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©he Jttonfgmnerj) monitor.
D. C, SUTTON, Editor and Proprietor.
REV. lU>. TAIJLVdK.
THE BROOICBYN DIVINE’S SUN
DAY' SERMON.
Subject of Discourse: “On Trial. ’
Text: “We hare an advocate with the
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." l —/
John ii., l.
Standing in a court-room you say to your
self: “At this bar crime has often been ar
raigned; at this witness stand the oath has
oltau been taken: at this jurors' bench tiie
verdict has been rendered; at this judge s
desk sentence has been pronounced.’' Bu I
have to tell you to-day of a trial higher than
any Oyer and Terminer or Circuit or Su
preme or Chancery. It is the trial of every
Christian man for the life of his soul. This
trial is different from any other in the fa t
that it is both civil and criminal. The is-ues
at stake are tremendous, and I shall iu rny
sermon show you, first, what are the grounds
of complaint; then, who are the witnesses iu
the cause, and lastly, who are the advo ate-.
When a trial is called on, the first thing is
to have the, indictment read. Stand up tlien,
o Christ-an men, and hear the indictment
of the court of high heaven against thy soul.
It is an indictment of ten counts, for thou
has directly or indirectly broken ail the ten
Commandments. You know low it thun
dered on Sinai, anil when God came down
how the mountain.rocked and the smoko as
cended as from a smouldering furnace and the
darkness gathered thick aud the loud deep
trumpet utt red the words: “The soul that
siaueth, it shall die!” Are you guilty or not
guilty: Do not put in a negative plea too
quick, for l have to announce that “all have
sinned and come short of the glory of God.
There is none that doeth good; no, not one.
t\ hosoever shall keep the whole law, yet of
fend in one point, he is guilty of all ’ Do
net, therefore, he too hasty in pronouncing
yourself not guilty.
This lawsuit before us also charges you
with the breaking of a solemn contra t.
Many a tune did wj promise to bu the
Lord’s. We got down on our knees and said:
“O Lord, 1 am thine now and forever.’’
Did you keop the promise? Have you stood
up to the contract? 1 go back ta your first
communion. You remember it as woll as if
it were yesterday. You know how the vis
ion of the cross rose before you. You re
member how from the head aud the han .s
and the side and the feet, there came bleed
ing forth these two words: “Komember
Me.” You recall how the cup of ccmmunion
trembled in your hand when you first took
it; and a< in a s a-sheli you may hear, or
think y..u hear, the roariug of the surf oven
after the shell has been taken from the
beach, so you lifted the cup of
communion and you heard in it
the surging of the great o< ean of
a Saviour s agony': and you came forth from
that communion service with lace shining as
though you had been ou the Mount of Trans
figuration : and the very air seemol tremu
lous with the love of Jesus, aud the woods
and the leaves and the giass and the birds
were brighter and s woe ter-voiced than ever
before, «nd you said down in the very depths
of your soul: “Lord, Thou knowest all
things; Tiiou knowest that i love Thee.”
Have you kept the bargain, O Christian
man? Have you not sometimes faltered
when you ought to have been true? Have you
not been proud when j'ou ought to have been
humble.' Have you not played the coward
when you ought to have been thy hero? I
charge it upon you and 1 charge it upon my
self —we have broken the contract.
Still further; this law suit claims damages
at your hands. The greats t -lan Ser ou the
Christian religion is au inconsistent profes
sor. The Bible says religion is one thing;
we by our incousis ency say religion is some
other thing, and what is more deplorablo
about it is that people can see faults of others
while they canuot see auy iu thennelves. If
youshail at any time find some miierabloold
gossip, with imperfection : from the crown
of her head to the sole of iter foot, a perfect
blotch of sin herself, she will go tattling, tat
tling, tattling ail the yeai-s of her life ab ut
the inconsistencies of others, having no idea
that she is inconsistent herself. God save the
world from the gossip, female and male. I
think the males are the worst! Bow the
chariot of Christ’s salvation goes on through
the world; but it is our inconsistencies,
my brethren, that block up the wheels, while
all along the line there ought to have been
cast nothing but palm branches, and the
shout should have been lifted: “Hosanna
to the son of David.”
Now you have heard the indictment read. !
Are you ready to plead guilty or not
guilty ! Perhaps you are not ready yet to
plead. Then the trial will go on. The wit
nesses will bo called and we shall have the I
matter decided. In the name of God I now
make proclamation. Oyez! (lycz! Oyoz!
Whosoever hath anything to offer in this
trial, in which God is the plaintiff and the
Christian soul the defendont, let him now
step forth and give testimony in this solemn
trial.
The first witness that I call upon the stand j
in behalf of the prosecution is the world-all
criti al and observantof Christian character.
You know that there are people around you j
who perpetually banquet on the frailties of !
God’s ch i Iren. You may know, if you have
lived in the country, that a crow cares for j
nothing so much as carrion. There are those j
who imagine that out of the faults of ( hris- j
tiaus they cau make a bridge of boats across I
the stream of death, aud they are g dug to
try it: but, a’as, for the mistake! When they
get amid stream away will go the bridge,
and down will go their souls to per
dition. O world of the greedy eye and
the hard heart, coino on the stand now
and testify in behalf of tbo prosecution
against this Christian soul on trial. What
do you know about this Christian man?
“Oh,” says the world, “I know a great deal
about him. He talks about i u’ting ins treas
ures in heaven, but he is the sharpest man in j
a trade I ever knew. He seems to want ns to !
believe that ho is a child of G si, but he is
just full of imperfections. Ido not know
but I am a great deal better thin he is now. |
Oftentimes hi is very earthly,and he talk- so ■
little about Christ and so much about him- j
self. lam very g!a Ito testify that this is a |
bad man.”
Stop, O World wrth the greedy eye and 1
her 1 heart. I fear you are too "much inter
ests 1 in this trial to give jnr artial evidence.
Let all those who hear trie testimony of tli s
witness know that there is an old family
quarrel between these two parties. Th -re
al wav's has i een a variance between the j
world and the church aud while the world
an the witness '-tand to-dav has told a great
deal of truth about this Christian man, you
must take it all with some allowance, re
membering that they still keip the ol 1
grudge good. O World of the greedy eye
and the hard heart. < hat will do. Y'ou may
Sit down. _ .
The second witness I call in this case is
Conscien"e. Who art thon, O Cons-ien'-e?
What i - vour business ' Where were von
born ? What are von doing here “Ob,”
savs Conscience. “I was bom in heaven: I
came down to befriend this man: I have lived
w:th him. I have instructed him. I have
warned him. I shove l him th • right and
the wrong, ad using him to take the one and
«sc-bew the - ther: I have kindiel a great
light in hi- soul. with a whip of scorpions!
have scon-gel his wickedness and i
have tried t< <•: eer him when rieenp j
right: an 1 yet I am compelled t'. *
testify on the stand to-day that be has
MT. VERNON. MONTGOMERY CO.. GA.. WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 5. 1887.
Sometimes reiectod my mission. Oh. how
many cups of life havo I p-essed to his lies
that he dashed down, and how often ha-, he
stood with his hard heel on the bleo ling
heart of the Son of God! It pains mo very
Wmh that t have to testify against this
< "nristian man. and yet 1 must, in behalf of
Hint who will in no wise ‘dearthe guilty, snv
• that tips Christian man has done wrong. He
has been wc.rlllv. Ho has been neglectful.
He Ims done a then and things he ought not
to have done nnd left undone a thousand
things he ought to have done.” That will do,
Conscience. You cau sit down.
The third witness I call in the case is an
angel of Got Bright and shining one. what
div'st thou here? What hast thou to -ay
against this man ou trial? “Oh,” sava the
att. cl. “1 have been a messenger to him and
have gunrde 1 him I have watched him.
With this wing I defended him. and often
times when he knew it not 1 led him into the
green pastures an i beside the still waters. I
snatched from him the poisoned chal
ices. When bail spirits came upon
hint to destroy him, I fought them
bn k with infinite fierceness; nnd yet 1
have to tcstifv to-day that ho has rejected
my mission. He lias not done as he ought to
have done. Though I came from the sky lie
drove me back. Though with this wing I
defended him and though with this voice I
wooed him, I have to announce his multi
plied imperfections. I dare iot keen back
the testimony, for then I should not dare to
aopear again among the sinless ones before
the great white throne.”
There is only ono more witness to be called
on behalf of t iie nrosc ait : ori and that is the
great,, the holy, the august th > omnipotent
Spirit of God. We bow down before him.
ilolv Spirit, knowest thou this man' “Oil,
ves,” says the Holy Ono, “I know him. I
have striven with him ten thousand times
and though sometimes he did seem to repent,
he fell back again as often from his first, es
tate. Ten thousand times ten thousand has
he grieve 1 mo. although the Bible warned
him. saying: ‘Grieve not the Holy Ghost.
Oueneh not the Spirit.’ Yes, lie has
driven me back. Though T am the
Third Person of the Trinity, lie has
trampled on my mission, and the blood of
the atonement that 1 brought with which to
cleanse his soul, lie sometimes despised. I
catne from the throne of God to convert, nnd
comfort and sanctity, and yet look at that
man nnd see what ho is compared with what,
unresi-ted, 1 would have made llim.”
Theeviden e on the part of the .prosecu
tion has closed. Now let the defence bring
ou the rebuttal testimony. What have you,
OChristian soul,to bring in reply to this evi
dence of the world, of the conscience, of
the nngel and of the Holy Ghost? No evi
dence? Are all the o things true! “Yes.
Ln lean, unclean,” says every Christian
soul. What.' Do you not i ogin to tremble
at the thought of eon lemnation?
We ha: e come n uvti tli - most interesting
part of this great trial. Tiie evidence ail in,
the advo at -: speak. The profession of an
advocate is full of res on ability. In Eng
land and the United St.tes there have arisen
men who in this calling have been honored by
their race and thrown contempt upon those
who iu the proses-ion have been guilty of n
great many meannesses. That profession
will be honorable as long ns it has attached
to it such names as Mansfit Id and Marshall,
nnd Story, and Kent and Southard, and
William Wirt. The court-room has so nr.
times been the scene of very marvellous nad
tliriling things. Some of you remember the
famous Girard will case, where ono of our
advocates plea led the cause of the Bible and
Christianity in masterly Anglo-Saxon, every
paragraph a thunderbolt.
Some of you havo read of the famous trial
in Westminster Hall, of Warren Hastings,
the despoilerof India. That great man had
conquered India by splendid talents, by
courage, by bribes, by gigantic dishonesty.
The whole world had rung with applause or
condemnation. Gathered in Westminster
Hall, a place in which thirty Kings had been
inaugurated, was one of the most famous
audiences ever gathered. Foreign Ministers
aud Princes sat there. I’eers marched in
clad in ermine an 1 gold. Mighty men and
women from all lands looked down upon the
scene. Amid all that pomp and splendor,
nnd amid an excitement such as has
seldom been seen in any court
room, Edmund Burke advanced in a
speech which will lust as long as the English
language, concluding with this burning
charge which made Warren Hastings cringe
and cower: “1 impeach him in the name of
the Commons House of Parliament, whose
trust h i has betrayed. I impeach him in the
name of the English nation, whose ancient
honor he has sullied. I impeach him in the
name of the people of India, whose rights he
lias trampled ou. and whose country lie has
turned into a desert. And, lastly, in the
name of human nature, in the name of both
sexes, in the name of every age and rank, I
impeach him as tho common enemy and op
pessor of all.”
Rut 1 turn from the recital of those inem
orable’occasions to a grander trial and I have
to tell you that in this triai of the Christian
for the life of his soul the advocates are
mightier, wiser and more eloquent. The evi
dence all being in, Justice rises in behalf of
the prosecution to make his plea. With the
Bible open in his hand, he reads the law,
stern and inflexible, and the penalty: “The
soul that sinneth, it shall die.” Then he
says: “O, thou Judge and lawgiver, this is
Thine ovt n statute and all the evidence in
earth and heaven agrees in stating that this
man has sinned against all these enactments.
Now let the sword leap from its scabbard.
Shall a man go through the very flames of
Sinai unsinged? Let the law be executed.
Let judgment be pronounced. Let him die.
1 demand that he die.”
O Christian, does it not look very dark for
thee? Who will plead on thy sido in so for- 1
lorn a cause? Sometimes a man will be
brought into a court of law and lie will have
no friends and no money, and the judge will
look over the bar and say: “Is there anv
one who will volunteer to take this man’s
rase and defend him <” and some young man
rises up and says: “I will be his coon el:”
perhaps starting on from that very
point to ,a great and brilliant career;
Now, in this matter of the soul,
as you have nothing to pay for connsel, do
you think that any one will volunteer' Yes,
ye:; I see One rising, lie.is a young man,
only thirty-three years of age. I see His
countenance suffused with tears and covered
with blood, and all the galleries of heaven
are thrilled with the spectacle. Thanks he
unto God. “we have an advo-ate with the
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. ”
() Christian soul, your case begins to look
better. I think perhaps after all you may
not have to di The best advocate in all the
universe has taken your side. No one «as
ever so qualified to defend a rnan as this ad
vocate is qualified to defend you. He knows
all the law, all its demands, all its penalties.
He is always ready. No new turn of the case
can surprise Him, and He will plead
for you for nothing as earnestly as
though you brought a world of treasures
to His feet. Besides that, He has
undertaken the rare of thousands who were
as forlorn as you, aud he has never lost a case.
Courage. O Christian soul. I think that after
all there may be some chance for you, for the
great Advocate rise's to make his plea, be
says: “I admit all that has been proved
against my client. I admit all these sins, aye,
more: but look at that wounded hand of
mine, aud look at that other wounded hand
and at ray right foot and at my left foot. By
all these wound- I plead for his clearance.
Count all the drops of my tears. Count
ail the drops of my blood. By the humilia
tion of Bethlehem, by the sweat of Geth
semane, by the sufferings of the cross I de
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.’’
maud that ho go free. On this arm ho hath
leaned; to this heart ho hath flown; in my
tears he hath washed; on my righteousness ha
hath depended. Let bin go free. 1 am the
ransom, l.et him escape the lash, I took the
si eurgings. Let the cup pass from him, I
drank it to the dregs. Put on him tlio crown
of life, for 1 have worn the crown of thorns.
Over against my cross of shame set his
throne of triumph.
Well, the counsel on both sides have
ipoken and there is ouiy mote thing reiiifuu
ng, and that is the awarding of the judg
uent. If you have ever been in a court
•oo.n you know th ' silent utiil th * solemnity
ivlien the verdict is about to bo rendered or
Jie judgment about to ho gi\ en. About tins
mul on trial, shall it be saved or shall it ho
ot< Attention! above, around, beneath.
Ml the universe cries: “Hear! Hear!
The judge rises aud gives this decision,
lover to lie changed, never t> lie revoked:
'There is therefore now no c ndoinnation to
shorn who are in Christ Jesus.”
‘The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for re
pose, .
[ will not, I will not desert to Ins foos;
Dint soul, though a'l hell should endeavor to
shake, „
I’ll never, no nevi -r, no never forsake.
But, my friends, there is coming a day of
Srial in which not only the saint hut the sin
ner must appear. I hat day of trial will come
very suddenly. The laruier will be at the
iiloiigh, the merchant will be in the counting
room, the woodman will be ringing Ins axe
jn the hickories, the weaver will have his
oat on the treadle, the manufac
turer will be walking amid the
)u«* of looms and the clack of Ilyin g ma
hiiicrv, tho counsel may be stanlsng at the
bar, pleading the law, the minister may ho
>le,ading the Gospel, the drunkard maybe
reeling amid his cups, and .the blasphemer
ivith the oath caught between his toe!li.
I.o! tho sun hides. Night comas down nt
mid-noon. A wave of darkness rolls over
all the earth. The stars apt car at noon day.
The earth shudders and throbs. Tbore an
earth pm .o opens and a city sinks as a croco
:lilo would crunch a child. Mountains roll
In their sockets auil send down their granite
rlifl's in ail avalanche of ro :k. Rivers pause
In their chase for tho sea, a d ocean uproar
ing cries to flying Alps and Hitnal
xynli. Beasts b 1 low and mean and
i-’mff up the darkness, clouds lly like
locks of swift eagles. Great thunders
tie it an 1 boom and burst. Stars shoot and
fall, 'i'li« almighty, rising on 11 is throne, do
.-laros that time shall bn n . longer aud the
archangel’s trump r peat: it till all the living
near nnd tho continents of dead spring to
their feet, crying: •'Time shall bo no longer 1”
Oil, on that day will you be ready?
I have shown you haw well the Christian
will get oil' in his trial. Will you get off as
well in your trial? Will Olir.st plead on your
side or will Ho plead against yi i? Oh,want
will you do ia the la-t great assize, if your
sonscdenco is against yoi.and tho world is
irminst yo l, an 1 tb • an ;<•: . <■!' heaven are
n 'ainst you. and the ll»lv S .bin is against
you. and t!ie Lord Go I Almighty is against
,ou: Hotter t'lis day secure au a Ivocate.
A Talc of a Dog.
Yesterday afternoon, about !! o’clock,
a dog with a tin kettle tied to Itis wag
ging machinery was observed on Austin
avenue. The dog did not appear to be
much alarmed at flic kettle auy more
than the average politician is when he is
nominated to a lucrative office. He took
it as a matter of course. There was a
tall, seedy looking young man standing
near a crowd of the sidewalk. He looked
intently at the dog for a moment, then
said:
“By George' that is banker Thomp
son’s little daughter's lost dog that he
has offered S?TO for.”
Immediately five different men, with
their mouths sticking out like mucilage
bottles, trying to whistle, and saying:
“That’s a good little doggy 1” ad
vanced on tli" astonished animal. One
very respectable looking gentleman, with
a silk hat on, tried to detain the animal
by his handle, but tli" dog got mixed up
with his legs, and down he came like a
pile-driver. Several haekmen, who were
subsequently arrested for leaving their
teams, joined in the canvass, and when
the procession turned the corner, with
the dog and attachment twenty feet in
advance, almost, every of our cos
mopolitan population hadi ts delegate in
the pageant. Then it was that the sleek
young man doubled himself up, and
went behind a door until his emotion
passed over.— Texas Siftings.
It Wasn’t Tooth Powder.
I was told yesterday a rather amusing
story at the expense of Mark Twain
and the same story is already a standing
joke in society. Not long ago the hu
morist was traveling in the country, and
stopped one evening at a house presided
over by an elderly woman. He was
shown to a room somewhat bare of or
nament and furniture, yet slept peace
fully until morning. When morning
came and he arose, he became mindful
of the fact that, although he had pro
vided himself with a toothbrush, he had
forgotten his tooth powder. He consoled
himself with the thought that there must
be tooth powder lying somewhere about.
After a brief s arch, he discovered some
thing', in a small box on the mantel,
which certainly resembled tooth powder.
At any rate, he used it vigorously on his
teeth and found it satisfactoiy. When
he got downstairs he apologized to his
hostess for using her tooth powder, f-he
appeared surprised. “What tooth pow
der?” she inquired blandly. “It was on
the mantel,” Mark replied. “On the
mantel?’’ she repeated. “Yes,in a small
box. It was excellent,” he declared.
“Good gracious,” she ejaculated. “That
wasn’t tooth powder.” “What was it?”
a-ked Mark, now slightly alarmed.
“Why, that was auntie,” said she. (It
seems that “auntie” ha I been cremated.)
— lioehester J'ost's .Y>w York Letter.
Getting Some Satisfaction.
“What’s the matter, Bobby?” in
quired h s mother, as the boy flounced
into the nursery.
“Pa-s-ent me out of the 1-library
c-cause I made too much n-noise.”
“I hope you didn’t say anything rude
to your papa ”
“X-no,’ replied Bobby, who knows
better thm to be rude to the old man,
“but I s-slammed the door.”
Im.inoio Knight': of Labor are trying to
mine and sell coal, but the railroad; refuse
to carry their production.
TO FAME.
“Bright fairy of the morn, with flowers ar
rayed
Whose beauties to thy young pursuer
i-oem
Beyond the ecstasy of poet’s dream—
Plmll I o’ertake thee, ere thy lustre fade?
“Ripe glory of the noon, to dazzled eyes
A pageant of delight nnd bower of gold,
Dissolving into mirage manifold—
Do I o’ertake tlieo, or mistake thy prize!
•'Dull shadow of the evening, gaunt and
gray,
Al random thrown, beyond me, or above,
Ami c >ld as memory in the arms of love
Have 1 o’erta’enthen, but to oast away?”
‘‘No morn, or noon, or eve am I,” she sniil
“But night, the depth of night behind tho
sun;
By nil mankind pursued, but never won,
Until my shadow (alls upon a shade.”
— Harper's Magazine
THE PAWNED WATCH.
isy maim \ harping davis.
I-“ Taking die line 3, 4 as the
base, I”
David Kershaw s eyes wandered from
the book to the window. There was
nothing to b - seen there but a red brick
wall.about three feet distant. Then they
traveled wearily over the walls of his
room, with their soiled red and yellow
paper, the bare floor, the cheap pine
table pi:e 1 with books, the cot-bed in
the corner.
“If one had even a lire or a stove!” ho
muttered, kicking at the black grating
of the register, through which a feeble
supply of warm air crept into the room.
lie took up his book, scrawling impa
tiently.
/‘lf I take!), 4 as the Lm-e” and
niuin Iho hook dropped on his knee.
“Four years of this! Four years of ut
ter solitude! You’ve taken too big a
contract. Date! You can tgo through
with it J” and lie fell to staring gloomily
at the bricks outside of the window.
David Kershaw was a country boy,
used to a free, out-door life, to a big
house, with roaring tires, and to a large,
gay family of young people He had
been working for years for the money to
carry him through college, and had come
up to begin his i o ;rso three months ago.
He had not. an acquaintance in the
great-city, lie rented this attic room,
bought his dinner for ten or fifteen cents
at a cheap eating-house, and ate crackers
a.- 1 cheese for breakfast and supper, llis
ctUthcs were c arse and ill-fitting, and
he was painfully conscious of it, and held
liimiolf haughtily aloof from his fellow
students. College lads are not apt to
break through any shell of pride nnd sul
lonne s to find the good fellow beneath.
They simply let David alone, with a care
less indifference more galling than dis
like.
lie plodded silently from Ihe college
to his hare room, and thence to the mis
erable eating-house day after day.
Being naturally a genial, friendly fel
low, the thought of the four long, lonely
years to come sickened him.
He threw up the window presently,
and put his head out to catch a glimpse
of the street into which the alley opened.
A young man on horseback passed at the
moment. It was Jourdan Mitehencr,
one of his cla's. Ho rode a blooded
nmre, and was fully equipped in cordu
roy coat and knickerbockers, cream col
ored leggings, and gauntlets.
“A regular swell i” thought Kershaw,
laughing good-humoredly, lie had no
ticed this (‘ro sus of the college before,
“lie has a good, strong face. Well,
luck’s unevenly divided in this world!”
taking up his book with a sigh.
Half an hour later there was a knock
nt the door. David opened it, expect
ing to see his landlady, but there stood
Mitehencr, smiling, whip in hand.
“Mr. Kershaw?” lifting his hat.
“Ashamed not to have known you be
fore, but there are such a lot. of us fel
lows, you know. Thanks, taking
a chair. “My mother saw your name in
a catalogue, and sent me to tell you
that your mother and she were school
mates and friends, ‘Daisy’ and ‘Lily’
that sort of thing, I believe. My mother
married a city man, and for that reason,
during the years that have pasted, has
lost sight, of her old schoolmates who
lived awuy from the city.”
“And ///// mother married a farmer,
and has been poor all of her life,” inter
rupted David, morosely.
“Yes, yes. American life! Up to-day
and down to-morrow,” carelessly.
Homcthing in Mitchcner’s manner made
his wealth and David's poverty appear
paltry accidents, to which they, as men,
were loftily superior. Before they had
been together ten minutes, David felt
his morbid gloom disappear. He began
to talk naturally and laugh heartily.
“This Mitelie er was a thorough good
fellow,” he wrote home that night.
“Was riot conscious, apparently, that he
was worth a dollar.”
The tr th was that Jourdan fully ap
preciated the value of his father's great
wealth, but he was a well-bred and cour
teous young fellow, and knew how to
pint a poor and awkward lad at ease.
Kershaw was invited to dinner at Mrs.
Mitchenei’« on Sunday. Ife went about
the next day after this dinner in a daze
of delight, at if he had been passing
through a golden mist, aud had brought
some of it still dinging to him. He
hummed a tune, as he pored over his
piroblcrns. He did not see the bare floor
and hideous wall-paper, but the beauti
ful home in which he had been treated
as an honored g ;cst. The Persian car
pets, the statuary, the table brilliant with
flowers and silver, eien tiie delicious fla
vors of the dishes lingered gratefully on
hit long starved ; elate lie had met,
too, women more charming and men
more gently-bred than any he had ever
known before
What a world they lived in! He was
even yet bewildered by his glimpse into
it. Every luxury and delight waited on
the lifting of their hands. Libraries,
galleries of art, operas, bnlls, voyages to
Europe, to tho Nile! This was life! He
wanted more of it— more of it.
Mrs. Mitchnor had asked him to ro ne
often; had offered to introduce him to
her friends, “a gay young set,” she said.
He walked up and down the room,
flushed and panting. 110 had never
dreamed of such a world! lie must see
more of it! How stale atul dull the
Latin and mathematics seemed now!
But how to compass it? He could not
go again without a dress suit, lie had
seen one that day in a second hand shop,
very cho.-ip. His blood grew hot at the
idea of wearingsotne other man’s cast-off
clothes, but ho pushed that thought
sable.
How could he raise the money? lie
drew out his wntcli. It was a gold one,
the one luxurious possession in the fam
ily. Ilis father had solemnly given it to
| him when he, left home, saying:
“It, was my father’s. I’ve kept it in
! my bureau drawer for twenty years.
Take it, David. You’re goin’ out into
the world. You’ll never disgrace it, my
boy.” Remembering tho old man’s face
ns ho said this, David thrust it back into
lus pocket,
“What a snob I am! To part with
daddy’s watch for a suit of old clothes!”
| But the next moment lio thought that.
| lie could pawn it. He would soon have
|it back. Save tlio money, or earn it—
(somehow.
It was not ns if lie were yielding to a
vicious temptat ion of tlio town —gambling
|or drinking. Tho society of these high
; bred people would elevate, educate him.
! There was a tap at tho door, and Mitch
j oner came in.
“No, can’t sit down; I’m in a hurry.
1 Brought a message from my mother. She
would liko to have you join an opera
parly (o night. Eight or ten young
people. Meet nt our house, box nt the
opera, and back to supper afterward.
1 You’ll come? That’s right. Good
i morning!”
No! no! Slay! Mr. Mitchener!” His
comtnoi -sense suddenly rose strong and
; dear. “I ought not to begin this life,
i It’s your life, not mine. I'm a poor man.
; I have four years of hard work here be
fore me, nnd after that my living to earn.
Even the hour at your house yesterday
ruined me for study to-day.”
“Well! well!” said Jourdan, carelessly.
! “Don’t he so vehement about it. Going
onco to the opera will not make you a
man of fashion for life. Think it over,
and come. Give the college tho go-by
for a day.
“Oh, by the way!” ho added, coloring
a little. “Gan Ibe of pecuniary service
i to you, Kershaw? No, don’t be offendod.
1 have more of (lie filthy lucre than I
know what to do with. Tho fact is, I
I was just going to boy a terrier that 1
don’t want. Now, if I could lend tho
money to you, it would ho a real pleasure
to me.”
“Thank you!” Kershaw stammered,
touched, yet angry. “I do not need any
money. I have everything I need—
clothes and all," he added, with a gulp.
“Now lam in for it!” he groaned,
when Mitehencr was gone. “If I don’t
go to their party, they’ll think J had no
clothes fit to wear. The watch has to
go 1”
He paced the floor, one minute blaming
himself for a snob, the next thrilled with
delight at the thought of the evening’s
pleasure. His hooks lay neglected all
day. lie could not quiet the raging
whirl and confusion in Ids mind enough
to think of study.
He decided on nothing until nearly
dark, when he rushed out, pawned the
watch for one fourth its value, and
bought the evening suit. There was not
money enough left to lmy the shoes,
gloves, etc., necessary to complete the
dress. When he was ready to go, even
his inexperienced eye could sec that his
costume did not sot on him as if it were
made for him.
But what matter? His friends —his
welcome the music. Who would care
what clothes ho wore!
Arrived at Mrs. Mitehencr’s, he did not
find himself at all at ease. That ludy
was quite occupied with her duties as
hostess, and received him with careless
eivilty, giving her attention to her other
guests. They talked of people and tilings
of which he knew nothing. The tall,
awkward lad, his hair carefully oiled and
parted, his red hands protruding from his
short coat-sleeves, sat silent, and felt
thoroughly miserable nnd out of place.
Now and then he thought he saw one of
the dainty women near by scanning him
with furtive glances.
They drove to the opera-house and en
tered one of the proscenium boxes.
Davd had a seat at the back, where he
could catch but an occasional glimpse of
the stage and the brilliant audience. He
lmd been the leader of the choir at home,
and fond of the waltzes and marches
which his sister played on the old piano,
and fancied himself u connoisseur in
music. But he was not educated to un
derstand this music.
A very pretty, flighty young lady, Mrs.
Bellew. who was the chaperone of the
party, tried politely to make him talk to
iier, but in vain. Bhe turned to Jourdan
at last with a shrug of her hare shoul
ders.
“Your friend,’’she whispered, “seems
to be absorbed by his own thoughts, lie
does not look as if he were enjoying
himself. Who is he?”
“tine of my mother's last hobbies; a
student in the college from the coun
try.” he replied, in the -nine tone
They turned to the stage. Kershaw
saw their smiles, and knew they were
talking of him. His brain was on fire,
j Why had he come here? Was he not the
j equal of these dainty folk, as well -born,
aa virtuous, as clever, as they! They
dared to despise him because he was
awkward and ill dressed!
In his einbarrnssin'-nt and misery he
thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of
bis coat, and drew out a little painted
paper tablet, which he fingered mechun
R ally, scarcely noticing what it was un-
VOL. I. NO. 44.
til hi; saw Mrs. Bellow’s eyes fixcrl on it
with amazement and suspicion. When
the curtain fell on the first act, she came
back to him, making some incoherent
remarks about the play, while she looked
at him keenly. Suddenly she grew pale,
and interrupting herself in the middle of
a sentence, said to Kershaw: ! ‘Will you
bo good enough at tho close of tho next
act to go with me and Mr. Mitchener into
tho anteroom? I would like to speak
with you.”
When they had reached tho anteroom
nt the close of tho act, she said : “I have
a most disagreeable question to ask. Mr.
Kershaw. Our house was robbed by
burglars last Monday, and silver and jew
elry and clothes were taken. Among
the rest was an evening suit of my hus
band's. You have it on 1 ”
“Aren’t you mistaken, Mrs. Bellew?”
said young Mitchener. “Ono dress suit
is exactly like another, and—■”
“My husband,” she went on,excitedly,'
“wore it to a hall the night before it was
stolen. As wo came home, ho put my
tablet, with my dances on it, in one
pocket. In the other was my ruby ring,
which was too large for my glove. Mr.
Kershaw has the tablet in bis pocket.”
Kershaw mechanically thrust his hand
into the pocket of tho coat, and brought
out the tablet and a second later the ring,
which had caught, in the lining and so
esenped the notice of the thief. He
silently held them out to her. The power
of speech and action seemed to bo frozen
out of him with horror. Mitchener looked
at him excitedly, but said, politely:
“Have you any objections to telling
Mrs. Ucllew bow the suit came in your
possession?”
Kershaw stared at, him a moment, full
of repugnance and contempt for himself.
Tlicso were “his new friends!” this was
tho party he had parted with his old
father’s gift to enter!
“1 did not,of course,steal the clothes,”
lie said at last. “You cannot really think
I did that. But I bought them at a pawn
shop to day. I pawned my watch to do
it. I wanted to come here.”
“All right! all right!” interposed
Mitchener, soothingly. “You can bend
Mr. [iellew the name of the
and lie will recover his silver and jew
elry. Mrs Bellcw, the curtain is up."
Hho fluttered softly hack to her seat, ar
ranging her airy draperies and flowers,
and glanced meaningly at young Mitch
encr, as If to express disgust for the
poor wretch who had bought cast-olf
clothes to thrust himself in among peo
ple whom he regarded ns his superiors.
David saw it all, and rose from his seat
pnnting and trembling.
“Hit down'. Sit down!, Kershaw!”
said Mitchener, putting his hand on his
; shoulder. David shook it off.
“No; I've been a fool, but I’ve done
with it ull now. I’ll send back the
clothes—”
“Oh no!” said Mrs Bellow, looking
hack with a supercilious smile. ‘Tray
keep them.”
David lefi the box, and rushing home.,
stunned with rage and bharne, tore off
the stolen clothes and carried them to
Mr. Bellew’s house. The next day
Mitcbbner, who had a good deal of kind
ness and lu< t, arranged the matter. The
pawnbroker, who was a receiver of
stolen goods, was forced to give up the
plate, jewelry and David’s watch. The
thieves were discovered and punished.
Mrs. Mitchener, still loyal to her old
friend, sent David an invitation to a ball
the next week, lie declined it. “I have
made a mistake,” he told Jourdan, “but
I will not do it again. My path in life
is straight before me. AVith God’s help.
I will keep in it.”
His bitter humiliation had taught, him
jupter views of life. As time passed, he
made friends among the other students,
clever, unpretentious young fellows, who,
i like himself, had their own way to make
in life. His college (lays passed quickly,
lie studied medicine, and returned to his
native town to practice.
Twenty years afterward, Mr. Jourdan
Mitchener, passing through this town,
now one of the most important cities in
Pennsylvania, became suddenly ill, and
was attended for several weeks by J)r.
Kershaw. Ho heard from others of the
high position held by the physician in
the community; not only ns the head of
his profession, but as on influential citi
zen. foremost in every good work, the
founder of asylums, while U s family were
the centre of the most cultured circle in
the city.
Mitchener had married a very wealthy
woman, and had continued to live only
in pursuit of fashionable amusement.
“And what have I gained by it?” he
thought, bitterly. “If i were to die to
morrow, I should be. remembered only as
the man who kept the host French cook
in New York.”
“You were right,” he said to the doc
tor when he came that afternoon. “You
were right to keep to your own straight,
honorable path, and refuse to ape
fashion.”
“I tried it once, you remember,” said
the doctor, smiling. “The most for
tunate event of my life was my humilia
i tion about my pawned watch. It was a
bitter dose, hut it, cured me effectually,
livery tick of this old watch since”—
drawing it out—“has said to me: ‘Don’t
be a snob. Keep steadily on your own
path.’ I owe much to Mrs. Bedew. Her
treatment of me and my foolish act
turned me back from the wrong road. It
would have marie iny life a failure.”—
youth's Companion.
A professional safe burglar told a Pitts
burg reporter that when artists in his
profession were working at a safe they
often used a s-reen of canvas and stiff
wire, painted in close imitation of the
•-afe they were working on. This they
! stood in front of the safe and worked be
i hind it, and when the watchman looked
i to see if the safe was safe he saw only
the screen, which in the night looked
; like the real thing.
Crater Lake in Southern Oregon,
j over two thousand feet deep—the deep
; est in America.
