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The Montgomery Monitor.
D. C. SUTTON, Editor and Proprietor.
friendship.
As the day declines to even.
Falling in tj'c arms of night.
On? by oneth - i-tars of li.aveu
SbpJ qi\ earth their constant light.
Sj when life's bright sun is hidden
By tiio heavy gloom if woe,
True friends liko the stars, unbiddeu,
One by ono their lustre show.
Barry Lyndon, in ike Chicago Current.
LOUIE AND L
BY n.VIIRIET PRESCOTT BPOFFA
If 1 Lad been the least bit pretty I
shouldn t ha e been surprised at it all;
or if 1 had even been bright and witty;
but such a little simpleton as I!
1 never in all my life had the lead ex
pectatio i of lovers. <r of any sort; of ad
miring glances ; and I never had any. And
sometimes mother used to say she guessed
It was just as well, for if she had had to j
d>' ess two gills out for their pretty looks, ;
as she did one, it would have betrgared
her. Mother only had a little money,
jud barely enough to live on, and some
of the principal going every year, but it
wouldn’t have been in human nature,
having a daughter so pretiy as Louie,
not to want iter to have the best that
would s t off her peach-bloom beauty;
and, for my part, I never grudged Louie
a rose or a ribbon. I couldn’t have worn
them if I had had them, for I was far
too proud to try to do what feature j
hadn’t, or to pretend I thought such
things became me; and 1 liked my print .;
dresses and plain collars better for mv
self.
But when Louie was dressed iu her mus
lins till site looked liko one of tho old
fashioned blush roses, so white without
and so delicately flushed within, her
lovely yellow hair breaking out in sunny
curls all over her head, and she all radi
ant. as you might say, with hor skin, her
smiles, her teeth, her great blue, beam
ing eyes—then I used to like to look at
her as much as any of her lovers did; to
look at her as I would look at any lovely j
picture; and the always turned irom her
gayest scene—the dear little parson —to j
give her sweetest smile to me.
So when Dennis began all at once to !
come to our house, as if he had just seen j
Louie for the fir.-t time in his life, I was
only delighted. For every one who knew
him loved and honored Dennis Heed, who
was the soul of all integrity; and if ho
wasn’t a beauty himself, he wa3 a stalwart
son of Saui.and had thenieest l.ttle place
in tho region—a cottage up a lane, over
looking the river, and with a wood be
hind its orchard and across the railway
cut, to keep off the east wind—if the
east wind could ever blow iu that sunny
nook with a garden spot made and
blooming in every cranny of the rocks
around it.
He married her, and took her away;
and a happi r nest of singing birds than
that in the little cottage among the rock 3
and (lowers could nowhere have been
found, unless it were in my own heart, i
at the sight of the happiness there.
But then mother fell sick, and it took
all my time to care for her; and 1 couldn’t
go up to Louie’s very often; for I had
everything to do at home,, and was tired
out by nightfall, and often up half the
night besides. Louie couldn't very well
cornu down often; and if she had come, j
she wouldn’t have known what to do.
Poor mother! Once 1 remember, she
said to me, ’‘l don’t know but it’s more
satisfactory to have one daughter plain,
than anything else.” And it made my
heart bound. And then I reproached
my selfishness in caring to have her say
that over Louie's head, as it were; but I
remembered it long afterward, and some
timer it used to give me a throb of joy i
when everything was dreary, and I
seemed to be alone in the world.
For mother died presently. And then
it turned out that she had been living on
her little property more than we had
dreamed, and Louie's outfit and her
own long illness and its bills had used j
up money. And when everything was
paid, they had only enough left for me
to hire one room as a sort of refuge when !
I came home at night from working at
my trade; for I had quite a knack at
dressmaking. I did not put on mourn
ing ; for I was glad that mother was out ;
of pain, and I wa> glad that she was
gone before she knew that all the prop
erty was gone, and she, with her proud
spirit, would have had to be dependent. !
But Louie did—a id oh! what a beauty
she was, with her black crapes f illing
around her. so waxen, fair and rosy and
transparent! Os course she didn't mi s
mother the way I did. How could she, I
with Dennis waiting on her every wish? !
And she didn't seem to want anybody ;
but Dennis, either; so I didn’t see a j
great deal of her, only when she had ;
something new to make up, or some
thing old to alter over; and then, she
and Dennis were out most of the time,
strolling amoi g the rocks or planting a
new flower-garden, or she was going to
meet him coming from his work, or run- !
ning into the De t neighbor's, aero s the
pasture, and I had almost nothing of her,
except at trying-on times. I used to
wonder at Louie then, a little, some
times; not for not sitting at home sew
ing and helping me on the work, because
you might as well have asked a hum
ming bird to do that; but for not taking
more interest in the house and keeping
things trig and tidv. And I used to be
afraid that if I were Dennis, and there
■were holes in my socks, and half the but
tons off my clothes, and my coat and hat
never b ashed, and I came home and
found nothing for dinner-—not even the
cloth laid —an! my wife off enjoying
herself somewhere else, and the dust
everywhere so that I could write my
name, that I shouldn't feel recompensed
for ail that by having my wife stroll
round hanging on my arm, looking a3
pretty as a new-blown rose. And yet al
t ough the house must often have been
thoroughly uncomfortable to Lfccms, he
never gave a sign that it was not paradise
itself ; an i I caaie to the conclusion that
MT. VERNON, MONTGOMERY CO., GA.. WEDNESDAY.
he didn't really miss those other things,
and was satisfied with what he had,
I used to go up into the Eden some
times without being :ent for, and mend
up everything, and put the whole house
straight; but I couldn’t go so very often
on account of my work; and, beside, l
had a sensation of intruding where two
people wanted but each other.
But at last the babies came; and then
I had to go. And Louie was wild with
delight, and insisted on having them
laid on the pillow close to her cheek, and
talked and laughed and cooed and cried
to them with such glittering eyes and
dazzling color in her face, and said it was
all she wanted, even if she were in Heaven
to-morrow!
“But your husband, Louie!” I ex
claimed.
“Oh! husbands are all very well,” she
said. “But I haven’t been such an aw
fully good wife. You'd hirvo made
Dennis a great deal better wife, dear, for
the matter of that. But my little sons!
Oh! I know 1 could be a good mother!”
She was in Heaven to-morrow, tho
dear little innocent soul, and one of the
babies went with her.
I was g'ad that the little badv went
too. For I remembeied that she had
said then she would have all she wanted;
because it troubled me to think that, for
all his grief to day, Dennis wouldn’t be
like any other man in the world if he
didn't marry to morrow; and the other
wife would have the long life with him,
and become dearer and dearer, and Louie
would fade into just a beautiful dream;
and when the next life came, it would be
the dear wife of the long-continuing
time that would be bis companion, and
Louie would be all alone if it wasn’t for
the baby, and she had i-aid that the baby
was enough. Os course all this was only
a sort of flash through my consciousness,
not any deliberate thought. Nobody
could have thought about anything of
the kind who saw Dennis’s grief. He
was all beside himself. I don't like to
tell you what ho said and did; I w;s
half afraid sometimes that a thunderbolt
would fall and destioybim; and then
again I was afraid that be would destroy
himself. 1 don’t know how we ever con
trived to get him to let Louie be placed
in her casket, and I thought he would
jump intotiic very grave itself. But at last
that agoni ing time —every moment of
which knows how to give a fresh slab —
was ever, nud the worse time came,
of the absence and silence, and wild,
vain, bitter longing. And Dennis couldn’t
look at the baby. “Take it away!” lie
said. “It killed her!” So I took him into
my own room, and cuddled him close to
my heart every night, and every morning
he awoke me .with his laughing and gur
gling and crowing, playing with the
shadows of the dancing leaves across the
bed; and he bad Louie’s yelow hair and
rosy cheeks and perfect feature*, her
great longing blue eyes, and Dennis’s
black eyebrows, and every day he grew
dearer and dtfarer, and more inexpressi
bly dear, and 1 said to myself that, much
as I missed poor Louie, here had been
made up to me all I had failed of in my
life; for this child was to take the place
to me of mother and sister and husband
and child altogether. And the dearer
he grew, the more angry I became with
Dennis for his indifference; and one day,
when the boy was. about four months
old, I said:
4 1 think you had better let old Nancy
come in again and do your chores,the way
she used to do, and I will go away and
take the baby—”
“Take the baby:”
“Certainly,” I'said. “You can’t bear
tho sight of him, and I love biin. And
then if ever you marry again” —
“I shall never marry again,” he said,
the gloom settling in his eyes.
‘ I don’t believe you will!” I ex
claimed. “I don’t believe there’s the
woman living who will ever take such
an unnatural, wicked father, for her hus
band! Louie’s own child, too, and the
very image of her. I wonder what she <1
think of you!” And I snatched the baby
up out of the cradle, and ran from tho
room, le-t I should break out crying be
fore liis face.
The next afternoon when Dennis came
in from his work, he went and made
himself all nice, and changed his clothes,
and came down to where I stood in the
side-door with the baby in my aims,
looking at the sunset. And he stooped
to take the child; and the little darling
turned, with a low, fright ned cry, and
hid liis face in rny neck. And th n, all
at once the tears that I hadn’t seen Den
nis cry in all this time, gushed out, and
he put his arms around the child, who
began to scream with terror; and as I
half turned and maintained my own hold,
he took him forcibly away from me.
“Let go!” he said, in his low. half
smothered tone. “He's my child!”
“I suppose he is!” I cried. “By some
wicked form of law', the cruel law that
men made for men. But you don’t de
serve h;m. ’
I never was so angry. I thought I
would take my things and go away that
moment. But how could I leave the
baby < His little screams were torturing
me then. 1s t down on the door-stone,
and flung my apron over mv head, and
put nay thumb* iu my ears, and wished
the baby and I were dead along with
Louie.
Perhaps it was an hour afterward
when Hooked up. a..d there was Dennis
coming through the orchard with the
baby, and the bov was crowing and
jumping and catching at the bending
bough*, an I catching at his father's
great mustache, and rubbing his little
wet lips all over Dennis's face, chirrup
ing and joyous; and I couldn't help it,
I ran to meet them.
“You see,” said Dennis, as he let me
have him back, ‘blood is thicker than
water, after all.”
Oh! what a long journey 1 felt as if
that baby had been on as I took him and
could hardly have done kissing him.
■ ome.” said Dennilaugh’ng,
“leave someth ng of him for me. '
it was the first time Lit had laughed
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
since that child wis born. And the dar
ling had gone a long journey—a journey
into the infinite’ depths of a father’s
heart.
Well, after that, Dennis couldn’t git
home early enough in the afternoon, and
it seemed as if he hated to go away m
the morning, and Sundays he had tho
baity iu his arms from morning til! niglit.
And in the evenings, when I sat sewing
on the little clothes, he would come an 4
.sit opposite, or where he could see how
the work wont on; and he brought home
all sorts of little, impossible toys, and
he talked and sang to him, and walk d
with bi n; and the baby began to look
out for his coming as much as I did And
all that, of course, helped men good dial
in my work about the hou-c. for i kept
everything as fine and orderly as a honey
comb; only, with the baby to tend and
see to, I sometimes bad to sit up nights
to do it.
“I shall call h m Lome, for his
mother,’ said Dennis, ono night.
‘‘Do you think you can bear it!” I
asked.
“To hear him called Louie? Yes. He
is Louie over again,” said Dennis. •
And 1 eouldu’t tell you how pleasant
life grew to be as we watched tho child
grow, unfolding like a rose. There was
ab olutely a sort of rivalrv between us
presently as to who should discover his
first tooth. When he took his first step,
it was between Dennis’s arms and mine,
as we both .sat on the floor. And when
he spoke his first word, how we listened
to learn if it were Dennis's name or mine.
The day wasn't long enough for us t>
watch his dear loveliness in. And I think
Dennis was envious o: me for having
him nights; but; ho couldn't help that.
So time wont on; and 1 thought then
it would not be easy to say how we could
be happier; for ovoifthc memory of Louie
was softened into something that was
hardly a grief to us in our love of her
boy, though sometimes 1 used to wonder
if the littdo fellow that went with her
was as sweet as the ono that stayed
with us.
But when the dear child was about
three years old there came a snake into
Eden. A snake? A whole nest of them!
It seemed us if every girl in the whole
village had just found out what a rare
and charming person 1 was, and how
pleasant it was late afternoons up where
I lived, and how nice it was to run up
evenings to see me. And sometimes
Dennis .would have to go home with
them then; and sometimes lie wouldn't,
but just went out the other way, and
never came home till they'd gone; and
somehow one thing was almost as un
pleasant us the other, and l couldn’t say
why it worried me —I only knew it did.
And I used to [take the boy and go off
by myself and cry. For, of course,
sooner or later. Dennis would marry some
one of those terrible girls; he couldn’t
help himself; they wouldn’t let Him help
himself: it would come about after
awhile as naturally as water runs down
hill.
And then there would be a stepmother
for my boy, and Heaven alone knew what
would become of him. And what would
become of me?
And by this I gave out completely. I
should have to go away. I should see
Dennis no more. No more of that dear
voice and presence, and cheery way of
his. And all at once it came over me
iu a flash o. horror and shame what was
the matter with me; and then I felt that,
happen what would, I really must go
away.
But I couldut go and leave the boy;
and there I was. And [grew pile and
could eat nothing, and was stiller and
stiller eyery day. 1 could as soon have
talked Uobr w as have smiled.
But one day I had the little fellow
asleep in liis morning nap, which lie had
not quite outgrown, although it was get
ting to be short and fitful; and, thinking
that Dennis was there to see, or knowing
he was, and thinking nothing, 1 went
out by myself, down the t.e dby the
railroad cut; for there was an apple tree
there where I gathered the wind falls,
and Hiked, too, to sit on the bank and
see the train dash by in the cut. I had
rny apron full of apples, and, as I came
back, I stood loitering a moment or so
on the steep bank, hearing a train com
ing, and liking all '.lie rush and roar and
rattle that seemed to snat h mo out of
myself, as if it told of away to some
where, -o i e distant region where my
trouble might lie forgotten; and all at
once another sound from that of the ap
proaching train caught my ear, a glad,
gay shouting and crying. I turned and
looked to right and left, a little confused,
for it was the child's voice. And,
turning back suddenly, I suwhim; and
there, at the foot of the bank,
in the very center of the railway track,
stood the little fellow, who had
crept from his bed and ran after me,and
been begu led down the slope by some
blossoms that he saw there —there, in the
: centre of the truck he stood, waving his
i little bands and shouting to the coining
train. There was not a half minute, it
seemed, Hut in less time I was down
there, and was just grasping the child
when my foot slipped, and I fell with
him in my arms, and the thunder was in
my ears and the hot breath in my face,
and I knew that was the end.
No; it was only the beginning of the
end. When I knew anything more, I
was lying on ihe bank m Dennis’s arms,
for he had come hounding after the boy,
and had snatched ua both out of danger
as the engine, like a wild dragon, whizzed
and roared and thundered by, and he was
holding rne us if he would never let me
| go-
And he never has let me go. “> )h!” he
cried. “1 found out in that second what
I life would be to rne without you, dear;
j something I couldn’t bear a day.” And I
j only clung-to him. too ashamed to let
i him see my face, too tired and weak to
lift it. And so it is I that am the second
wife, and the boy’s mother. Snd I sup
i pdse everybody wa- -urprised; but no
qody. a- 1 told ; ou, was half as much
, surprised aa L— mUj.eniJ.crit.
REV. i!ii. TAI MAHE.
Tilt! BROOKLYN DIVINITS SUN
DAY SIfiUMOX.
Dulljoc-t. of Discourse: "A Split The
oloiry.”
Text: “.Smiif on broken pieces of the
' ship."—The Acts xxvii., 44.
Never off Goodwin Samis, or the Skerris,
i or Cape Hatteras was a ship in wor-o pre
dicament than in the Mediterranean liurri
•auj was Lie grain ship with 2~tt passengers
driven on tho coast of Malta, or Melita five
rnil-s from the metropolis of that island,
called Cittn Yeivhia. After two weok •of
ten p st, and tho ship was entirely disc-bled,
ami the Captain mm crew w ere romplotly
demoralized. an old missionary took com
mand of tlu vessel. He was small,
ctvdkel-bnck and sore-eyed, m e cl
ing to tradition. It was Paul, the
only urs an d man on board. He was no
nioren r.u l of a euro lvdo-i that could toss
tha Mediterranean sea to the i atos of Hea
ven, and tlien sink itto the gates of hell, than
! ho was afraid of a kitten playing witti a
string, lie orders them all down to ta'-o
tiioir rations, first asking a Messing on their
foo l. Thou he insures all th'ir lives, prom
ising them complete rosette, an I so far from
losing their heads, they would not 1 >-o so
j much of the hair ns you could cut off with
ond* lie of the scissors. Aye. not. a thread
of it whether it were grnv with age or gold
j <-n with youth. “There shall not a hair fall
from the l ead of any of you.’’ Realizing
t at, they Would never be able t > reach the
desired haven, th-y make the sea, on that
f 'iirteentb night, black with theovortlr owu
cargo, so th at when that vcisd does strike
the ground it may not strike h avilv. Iu tho
early daw n they sou a creek aud they resolvo
to make for it. They cut the cable', take i-i
the paddles which were ou the side
of those old boats and lift the main
sail so that tho vessel may ho driven with
great speed, and nniluiPs on the top of some
fortunate billow bo 1 fto 1 high and dry nnon
tlieli ndi. Tier, sh" goes tumbling toward
the ro -Its, s miotiuiei prow foremost, some
times stern foremost—now rolling over to
atarb aid, now rollin rive -to larboard; and
imw ,i great tvavo div-hes over the decks, and
it see ns as if the old craft hail gone out of
sigh l , forever. Hut. u-> she conies, and Paul
with his arm around the mast stands
then-crying; “All is well; God hath given
meall them that sail with me In tbit Bmp."
Crash! wont Hie grow a i.iust tho rocks;
with much force the mast falls. Crash! goes
tin- vt s o!, until the waves rush through from
side to side. Hhe parts amidships, goes into
a thousand fragments, mul fiTil ini nortnls
are pro -initnted into the sea. Home of
these passengers had been brought up
on the sen beach mid had learn d (o swim,
i end with the china little above tho angry
j wave and with the stroke of both arms ami
j the propulsion of both feet they started for
the sliere and reached if. But nlas for the
! others. They hav,* never 1 Mined to swim,
or they have been woumlo 1 by the falling of
the mast, or the nervous shock was too great
i for .titem, or they have been weakened by
long sea tickne-w. What is to broom
j of them? “Take that pioco of rudder,” save,
I'md to one, “ami head for the hem h.’
I “Take that fragment of a spar,” .says Paul
j to another. Take that (able, take that imago
! of Castor and Pollux, take that fragment of
lifeboat, tuko anything. Put for the bench.”
j Oil what a struggle in the breakors, or tho
j niercih ss waters that dash clour over these
po r creatures. Hold on there! Almost
; a-hore! Keep your courage up.
Remember wiiut Paul told you. Here
1 they come in, a whole family. As tha
wave rcc sit 1< aveH them in the Rand on
I tli boa di. Here comes in tho Centurion on a
splint rof the spar. Here comes in a plank
freighted with a whole crowd of immor
! tills. Now they are all in, I think. Yes,
the last one comes in, Paul, to. - lie has been
| overseeing all the rest, and as lie clambo s
i up out of the surf and wring-, the water
from his gray beard, he cries: “Thank God,
j nil are here.” They gather around tho (ire,
for tiio Bible says I nul built a lire, and the
bundle of sticks in .'in 1o crackle, and the
j pn.-i onger.3 begin to recover from the chili,
j and their wet clothes begin to dry, and
; warmth and health seem to be coming back
int'i the bodies of these pas-o igers. Now let,
j the pu:ser of tho ship go around and see if
any of these poor creatures nro missing.
I Count them all up, beginning one, two three
and on to I on, and then on tofiO'), and then on
to :2TO,until you have counted them all. Kco,
nil are here— 'lib. What a relief it is as I
roiul the account: “Home on broken pieces
of tho shin. And soit eatno to pass that they
e cupe l all afo to bind ”
in a [ rovious discourse I examined some of
th so passengers, but to-day 1 confine iriy
attention more especially to those who cnirio
in on broken pie os of the ship. There is
something about them that excites in inn nn
intense int r ist. I have not,so much interest
in tho u who could swim. They got ashore, i
i knew they would. A mile of water is
■ not a very great pull for a strong
i swimmer; nor are two miles. But those
w:io were on the broken nioces of tho ship,
I ruunot stop thinking of thorn. The gr at
gf.spol ship is the finest vosol that was ovin
ia inched, and can carry more passengers
than any shin that wok over constructe I,and
y<u could no more wreck it than you could
j wreck the throne of Hod Almig >ty. I wish
ali tho i eople would > ome on board her. f
could not promise thorn nmooth sailing all
tho way, for s uu-timos it will be tem
po-tuous and a ebooped sea; but I do
I premise safe arrival to all who
; come on board this Great Eastern—called so
by me because its eo nmander oamo out of
th • East, and the star of the East was tho
badge of his authority. But there is a vast
j multitude wh do not take regular passage.
So nohow their theology is all broken into
pices,or tho : r life is all broken into pieces,
or their worl ily or spiritual prospe t< are
broken int ■ pie e \ and yet I hope that they
will co re to the shining ■ fi -ro, for I am en
i enraged by th ) experience of these people
I in my text -“some on broken pieces of the
ship.” , ,
j Hue ob’eet in preaching this sermon Is to
: en-ourage th-xso who, while they do not
’ adopt ail our systems of religion, noverthe
j !' si believe some one th ng, him I want them
tii co.no in on that phi.rik “.Some on broken
pi -os of tho-h'P ” There is a -ast multitude
of people who are kept out of tho kingdom
of God because they cannot believe
everything. I know men who are ruining
th ir souls he aus: Hoy cannot makeup the r
urn is who Melchi i i c was not: ou the non
es ■ ntials <-f n-iige n w<«> king their iinmor
ta: hope*. Jdo not underrate the value of a
i great theol gical system, but where in the
! Bible does it say: “B-lieve irt John Galvin
and thou sliait be saved;”or. “Believe in Ar
ia -i in and thou shalt be saved;’or, “Believe
in the Thirty-nine articles and thou shalt be
mved.” A man tuny be orthodox and go to
h 11, or heterodox and go to heaven. Take
.it vis C’hriit into Ihe dee > affection of our
so il and we a-e saved. Refuse to take Him
into the deep affe tou of our soul and we
ate lost f i. J eve in th<- ib-idclborgh
Ci.t.; his a uud the Weitminster Catechism,
apl i wiii you all fill; hut you
lielieve nothing they con'aiu except
th.st < hrist carne" t/j save sinne s, und
that you are one of them,and you will (<o res
ci i if .ou ruunot come in on a great ship,
j_ t find a pio.-e of w sxl as long us the Eu
re j P 1 . or a piece of wood a-> wide m the
outspi ad human arms, aud if you find that,
FEBRUARY % 1887. VOL. L NO. 48.
either piece iR a pieeo of the cross, come in on
that piece. “Some on broken pieces of the
ship. '
I am talking with a man about liis soul.
Ho hns nvontly been traveling in New Eng
land and ho stopped over night at Andover.
He navs to me; “ 1 don’t become a Christ an
b ‘ iiuso l don't think that a man's fate is ir
revocably fixed in this world. I think there
is such a tiling as repentance after
death.” “My brother,” I say to him,
“what is all that to you? Do not
you realize that a man who, in tiio
u p -that there may b > ach in“eafter death,
gives up a good chance before death i< a
spirit fool? Do not you realize it is imbecility
for a man to ref isi to come ashore “on a
plank that is thrown him before death be
■ auso ho hopes there will, by invisible hands,
bn a plank thrown him after death? Do as
you please, my brother, but since I am offered
p oiloti for all mv sins now. and offered all
the iovs of time and eternity now, l
accept Hiem in hantlv because 1 donot want
to depend on a chance which s one w ise men
think they can peel off or twist out of a
H -riptnro inssago w ldch, f r nil t n • Christian
centuries has boon Interpreted -mother wav.”
But. saysamnn: “I don'theliov -in I’rin vton
theology, or Now Ila von the do >-v or in An lo
ver theology." My brother. I do not ask vou
to go on I oil'd of either of those men-of war,
their portholes (U’e l with the great siege
guns of <> -chisiast i nl battle. ('<>in >inon I lie
gospel nlanlc mid strike out for the pearl
strnng beach of Heaven. “Some on broken
pie -os of the ship."
i ft-n talking with another man nlio-it ids
soul and ho sn vs: “I don’t bocotnen Chris-
Tan because I don't know about tho doc
trine of election and free agency; t ose
do-t’ ipes nils mo all no.” There was a time
when 1 wash 'hared alien t, those things, but
1 am no longer bothered nbiut them. I
h"|j-e set 'led them in this wnv I have male
up my mind Hint if 1 love .Christ and live nn
holiest and us-fill life 1 uni elected te be
save 1. mid if 1 do n >' love Christ a d five a
bad life 1 nin eleelol to be dim nod,
and nil tho theological institution) of
Too universe cannot make it nnv
different. i once floated -m tha' sea of
sin and doubt farther not than the 27(t pas
sengers on the I'oiirt ootli night when they
threw the grain oviv-hoard • but T lioi'-d of
tho mercy of Hod through Jesus Christ for
a sinner, and I came in on that plank, and f
have tie'll warming mvself bv the great
ireuinl fire of Gospel comfort anil Gospel hope
for three doondos.
I am talking with an ther man about bis
soul. He says: “I don’t heooino a Christian
boenu o I don’t boli«ve there i; any hell.”
All 1 do vou not! Do you believe that, peo
ple of nil beliefs nml of no beliefs, nf good
morals and of bad morals go st raight to a
1 a ioy Heaven? Do the liolv and the de
bauched hft'-o the snmodistinction? In a hall
way nf midnight the bui- dar moots tho
house-owner, mid they both firo rand rare
both wounded. Th - burglar instantly dies.
The hou o owner suffers on f r a week and
expires. Does l!m bur dir stand at the gate
of Heaven to wale mie in tho Irmse-ownor
when he comes nn. and “nv: “I b -ntynu n
whole weak into Ilea' en?” Do thelih i-tincs
mid the debauched go miiid the families of
Tl aven' I wonder if Herod is on the hanks
of the Rivor of Life plnvlng with the chil
dren wh nn he tivinsnerc I. I wonder if*’lvirles
G iiterau and John Wilkes Booth are in
glory sho d ng nt a I wilt not con
trovert th sc th oriei lust now, but will say
in p issing that, for shell a rn serabl» and ter
rific Hnv n I have no ad nirntion. But
wli-'ro is tin- Bible passage that says: “Be
-1 eve in perdition ami I e saved ” Been us l all
me gfi'ngt > b 'save I according to your I hoory
are you discharged from tin* duty of loiyng
and su-ving .Toms Christ? Be itttse, accord
ing to your theory, all tlieo’liors are going
n-liore do, v< ii refuse to go ashore? Bocnuso
you have ilill'croiit theories about chemistry,
about astronomy, about tiio atmosphere, do
vou refuse action? Because you have a dif
ferent the-rv about light, do you refuse to
open your eyes t Be none you huvo
a different' theory about atmosphere, do
you refuse to breathe? Bo titiso vou
have a different th orv about the stellar
system, do you refuse to (("knowledge the
North star Because you Imvo n different
theory about religion, do you refuse to act?
If you cannot come in on a ship fashioned in
the the logical ilryd'icks, come in on a plank.
“Home on broken pieces of the ship. ’
I am talking wit.li another man about his
soul. llosiivs: “tfii, f don’t, believe in re
vival'.” Then, my brother, go to your room,
10-k tho door and all alone give your heart
t. i God and join . mio church where tlie ther
mometer never rises about fifty in the shade!
“ But I don’t botiovo in baptism.” Then
come into the Kingd iu of God without
it, and dottle that ordinance afterward. “But
tic 1 e ai- • : o many inconsistent protestors of
religion” Then come in, and by your ex
ample show v. hat n prose or might to lie.
“But I don't believe in the Old Testament.”
Como in on tho now. “But, j don’t lik ■ the
book of Pollutes.” Como on Matthew
anil Duke. Your refusal to come
to Christ, wlu i i you ndniit, to lie
the Savior, bii'ame you cannot believe every
thing, p alp s mo think of a man who, out in
th-- Mediterranean inirricauo, just off tho
island of Melita, should refuse to go ashore
until lie can got the whole f-hio fixed up,
until ho can make u/i his mind where all
tlio'o 100 r planks belong Ho mys:
“I’m going a-hore when I can get
that windlass in tho right place, and tnis
keel pi" e where it belongs, rami all these
rones disentangled and this ma t not up—
when I got everything shipshape thsn I’ll
come ashore. Why, f’rn an old sailor for
foity years f know all about a ship, and
when I get tho ship just right I’ll come in.’
Ib-re is a man floating on a plank and lie
liears it and ho says: “My friend, you
wi 1 drown out here if you wait til
you got that ship recoustrii'-t I. Better do
as lam lining. I know no'hing about a
ship. I never aw one till I got aboard that
otic. I can’t swim u stroke, bitl am coming
in on this shiver 'd timber.” The man tl at
conics in on tiio p!nnk is savc-J. The
man who stays out in tho < tiling to
mend tho old ship is lost. (th, my
brother, let your smashed up theology
go to tic- bottom while you come m on a
splintered spar. “8 lino on broken pieces of
the ship.” I think—for lam not talkin'on
nhstractivn there are a thousand men in this
Ir i ■ this morning in just the mood and
mental condition that I am now h eak
ing of, und I have licon asked this
liit week over rand over again about
tli s and about that and about tha other, ami
i urn told over} div of my life almost: “I
can't adopt the whole system < f ro igion, I
can’t believe all you believe and therefore I
can’t lecomo a Christian:’’ s> I am srarak
ing at a tremendoi > practicality—let me
wi./, my brother, you «ill probably get
v nr difllcultic-. settled the way Garibaldi,
them 'grietic Italian, got his gardens mude.
’Vie j tiio ’ ar broke out between Austria
an) Hordiniu, Garibaldi was living at Cam
leva, a rough, no ultu:*" 1 island h nue. He
v.'cat forth with his sword to achieve the lib
• radon of Hi'-ily and Naples und he gave
to y,U [),0;0 of people free govern
ment under Victor Emuuuel. After
two v oars’ ai.sonco in the war
Gnriba'di - auto ba -k to his island homo and
ai he aepn-U' be 1 it he found that Victor
Emanuel a -,u matter of surprise hail Ed -uizecl
the whole place. Trimmed shrubbery in
pi-r e fth ny ii, D. Beautiful garden!
and terrace-, in pin -of barrenness; mid in
vtead o: the oil rookery where ho once
lived ther - was a pictures t ue mansion when
he pin-4 the rc.t of his days ic
t-a-e au I rv. Gb, my brother, conn
under th*-.tan jard of our Victor Emanuel
aud follow Him through th ckauJ thin. an<
ilotlit His brittle* and enduro His sa-rlflo}*,
An l you will tin ! that y uu heart has been
i linage l from a jungle of thorny njapticisn*
into u garden abloom with luxuriant joys
mi h as you novo:- dream*! of —frd«B *
Caprora ol' sadness and desolation into a
vo. y Paradise of God. Ido not know how
your thoiry wont to pie" s. Perhaps your
father aud mother started you on a plank,
they haring no religion that amounted to
mu hos their ovn Or perhaps your parents
were too severe aud rigid an 1 < racked yon
over tile head with n psalm book. Perhapa
you lul l a business partner who was a
meinour ol the char -h and he played on yon
a very me an trie7, and over sue i you have
l>eoti disguste I w tli r 1./ion. i’orhaps yiu
have ill.idol as-.o i it s who are every day
talk ug a ainst Christianity until vou are
all at soa, and you think more of what
you do not believe than <f what you
do believe. In on - res: *-t you are
UkeLord N'elsou, who wished iu hattleto
di .regard a iwtain si goal. a > 1 ho put h ssea
glass lo his bliu l eyi and siid “Idoa’tso©
any signal that you spa Oh, ins Load
of put. ing t his Hel l gins iof the gospel to
your blind eiu and mying “1 can’t see,"
put it to ymir other eye, the ova
of faith, anl you will see Christ,
and seeing lli.u, you • > nil Whatever you
believe or do n t be.ie.o, ywu certainly be
lievo in vi • irious snlVering, for you soe It
evorydnyar. u d you in ■••>» • sharia. Last
month the steamship Knickerbocker, of the
Grom well b e, plviug between New Orleans
and here, got. in a gre.it storm, and the Cap*
sxiu saw that the sehoouer Afary lb Cran
m.tr, o.’ I’hiltt n'pltm, wangling on tbe *Jcks;
soth ichief o.li -ui-.tlm Unto 11..-orof t!i • sre'ua
ship and four men put out in a lifeboat tv
help (in 1 sohoouer. rney cams up near
whero too n lninner was and a haiv,or was
thrown t) the b at, the soli otior was .steured
away,tnveil awav iron the rocks. Than
the wind shifted and the schooner was in
perfect safety Rut oh, what a time
those five men had in g mg to the
Stainer. Too boat capsuod aid was
righted. The sailors were all con od with
the ice. Three times the b iftt < a isi.ee land
three times -vas righted. After a .vhilo it
ea no quite near the steanuhip, and from,
th • steam,hip u rope was thrown, hut ths
poor fellows were sj frozen aud nr
liuustod the.* could not gm.p it, aud
a great wave r. lied over me n and
they wont down, never to :iso until the sea
gives up it’s dead. Oh, we admire the hero
ism and the self-saerilieo of those brave fol
lows in order to save the lives of others, and
ran wo not admire th love of Christ, wto
put out int i a llereer gale, a wilder
tempest, to deliver us from peril and
tot us on the throne of oturna
lafety t A wave of human hate rolling
over 111 m from one side aud u wave of hell
ish fury rolling over Hup from the otter
tide, i>h, the tide, ness of the night an l th*
thunder of the temped) in o wuLli Christ
plunged to save us—us. Come in on that
narrow plank of the cross, ‘kune in on
that narrow beam. Lot nil else go.
Cling ti that. Rut that under you,
that narrow beam of the cross,
and with thoearnestu no r iswimmer struff
gliug for Ilia life, put for the bah of
11 uveii. A g.r at warm lire is air aly
k.nd od to welcome you, and some who were
as far out at sea us you are, are already
standing in its genial and Heavenly glow.
The angels ol! Clod's rescua are wad ng
down into tli) surf to clutch your
bund und the redeemed prodigals of Heaven
are coming down with while robes to clothe
nil those who come "ou broken i iocoa of th*
ship.’’ My sympathies are the more aroused
fur those to whom i am speaking to-day, be
< aii.se i myself was naturally v epti al. I
ipiustiono l everything ab "it this life and
noout the next lib , and 1 was farther out at
son than thoiiili passengers on the fourteenth
night when they throw their graiu overboard:
und 1 was ihe annoy mice of my theological
professor becauso i os .ed so many questions.
Rut I hoard tha Christ ca no to save sinners,
uu I 1 knew 1 was one of them, and 1 came
ashore, and 1 have boon there ever since,
and 1 do not propo-e to put out ou
that nca again. 1 would not risk it
all. I have not ia the last thirty yours
spoilt thirty minute; in discussing
the controverted poiuts of religion, and 1
shall not for the rest of my life spend thirty
seconds in di.v ussiug the > ont.rove. te I point*
of religion. 1 would rather in a canoe go
out and dare the worst cyclone that ever
swept up from the Carribo.in, than trust my
self in a discussion ho useles . so dan
gerous and so destructive, in which many
of my theo’ogie,il brethren are indulging.
They make mo think of it group of sailors on
Ramsgate Pierhead. from which lifeboat*
are usually launched, coolly di* -u sing the
dilleront styles of oarlocks, and how u b >ut
ought to sot in the water ryid dis
cussing ioolly the laws of navigation
when there is u hurricane in full blast
und three steamers In leu with pas mi p-rs
going to pieces in the o!liiig. Aja k tar, his
fan) twitching will) nervous excitement,
says: “My la Is, tins is no time to discus*
mu-h tilings Man tae life-boat. Who will
man the piorl Out with her into the surf.
Full away for the wreck, my lads, pull, pull!
There we have them. Lay them down in
the bottom of the boat Now, .ia-k, try to
bring them to Wrap the n up warm in
those flannels, while 1 pull for the beach.
Gsi h'-lp me! God helu u. all! 'lhire's
land! H i/./nli! Saved! All of them !'’ 1 h when
there are then an Is and t-ns of thousands
out in the awful surf of sin nu 1 death and
hell, out with the lifeboat. Let all else go
for this one effort of salvation —salvation
for time, salvation forever. I bethink my
self of the fact that in this audience there
are those who becau-o of tli )ir o,apart mity,
or be-uuse of their peculiar life, have made
wreck, complete wreck. You s' ai led
life with a fair prospe-t You prom
ised a peaceful, bright and beautiful
voyage, but you have sailed iu the wrong
dire turn,or you have foundered on theroks,
so there is only a I ragment of time left. C ,me
In on that plank. “ Some on broken pieces of
the ship." “Ob,” you fell me. “ I urn all
broken up; a decade of niv life gone, two
do ades gone, three decades gone, four
decades gone, perhaps half a century
gone, perhaps tine •-jiiartors of a century
gone. Toe minute h ind aud ths hour baud
of your clock of life nre a'most parallel,
and it will soon be twelve o'clock and your
dav of gi a:e ended All di.scour.tg d are
you? I admit it is sad enough to give
to s'n an I the devil the I .eat pact
of our lives, and then at ths close
make God the present of a first rate
corpse. Yon can never come in on t rat old
shir,; it has gone to i iec.es. You can Dover
re-all the past; if has gone forever. If there
is only a fragment Os H y*ar left, or a frag
ment of a month,or a fragment of a week, or
a fragment o! a day, ora fragment of an
hour, come In ou that plank Perhaps whou
you getta heaven God may let yon go out
on s ,me geat mi-sion to some other world,
p-n tiully to o'ouo for your in k of serv.c - in
this. From how many deathbeds 1 have
con hands thrown up in decl n ations some_
thing like this: “My life has been wasted: I
have good talvnls; 1 had tine social
position; 1 ha 1 grand opportunities, but
through world I iness or neglect, all nre gone
except these few remaining moments 1
no.vu eept < hrist and I shall threugh Ilia
mercy ent.-r Heaven Rutalas' alas! when I
might have sailed into the haven of
i:•ri al rest w t'l a full - argo, and been
greet -d by tli wa r ng hands or a gieat mul
titude iu whose sal\ at: u I had taken a
blessed pert, I must confess, that I go into
thy harbor of Heaven “on broken pieces of
the ship.”