted, there they stand, night blooming eereuses. But in Christ’s garden there are plants that may be bet ter compared to the Mexican cactus — thorns without, loveliness within; men . with sharp points of character. They wound almost every one that touches them. They are hard to handle. Men pronounce them nothing but thorns, but Christ loves them notwithstanding all their sharpnesses. Many a man has had a very hard ground to cultivate, and it has only been through severe trial he has raised even the smallest scrap of grace. Avery harsh minister was talking to a very placid elder, and the placid elder said to the harsh minister: “Doctor, I do wish you would control your temper.’’' “Ah,” said the minister to the elder, “I control more temper in five minutes than you do in five years.” It is harder for some men to do right than for other men to do right. The grace that would ele vate you to the seventh heaven might not •keep your brother from knocking a man down. I had a friend who came to me and said, “I dare not join the church.” I said, “Why?" “Oh,” ho said, “I have such a violent temper. Yesterday morn ing I was crossing very early at the Jersey City ferry, and I saw a milkman pour a large quantity of water into the milk can, and I said to him: ‘I think that will do,’ and he insulted me and I knocked him down. Do you think I ought to join the church?” Nevertheless that very same man, who wa3 so harsh in his behavior, loved Christ, and could not speak of sa cred things without tears of emotion and affection. Thorns without, sweetness within—the best specimen of Mexican cactus I ever saw. There are, others planted in Christ's garfien who are always radiant, always impressive—more like the roses of deep hue that we occasionally find, called “giants of battle;” the Martin Luthers, St. Pauls, Chrysostoms, Wycliffes, Lati mers and Samuel Rutherfords. What in other men is a spark in them is a confla gration. When they sweat, they sweat great drops of blood. When they pray, their prayer takes lire. When they preach it is a Pentecost. When they fight, it is a Thermopylae. When they die, it is a martyrdom. You find a great many roses in the gardens, but only a few “giants of battle.” Men say, “Why don’t you have more of them in the church?” I say, “Why don’t you have in the world more Humboldts and Wellingtons?” God gives to some ten talents, to others one. Again, the church may be appropriately compared to a garden, because it is a place of fruits. That wouid be a strange garden which had in it no berries, no plums or peaches or apricots. The coarser trmts are planted in the orchard or thev aro set out on the sunny hillside, hut the choicest fruits are kept in the garden. So m the world outside the church Christ has planted a great many beautiful things patience, charity, generosity, integrity, hut He intends the choicest fruits to lie in the garden, and if they are not there, then shame on the church. Religion is not a mere flowering senti mentality. It is a practical, fife giving, ■(ol ii u —not posies, hut apples. ‘Oh, says somebody. "I don’t see wbat garden of the church has yielded.” Where did your asvluma eoine from, and your hospitals, and your institutions of mercy? Christ planted every one of them. He planted them in His garden. Vv hen Christ gave sight to Bartimeus, He laid the cornerstone of every blind asy him that has ever been built. When Christ soothed the demoniac of Galilee, He laid the cornerstone of every lunatic asylum that has ever been established. ” hen Christ said to the sick man. ‘‘Take up thy bed and walk,” He laid the cor nerstone of every hospital the world lias ever seen. When Christ said. “I was in prison, and ye visited Me,” He laid the cornerstone of every prison reform asso ciation that has ever been organized. The church of Christ is a glorious garden, and it is full of. fruit. I know there is some poor fruit in it. I know there aro some weeds that ought to be thrown over the fence. I know there are some crab apple trees that ought to be cut down. I know there are some wild grapes that ought to be uprooted. But are you going to destroy the whole garden because of a little gnarled fruit? You will find worm eaten leaves in Fontainebleau and insects that sting in the fairy groves of the Chamns Elysecg. You do not tear down and destroy the whole garden because there are g few specimens of gnarled fruit. I admit there are men and women in the church who ought not to be there, but let us be frank and admit the fact that there are hundreds and thousands of glorious Christian men and women—holy, blessed, useful, consecrated and triumph ant. There is no grander collection in all the earth than the collection of Christians. There are Christian men in every church whose religion is not a matter of psalm singing and churchgoing. To-morrow morning that religion will keen them just as consistent and consecrated in their worldly occupation as it ever kept them at the communion table. There are wom en with us to-day of a higher type of character than Mary cf Bethany. They not only sit at the feet of Christ, but they go out into the kitchen to help Martha in her work, that she may sit there too. There is a woman who has a drunken hus band, who has exhibited more faith and patience and courage than Ridley in the fire. He was consumed in twenty min utes. Hers has been a twenty years’ martyrdom. Yonder is a man who has been fifteen years on his back, unrtfde to feed himself, yet calm and peaeoful as though he lay on one of the green banks of heaven, watching the oarsmen dip their paddles in the crystal river! I have not told you of the better tree in this garden and of the better fruit. It was planted just outside Jerusalem a good while ago. When that tree was planted, it was so split and bruised and barked men said nothing would ever grow upon it, but no sooner had that tree been planted than it budded and blossomed and fruited, and the soldiers’ spears were only the clubs that struck down 'that fruit, and it fell into the lap of the na tions, and the men began to pick it up and eat it, and they found in it an antidote to all thirst, to all poison, to all sin, to all death, the smallest cluster larger than the famous one of Esbeol, which two men carried on a staff between them. If the one apple in Eden killed the race, this one cluster of mercy shall restore. Again, the church in my text is appro priately called a garden because it is thoroughly irrigated. No grrden could prosper long without plenty of water. It has seemed as if Jesus Christ topic the best. From many of your households the best one is gone. You know that she was too good for this world. She was the gentlest m her ways, the deepest in her affection, and when at last the sickness came you had no faith in medicines. You knew that the hour of parting had come, and when, through the rich grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, you surrendered that treasure you said: “Lord Jesus take it —it is the best we have. Take it. Thou art worthy.” The others in the household may have been of grosser mold. She was of the finest. The heaven of your little ones will not be fairly begun until you get there. All the kindnesses shown them by finmor tals will not make them forget you. There they are, the radiant throngs that went out from your homes. I throw a kiss to the sweet darlings. They are all well now in the palace. The crippled child has a sound foot now. A little lime child says, “Ma, will I be lame in heaven?” “No, roy darling, you won’t be lame in heaven." A little sick child says, “Ma, will I be sick in heaven?” “No, my dear, you won’t be sick in heaven.” A little blind child says, “Ma, will I be blind in heav en?" “No, my dear, you won’t be blind in heaven.” They are all well there. I notice that the fine gardens some times have high fences around them, and I cannot get in. It is so with a king’s garfien. The only glimpse you ever get of such a garden is when the king rides out in his splendid carriage. It is not so with this garden, this King’s garden. I throw wide open the gate and tell you all to come m. No monopoly in religion. Whosoever will, may. Choose now between a desert and a garden. Many of you have tried the garden of this world’s delight. You have found it has been a chagrin. So it was with Theodore Hook. He made all the world laugh. He makes us laugh now when we read his poems, but he could not make his own heart laugh. While in the midst of hi3 festivities he confronted a looking glass, and ho saw himself and said: “There, that is true. I look just as I am, done up in body, mind and purse.” So it was of Shenstone, of whose garden I told you at the beginning of my sermon. He sat down amid those bowers and said: "I have lost my road to hap piness. I am angry and envious and frantic and despise everything around me just as it becomes a madman to do.” 0 ye weary souls, come into Christ’s garden to-day and pluck a little hearts ease! Christ is the only rest and the only pardon for a perturbed spirit. Do you not think your chance has almost come? You men and women who have been wait ing year after year for some good oppor tunity in which to accept Christ, but have postponed it live, ten, twenty, thirty years—do you not feel as if now yom? hour of salvation had come? O man, what grudge hast thou against thy poor soul that thou wilt not let it be saved? Some years ago a vessel struck on the rocks. They had only one lifeboat In that lifeboat the passengers and crew were getting ashore. The vessel had foundered and was sinking deeper and deeper, and that one boat could not take the passengers very swiftly. A little girl stood on tne deck waiting for her turn to get into the boat. The boat came and went, came and went, but her turn did not seem to come. After awhile she could wait no longer, and she leaped on the taffrail and then sprang into the sea, cry ing to the boatman: “Save me next! Save me next!” Oh, how many have gone ashore into God’s mercy, and vet you are clinging to the wreck of sin. Others have accepted the pardon of Christ, but you are in peril. Why not this moment make a rush for your immortal rescue, crying until Jesus shall hear you and heaven and earth ring with the cry: “Save me next! Save me next!" Now is the day of salva tion! Now! Now! l FREE BLOOD AND SKIN CURE. 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A kinder husband never drew breath; yet so sure as he touches a bit of pork he begins to worry hisself about the doctrine of Election, till I say, “ I’d be ashamed to go troubling the minister with my doubts when an Ayer’s Pill would set things straight again.” J. C. Ayer Company, Practical Chemists, Lowell, Mass. Ayer’s Sarsaparilla Ayer’s Hair Vigor Ayer’s Pills Ayer's Cherry Pectoral Ayer’s Ague Cure Ayer’s Comatonc Agreed. Wife—“l told the man to some and tune the piano ut eleven o’clock.” Husband—“You must be a ru id reader.” “Why?” “Because that Is the hour I had set to finish the last chapter of my book.” -—Harper’s Bazar. Seaboard Air Line Railway. Arrangements have been effected by which 1,000 mile books, the price of which is $25 each, issued by the Sea board Air Line Railway, are honored through to Washington over the Penn sylvania Railroad; from Portsmouth to Baltimore over the Baltimore Steam Packet Company, and between Clinton and Columbia over the Columbia, New berry & Laurens Railroad. This ar rangement includes the books issued by the Florida Central & Peninsular and Georgia & Alabama Railroads. Generous Impulse Thwarted. “What a lovely fan, Clara!” “Isn’t It sweet? I bought It for Julia on lug birthday and liked It so well that I kept It myself.”—Chicago Record. Prescription for Chills end Fever to a bottle of (iKOVK’B Tasteless l hill Tonic. It is simply iron and quinine in tasteless form. No cure—no pay. Price 50c. 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