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shedding of blood. . <?..' without it there is no remission, ACCORDING TO SCRIPTURE. 1| j-fce Rev. Dr. TalmaKe Preachen M> Xto ,ne »t m 4 Convincing Sormon From • Well Known Text— Pang For Pong, Blood gor Blood and Life For Life. fcopyrf« ht - 1898 > Xt£>n < j rlCan PrMB A “°’ Washington, April 10.—The radical theory of Chriztianity la set forth by Dr. Talmage in this discourse, and remarkable Instances of self sacrifice are brought out for illustration. The text Is Hebrews lx, 22, “Without shedding of blood is no re mission.’' John G. Whittier, the last of the great school of American poets that made the last quarter of this century brilliant, asked me in the White mountains one morning after prayers, In which I had given out Cowper’s famous hymn about “the foun tain filled with blood,” “Do you really believe there is a literal application of the blood of Christ to the soul ?’’ My negative reply then is my negative reply now. The Bible statement agrees with all physicians and all physiologists and all scientists in saying that the blood is the life, and in the Christian religion it means simply that Christ’s life was given for our life. Hence all this talk of men who say the Bible story of blood is disgusting, and that they don’t want what they call a “slaughter house religion,” only shows their incapacity or unwillingness to look through the figure of speech toward the thing signified. The blood that on the darkest Friday the world ever saw oozed hr trickled or poured from the brotv, and the side, and the hands, and the feet of the Illustrious sufferer back of Jerusalem in a few hours coagulated and dried up and forever disappeared, and if man had de pended on the application of the literal blood of Christ there would not have been a soul Saved for the last 18 centuries. * The Red Word. In order to understand this red word of my text we only have to exercise as much common sense in religion as we do in everything else. Fang for pang, hunger for hunger, fatigue for fatigue, tear for tear, blood for blood, life for life, we see every day Illustrated. The act of substitu tion is no novelty, although I hear men talk as though the idea of Christ’s suffer ing substituted for our suffering were something abnormal, something distress ingly odd, something wildly eccentric, a solitary episode in the world’s history, when I could take you out into this city and before sundown point you to 1500 oases of substitution and voluntary suffering of one in behalf of another. At 9 o’clock tomorrow afternoon go among the places of. business or toll. It, will be no difficult thing for you to find men who by their looks show you that they are overworked. They are premature ly old. They are hastening rapidly toward their decease. They have gone through crises in business that shattered their nervous system and pulled on the brain. They have a shortness of breath and a pain in the back of the bead and at night an insomnia that alarms them. Why are they drudging at business early and late? For fun? No. {t would be difficult to extract any amusement out of that exhaustion. Because they are avaricious? In many eases no. Because their own personal ex penses are lavish f No. A few hundred dol lars would meet all their wants. The sim ple fact is the man is enduring all that fa tigue and exasperation and wear and tear to keep his home prosperous. There is an invisible line reaching from that store, from that bank, from that shop, from that scaffolding, to a quiet scene a few blocks, a few miles away, and there is the secret of that business endurance. He is simply the champion of a homestead, for which he wins bread and wardrobe and education and prosperity, and in such battle 10,000 mon fall. Os ten business men whom I bury nine die of overwork sor z others. Some sudden disease finds them with no power of resistance, and they are gone. Life for life! Blood for blood! Substitu tion! A Dim Light In the House. At 1 o’clock tomorrow morning, the hour when slumber is most uninterrupted and profound, walk amid the dwelling houses of the city. Here and there yon will find a dim light, because it is the household custom to keep a subdued light burning, but most of the houses from base to top are as dark as though uninhabited. A merci ful God has sent forth the archangel of sleep, and he puts his wings over the city. But yonder is a clear light burning, and outside on a window casement a glass or pitcher containing food for a sick child. The food is set in the fresh air. This is the sixth night that mother has sat up with that sufferer. She has to the last point obeyed the physician’s prescription, not giving a drop too much or too little or a moment too soon or too late. She is very anxious, for she has buried three children with the same disease, and she prays and weeps, each prayer and sob end ing with a kiss of the pale cheek. By dint of kindness she gets the little one through the ordeal. After it is all over the mother is taken down. Brain or nervous fever sets in, and one day she leaves the conval escent child with a mother's blessing and goes up to join the three departed ones in the kingdom of heaven. Life for life! Substitution I The fact is that there are an uncounted number of mothers who aft er they have navigated a large family of children through all the diseases of Infancy and got them fairly started up the flower ing slope of boyhood and girlhood have only strength enough left to die. They fade away. Some call it consumption, some call it nervous prostration, some call it intermittent or malarial indisposition, but I call it martyrdom of the domestic circle. Life for life! Blood for blood! Sub stitution! Or perhaps a mother lingers long enough to see a son get on the wrong road, and his former kindness becomes rough reply when she expresses anxiety about him. But she goes right on, looking carefully after his apparel, remembering his every birthday with some memento, and when he is brought home worn outwlth dissipa tion nurses him till he gets well and starts him again and hopesand expects and prays and counsels and suffers until her strength gives out and she fails. She is going, and attendants, bending over her pillow, ask her if she has any message to leave, and she makes great effort to say something, but out of three or four minutes of indis tinct utterance they can catch but three words, “My poor boy I” The simple fact Is she died for him. Life for Ilse I Substi tution! Blood For Blood. About 88 years ago there went forth from epi northern and southern homes hundreds of thousands of men to do bat tle. AU the poetry of war isoon vanished and left them nothing but the terrible prose. Thev waded knee deep in mud. They slept ID show banka. They marched till their cut feet tracked the earth. They were swindled out of their honest rations and lived on meat not fit for a dog. They had jaws fractured and eyes extinguished and limbs shot away. Thousands of them cried I for water as they layon the field the night after the battle and got it not. They were homesick and received no message from their loved ones They died in barns, in bushes, in ditches, the buzzards of the summer heat the only attendants on their obsequies. No one but the infinite God, who knows everything, knows the ten' thousandth part of the length and breadth and depth and height of anguish of the northern and southern battlefields. Why did these fathers leave their children and go to the front, and why did these young men, postponing the marriage day, start out into the probabilities of never coming back? For a principle they died. Life for life! Blood for blood I Substitution! But we need not go so far. What is that monument in the oenieteryf it is to the doctors who fell in the southern epidemics. Why go? Were there not enough sick to be attended in these northern latitudes? Ob, yes; but the doctor puts a few medical books In his valise, and some vials of med icine, and leaves his patients here in the hands of other physicians and takes the rail train. Before he gets to the infected regions be passes crowded rail trains, reg ular and extra, taking the flying and af frighted populations. He arrives in a city over which a great honor is brooding. He goes from couch to couch, feeling the pulse and studying symptoms and pre scribing day after day, night after night, juntil a fellow physician says: “Doctor, you had better go home and rest You look miserable. ” But he cannot rest while so many are suffering. On and on, until some morning finds him in a delirium, in which he talks of home and then rises and says be must go and look after those patients. He is told to lie down, but he fights his attendants until he falls back and is weaker and weaker and dies for people with whom he bad no ynship and far away from his own, family and is has tily, put away in a stranger’s tomb, and only the fifth part of a newspaperline tells us of bis sacrifice—bis name just men tioned among flvo. Yet he baa touched the farthest height of sublimity in that three weeks of humanitarian service. He goes straight as an arrow to the bosom of him whosaid, “I was sick, and yevisited me.” Life for life! Blood for blood I Substitu tion) A Story of Seward. In the legal profession I see the same principle of self sacrifice. In 184 C William Freeman, a pauperized and idiotic negro, was at. Auburn, N. Y„ on trial for mur der. He. bad slain the entire Van Nest family. The foaming wrath of the com munity could be kept off him only by armed constables. Who would Volunteer to be his counsel? No attorney wanted to sacrifice his popularity by such an un grateful task. All were silent save one, a young lawyer with feeble voice, that could hardly be heard outside the bar, pale and thin and awkward. It was William H. Seward,, who saw that the prisoner was idiotic and irresponsible and ought to be put in an asylum rather than put to death, the heroic counsel uttering these beautiful words: “I speak now in the hearing of a people who have prejudged prisoner and con demned me for pleading in bis behalf. He is a convict, a pauper, a negro, without intellect, sense or emotion. My child with an affectionate smile disarms my careworn face of its frown whenever I cross my threshold. The beggar in the street obliges me to give because he says, ’God bless you !* as I pass. My dog caresses me with fondness if I will but smile on him. My horse recognizes me when I fill his manger. What reward, what gratitude, what sym pathy and affection can I expect here? There the prisoner sits. Look at him. Look at the assemblage around you. Lis ten to their ill suppressed censures and ex cited fears, and tell me where among my neighbors or my fellow men, where even in his heart I can expect to find a senti ment, a thought, not to say of reward or of acknowledgment, or even of recogni tion. Gentlemen, you may think of this evidence what you please, bring in what verdict you oan, but I asseverate before heaven and you that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, the prisoner at the bar does not at this moment know why it is that my shadow falls on you instead of his own.” Buskin. , The gi llows got its victim, but the post mortem examinatfon of the poor creature showed to all the surgeons and to all the World that the public were wrong and William H. Seward was right ana that hard, stony step of obloquy in the Auburn courtroom was the first step of the stairs of fame up which he went to the top, or to within one step of the top, that last denied him through the treachery of American politics. Nothing sublimer was ever seen in an American courtroom than William H. Seward, without reward, standing be tween the furious populace and the loath some imbecile. Substitution I In the realm of the fine arts there was as remarkable an instance. A brilliant but hypercrltioised painter, Joseph William Turner, was met by a volley of abuse from all the art galleries of Europe. His paint ings, which have since won the applause of all civilized nations, “The Fifth Plague of Egypt,” “Fishermen on a Lee Shore In Squally Weather,” “Calais Pier,” “The Sun Rising Through Mist” and “Dido Building Carthage,” were then targets for critics to shoot at. Ip defense of this out rageously abused man a young author of 34 years, just one year out of college, came forth with his pen and wrote the ablest and most famous essay on art that the world ever saw or ever will see—John Ruskin’s “Modern Painters.’* For 17 years this author fought the battles of the maltreated artist, and after in poverty and broken heartedness the painter bad died and the public tried to undo their cruelties toward him by giving him a big funeral and burial in St. Paul’s cathedral his old time friend took out of a tin box 19,000 pieces of paper containing drawings by the old painter and through many weary and uncompensated months assort ed and arranged them for public observa tion. People say John Ruskin in his old days is cross, misanthropic and morbid. Whatever he may do that he ought not to do and whatever be may say that he ought not to say between now and his death he will leave this world insolvent as*far as it has any capacity to pay this author’s pen for its chivalric and Christian defense of a poor painter’s pencil. John Buskin for William Turner! Blood for blood! Substi tution! An Exaltinr Principle. What an exalting principle this which leads one to suffer for another! Nothing so kindles enthusiasm or awakens elo quence, or chimes poetic canto, or moves nations. The principle is the dominant one in our religion—Chrito the martyr, Christ the celestial hero, Christ the de fender, Christ the substitute. No new principle, for it was old as human nature, but now on a grander, wider, higher. 1 deeper and more world resounding scale. The shepherd boy as a champion for Israel with a sling toppled the giant of Philis tine braggadocio in the dust, but bore is another David who, for all the armies of churches militant and triumphant, hurls 1 the Goliath of perdition into defeat, the crash of bls brazen annor like an explosion at Hell Gate. Abraham had at God’s oom ' mand agreed to sacrifice his son Isaac, and the same God just in time had provided a . ram of the thicket as a substitute, but there is another Isaac bound to the altar, and no hand arrests the sharp edges of laceration and death, and the universe shivers and quakes and recoils and groans at the horror. All good men have for centuries been trying to tell whom this substitute was like, and every comparison, inspired and uninspired, evangelistic, prophetic, apos tolic and human, falls short, for Christ was the Great Unlike. Adam a type of Christ, because he came directly from God; Noah a type of Christ, because he delivered hie own family from deluge; Melchisedec a type of Christ, because he had no prede cessor or successor; Joseph a type of Christ, because he was cast out by bis brethren; Moses a type of Christ, because he was a deliverer from bondage; Joshua a type of Christ, because he was a conqueror; Bam soh a type of Christ, because of his strength to slay the lions and carry off the iron gates of impossibility; Solomon a type of Christ in the affluence of his dominion; Jonah a type of Christ, because of the stormy sea in which he threw himself for the rescue of others, but put together Adam-4nd Nosh and Melchisedec and Jo seph and Moses and Joshua and Samson and Solomon and Jonah, and they would not make a fragment of a Christ, a quar ter of a Christ, the half of a Christ or the millionth part of a Christ. From the Top of Glory. He forsook a throne and sat down on his own footstool. He came from the top of glory to the bottom of humiliation and changed a circumference seraphic for a circumference diabolic. Once waited on by angels, now hissed at by brigands. From afar and high up he came down, past me teors, swifter than they; by starry thrones, himself more lustrous, past larger worlds to smaller worlds, down stairs of firma ments and from cloud to cloud and through treetops and into the camel’s stall, to thrust his shoulder under our burdens and take the lances of pain through his vitals, and wrapped himself in all the agonies which we deserve for our misdoings and stood on the splitting decks of a founder ing vessel amid the drenching surf of the sea and passed midnights on the moun tains amid wild beasts of prey and stood at the point where all earthly and infernal hostilities charged on him at once with their keen sabers—our substitute! When did attorney ever endure so much for a pauper client or physician for the pa tient in the lazaretto or mother for the child In membranous croup as Christ for us and Christ for you and Christ for me? Shall any man or woman or child in this audience who has ever suffered for another find it hard to understand this Christly suffering for us? Shall those whose sym pathies have been wrung in behalf of the unfortunate have no appreciation of that one moment which was lifted out of all the ages of eternity as most conspicuous, when Christ gathered up all the sins of those to be redeemed under his one arm and all their sorrows under h’s other arm and said: “I will atone so» these under my right arm and will heal all those under my left arm. Strike me with all thy glit tering shafts, oh, eternal justice! Roll over me with all thy surges, ye oceans of sorrow.” And the thunderbolts struck him from above, and the seas of trouble rolled up from beneath, hurricane after hurricane and cyclone after cyclone, and then and there in presence of heaven and earth and hell, yqp, all worlds witnessing, the price, the bitter price, the transcendent price, the awful price, the glorious price, the infinite price, the eternal price, was paid that sets us free. The Religion of Blood. That is what Paul means, that is what I mean, that is what all those who have ever bad their heart changed mean by “blood." I glory in this religion of blood I I am thrilled as I see the suggestive color in sacramental cup, whether it be of bur nished silver set on cloth immaculately white or rough hewn from wood set on table in log but meeting house of the wil derness. Now lam thrilled as I see the altars of ancient sacrifice crimson with the blood of the slain lamb, and Leviticus is to me not so much the Old Testament as the New. Now I see why the destroy ing angel passing over Egypt in the night spared all those houses that had blood sprinkled on their doorposts. Now I know what Isaiah means When he speaks of “one in red apparel coming with dyed garments from Bozrah,” and whom the Apocalypse means when it describee a heavenly chieftain whose “vesture was dipped in blood,” and what' John the apostle means when he speaks of the “precious blood that cleanseth from all sin,” and what the old, wornout, decrepit missionary Paul means when, in my text, he cries, “Without shedding of blood is no remission. ” By that blood you and I will be saved —or never saved at all. In all the ages of the world God has not once par doned a single sin except through the Sav iour’s expiation, and he never will. Glory be to God that the hill back of Jerusalem was the battlefield on which Christ achiev ed our liberty! It was a most exciting day I spent on the battlefield of Waterloo. Starting out with the morning train from Brussels, Belgium, we arrived in about an hour on that famous spot. A son of one who was in the battle, and who had heard from his father a thousand times the whole scene recited, accompanied us over the field. There stood the old Hougomont chateau, the walls dented and scratched and broken and shattered by grapeshot and cannon ball. There is the well in which 800 dying and dead were pitched. There is the chapel with the head of the infant Christ shot off. There are the gates at which for many hours English and French armies wrestled. Yonder were the 160 guns of the English and the 360 guns of the French. Tender the Hanoverian hussars fled for the Woods. The Fete of Centuries. Yonder was the ravine of Ohaln, where the French cavalry, not knowing there was a hollow in the ground, relied over and down, troop after troop, tumbling into one awful mass of suffering, hoof of kicking hones against brow and breast of captains and colonels and private soldiers, the human and the beastly groan kept up Until the day after all was shoveled under because of the malodor arising in that het month of June. “There,” said our guide, “the highland regiments lay down on their faces waiting for the moment to spring upon the foe. In that orchard 3,500 men were cut to pieces. Here stood Wellington with white lips, and up that knoll rode Marshal Ney on his sixth horse, five having been shot un der him. Here the ranks of the French broke, and Marshal Ney, with his boot slashed of a sword, and his hat off and hit face covered with powder and blood, tried to rally his troops as he cried,’Crane and see how a marshal of French dies on the battlefield. ’ From yonder direction Grou chy was expected for the French re-enforoe ment, but Be came not. Around those woods Blucher was looked for to re-en force the English, and just in time be came up. Yonder is the field where Napo leon stood, his arms through the reins of the horse’s bridle, dazed and Insane, try ing to go back.” Scene of a battle that went on from 96 minutes to 13 o’clock on the 18th of June until 4 o’clock, when the English seemed defeated, and their oom manaer cried outr “ Boys, you can’t think of giving way? Remember old England!” And the tides turned, and at 8 o'clock in the evening the man of destiny, who was called by his troops Old Two Hundred Thousand, turned away with broken heart, and the fate of centuries was decid ed. The Uea aad.the Lamb. No wonder a great mound has been reared there, hundreds of feet high—a mound at the expense of millions of dol lars and many years in rising, and on the top is the great Belgian Hon of bronze, and a grand old Hon it is. But our great Waterloo was in Palestine. There came a day when allnell rode up, led by Apollyon, and the captain of our salvation confront ed them alone. The rider on the white horse of the Apocalypse going out against the black horse cavalry of death, and the battalions of the demoniac and the myr midons of darkness. From 19 o’clock at noon to 8 o’clock in the afternoon the greatest battle of the universe went on. Eternal destinies were being decided. All the arrows of bell pierced our Chieftain, and the battleaxes struck him, until brow and cheek and shoulder and hand arid foot were incarnadined with oozing life, but he fought on until he gave a final stroke with sword from Jehovah’s buckler, and the commander in chief of bell and all bls forces fell back in everlasting ruin, and the victory is ours. And on the mound that celebrates the triumph we plant this day two figures, not in bronze or iron or sculptured marble, but two figures of liv ing light, the Lion of Judah’s tribe and the Lamb that was slain. Don't Tobacco Spit and Smoke Year Lift Away. • To quit tobacco easily and forever, be mag netic, full of life, nerve and vigor, take No-To- Bac, the wonder-worker, that mokes weak men strong. All druggists, BOc or 81. Cure guaran teed. Booklet and sample free. Address Sterling Remedy Co.. Chicago or New York. ANNOUNCEMENTS. For County Surveyor, I hereby announce myself a candidate lor County Surveyor, of Spalding county, subject to the democratic primary of June 23rd. A. B. KELL. For County Commissioner, Editor Call : Please announce that I am a candidate for re-election for County Commissioner, subject to the action of the democratic primary, and will be glad to have the support oi all the voters. J. A. J. TIDWELL. At the solicitation of many voters I hereby announce myself a candidate for County Commissioner, subject to the dem ocratic primary. If elected, I pledge my self to an honest, business-like administra tion of county affairs in the direction of lower taxes. R. F. STRICKLAND. 1 hereby announce myself a candidate for County Commissioner, subject to the democratic primary to be held June 23, next. If elected, I pledge myself to eco nomical and business methods in conduct ing the afftirs oi the county. W. J. FUTRAL. I hereby announce myself a candidate for County Commissioner of Spalding county, subject to the Democratic primary of June 23d, W. W. CHAMPION. To the Voters of Spalding County: I hereby announce myself a candidate for re-election to the officeofCountyCommis sioner of Spalding county, subject to the democratic primary to be held on Jnne 23, 1898. My record in the past is my pledge for future faithfulness. ' D. L. PATRICK. For Representative- To the Voters of Spalding County: I am a candidate for Representative to the legislature, subject to the primary ot the democratic party, and will appreciate your support. • J. P. HAMMOND. Editor Call: Please announce my name as a candidate for Representative from Spalding county, subject to the action ot the democratic party. I shall be pleased to receive the support of all the if elected will endeavor to represent the interests of the whole county. J. B. Bkll; For Tax Collector. I respectfully announce to the citizens of Spalding county that I am a candidate for re-election to the office of Tax Collec tor of this county, subject to the choice of the democratic primary, and shall be grateful for all votes given me. T. R. NUTT. a For County Treasurer. To the Voters of Spalding County: I announce myself a candidate for re-elec tion for the office of County Treasurer, subject to democratic primary, and if elect ed promise to be as faithful in the per formance of my duties in the future as I have been in the past. J. C. BROOKS. For Tax Btosiver. I respectfully announce myself as a can didate for re-election to the office of Tax Receiver of Spalding county .subject to the action of primary, if one is held. 8. M. M’COWELL. For Sheriff. I respectfully inform my friends—the people of Spalding county—that I am a candidate for the office of Sheriff, subject to the verdict of a primary, if one is held Your support will be thankfully received and duly appieciated. MJ. PATRICK. I am a candidate for the democratic nomination for Sheriff, and earnestly ask the support of all my friends and the pub lic. If nominated and elected, it shall be my endeavor to fulfill the duties of the of fice as faithfully as in the past M. F. MORRIS, > - AN OPEN LETTER To MOTHERS. WE ARE ASSERTING IN THE COURTS OUR RIGHT TO THE EXCLUSIVE USE OF THE WORD “CASTORIA,” AND “PITCHER’S CASTORIA,” AS OUR TRADE MARK. Z, DR. SAMUEL PITCHER, 0/ Hyannis, Massachusetts, 908 the originator of “PITCHER’S CASTORIA,” the same that has borne and does now on bear the facsimile signature of wrapper. This is the original * PITCHER’S CASTORIA,” which has been used in the homes of the Mothers of America for over thirty yean. LOOK CAREFULLY at the wrapper M see that it is the kind you have always bought 0/1 and has the signature of wrap- per. No one has authority from me to use my name ex cept The Centaur Company of which Chas. H. Fletcher is President. * , , March 8,1897. Do Not Be Deceived. Do not endanger the life of your child by accepting a cheap substitute which some druggist may offer y<>” (because he makes a few more pennies on it), the in gredients of which even he docs not know. “The Kind You Have Always Bought” BEARS THE FAC-SIMILE SIGNATURE CF Insist on Having - The Kind That Never Failed You. <MS •«HT«un W mukrat •rScrr. ««w tMI ->tt * • —GET YOUH — JOB PRINTING v DONE A.T The Morning Call Office We have just supplied our Job Office with a onjHti hr< o i ’ kinds and can get up, on short notice, anything wanted in the way <m LETTERHEADS, ' BILLHEADS." . STATEMENTS, IRCULARB - NOTES, * tab ' > MORTGAGES, Ai JASDB, DODGERS, ETC., K We my toe brat iue of FMVEL n FES va : thistrada. A. FOBTia a m. M te taut« Our prices for work oi all kinds will compare fevorably with those obtained n any office in the state. When you want job printing of* any descripticn call Satisfaction guaranteed. ALL WORK DONE *With Neatness and Dispatch. I Out of town orders will receiv ■ ' prompt attention * J. P. & S B. SawtelL