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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.”