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«Jie ittantgomerj). Jtt mtitor.
X). C- Sutton; Editor and Proprietor.
MV. UIt.TAI.MAUE.
THK BROOKLYN DIVINE'S SUN*
DAY SERMON
V Subject: •• A Live Church.
~Texi : “ L nto Mr angel of the Church in
"inyrna write,' These things saith the first
the last, which teas deoil, anil is <tlire
—Revelation, ii., 8.
•'Smyrna was a great, city ni the ancients,
•Kwiieletl on three sidt-w by mountains. It was
the central emporium or'the Levantine trade.
In that prosperous and brilliant city there
was a Christian Church established. After it
nad existed for a while, it was rocked down
by an earthquake. It was rebuilt. Then it
was consumed by a conflagration that swept
over the entire -City. That Church went
f arough lire, and trouble, and disaster, but
Kept on to ftreat spiritual prosperity. The
tact was. chut Church had the grace of God,
an ever active principle. Had it been other
'vise. aj! the grandeur of architecture and all
the ppimp of surroundings woulel only have
• the orfnimeut of death—tlie garlands of
a coffin, the plumesof a hearse. *
It may be profitable to consider what are
the elements of a live Church.
I remarg in the first place, that one char
acteristic of such a Church Is punctuality in
meeting its engagements. Alt ecclesiastical
institutions have financial relations, and they
ought to meet their obligations just as cer
tainly as men meet their obligations at the
bank W hen a Church of God is not as faithful
in its promises as the Bank of England, it
ceases to be a < 'hurch of God. It ought to be
understood that prayers cannot paint a
Church, and prayers cannot jiay the winter’s
•coal bill, and prayers cannot meet the insur
ance; and that, while prayers can do a
thousand things, there are a thousand
things that prayers cannot do. iTayer
for any particular Church will never
reach heaven high unless it goes down
pocket deep. In my Church at the West,
there was a man of comfortable means, who
used to pray for his jiasfcor in such elongated
style ( hot lie became a nuisance to the prayer
meeting: asking God, in a prayer that was
almost without ceasing, that the pastor might
be blessed in his basket and in his store, while
the fact was he never i>aid anything. If we
pray for t lie advancement of the Church, and
do not out of our means contribute for its ad
vancement, our prayer is only mockery. Let
the Church of Gist then meet its obligations
outside, and let the members of every
congregation meet the obligations on the in
side, anrl the Church will be iinanciailv pros
perous.
Let me say, also, that there must be punctu
ality in the attendance on the house of the
Lord. If tlie service begins at half past ten
m the morning, the regular congregation of
a live church will not come at a quarter to
eleven. If the service is to begin at half past
seven in the evening, the regular congrega
tion of a live church will not come at a
quarter to eight. In some churches 1 have
noticed the people are always tardy. There
•are some people who are always late. They
were bom too late, and the probability is they
•will die too late. The rustling of dresses up
the aisle, and the slamming of doors, and
the treading of heavy feet, is poor
inspiration for «, minister. It requires great
abstraction in a pastor’s mind to proceed with
the preliminary exercises of the Church when
one-half of the audience seated are looking
around to see the other half come in. Such
a difference of uttendanee upon the house
of God may lie a difference of time-pieces;
but the live ('hurch of which 1 am speaking
ought to go by railroad time, and tluit is
pretty well understood in all our communities.
There is one hymn that ought to be sung in a
great many Christian families on Habbatli
morning :
“Early, my God, without delay,
I haste to seek Thy face. ”
Another characteristic of a live church is
The fact that all the people participate in the
exercises. A stranger can tell by the way tlie
first tune starts whether there is any life
there. A church tliat does not sing is a dead
church. it, is awful to find a cold drizzle of
music coming down from the organ loft,
while all the people beneath sit in silence.
W lieu a tune wanders around, lonely and un
befriended, and is finally lost amid the arches
because the jieeiple do not join in it, there is
not much melody made unto the Lord. In
Heaven they all sing, though some there
cannot sing half as well as others.
The Methodist Church has sung all around
the world, and gone from conquest to
conquest, among other things because it is a
singing church: and any Christian church or
ganization that with enthusiasm performs this
part of its duty will go on from triumph to
t riumph. A church of God tliat can sing, can
do anything that ought to be done. We go
forth into this holy war with the Bible in one
hand and a hymn Imok in the other. Oh! ye
who used to sing the praises of the Lord and
have got out of tJi - habit, take your harps
down from the willows. 1 am glad to know
that, as a church, we are making advance- i
ment in this resjioct. When I came to lie your
pastor we had an excellent choir in the little
chapel, and they sang very sweetly to us Sab
bath by Sabbath: but ever and anon there was
trouble, for you know that the choirs in t lie
United States are the Waterloo* where the
great battles go on. One Sunday they will
sing like angels, and the next Sunday they
will be mad. and will not sing at all. We re
solved to settle all the difficulties, and have
one skiliful man at the organ, and one man
to do the work ol'a precentor: amt now, (rein
Sabbath to Sabbath, the .song comes up like
the voice of mighty thunderings.
“ Let tlio-e refuse to sing
Who never knew our God;
Bm children of the Heavenly King
Should speak their joys abroad ”
r»n t he way to triumph that never ends, ami
pleasures that never ehe-r-sing!
Another characteristic of a live church is a
flourishing Sabliath-school. It is too late in
the history of the Christian Church to argue
the benefit of such an institution. The Hab-
Katli-sehool is not a supplement to the Church:
it is it- right arrn. But you say there are
dead churches that have Sabbath-schools.
Yes, but the Sabbath schools are dead, too.
It is a dead mother holding in her arms a
dead child. But when su[ierintendent, and
teachers, and scholars come on Sabbath after
noons together, their faces glowing with in
terest and enthusiasm, and their sOngs are
beard all through the exercises, and at the
close they go away feeling that they have
been on the Mount of Transfiguration—that
is a live school, and it is characteristic of a
live Church. There is only one thing I have
against the Sabbath-schools of this country,
and that is, they are too respectable. We
gather into our schools the children
of the refined and the cultured, 1
and the educated; but alas for the
great multitude of the children of the
abandoned and the lost! A few of them are
gathered into our Sabbath-schools: but what
about the 70.000 destitute children of New
York, and the score of thousands of des
titute children of Brooklyn, around whom
are thrown no benign, and heavenly, and
Christian influences! It is a tremendous ques
tion, what is too become of the destitute chil
dren of these cities' We must act on them
or they will act on us. We will either Chris
tianize them, or they will heathenize us. It is
a question not more for the Christian than
for the philanthropist and the statesmen.
Oh! if we conld ’ have all these suffer- 1
? p
lug little ones gathered together, what
a scene of hunger, and wretchedness,
and rags, mid sin, and trouble, aim
darkness! If we could see those little
feet on the broad road to death, which
through Christian charity ought to be
pressing the narrow path of*life; if we could
hear those voices in blasphemy, which ought
to lie singing the praises of Goa; if we could
see those little hearts,which at that age ought
not to be soiled with one unclean thought, ne
coming the sewers for every abomination; if
we could see those suffering little ones, sacri
ficed ou the altar of every iniquitous
passion and baptized with fire from the j
lava of the pit, we would recoil, crying j
out: “Avaunt, thou dream of hell!” They I
are not always going to be children. They J
arc coining up to Lie the men and women of !
this country. That spark of iniquity that
might now lie put out with one drop of the
| water of life, will become the conflagration of
• every green thing tliat God ever planted ill
the soul. That w hich ought to have been a
temple of tlie Holy Ghost will become a
scorn*l and blasted ruin—every light quenched
and every altar ill the dust. That petty thief,
j who slips into your store and takes a yard of
j cloth from yoiu- counter, will become the
highwayman of the forest, or the burglar at
j lindiiigut, picking the lock of your money.safe
and blowing up the store to hide the villainy.
A great army, with staggering step, and
bloodshot eye, and drunken hoot, they
are coming on—gathering recruits from
every grog shop and den of infamy in the
land, to take the ballot-box and hurrah at the
elections. The hard-knuckled fist of ruffian
ism will have more power than the gentle
hand of intelligence and sobriety. Men
bloated, and with the signature of sin
burned in from the top of the forehead
to the bottom of the cnin, will look hon
est men out of countenance. Moral corpses,
w hich ought to be buried a hundred feet deep
I to keep them from poisoning the air, will rot
I in the face of the sun at noonday. Industry
j in her plain frock will bo unappreciated,
while thousands of men will wander in idle
ness, with their hands on their hips, saying:
“ Tlie world owes us a living.” O, what a tie- i
meiulous power there is in iniquity when im
! educated, and unrestrained, and unblanched
it goes on concent rating, and deepening, and
| widening, and gathering momentum until it
! swings ahead with a very triumph of desola
! tion, drowning like surges, scorching like
flames, crushing like rocks! What are you
going to do with this abandoned population
! of the streets? Will you gather them in your
i Churches? It is not tlie will of your Heavenly
! Father that, one of these little ones
j should perish. If you have ten respectable
children in your class, gather in ton that are
not respectable. If in your Bible-class there
lie twenty young men who have come from
Christian homes and elegant surroundings,
lot those twenty young men go out anil
gather in twenty more of tho young men of
the city who are lost to God and lost to so
ciety. ” This outside population, unless od
cated and restrained, will work ter
ror in ages that are to come.
Years ago, at New Orleans, when the cholera
was raging fearfully, a steamboat put out just
before nightfall, crowded with passengers
who were trying to eseuiio from the
j pestilence. After the boat had been out a
i little while tlie engineer fell with the cholera.
The captain, in consideration, went
down among the passengers and asked:
i ‘Ms there any one here who knows
| anything about engineering?’ A Swarthy
man replied: “I am an engineer.” “Well,"
said the Captain, “I would be very
glad if you would take charge of this boat.”
The man went to the engine. The steamer
moved more rapidly, until, after awhile, the
Captain and some passanger were alarmed, I
and they went to see what was the mat
ter, and they found that this was a maniac
engineer, and that he was jieeping
down the safety-valve; and, as they
chme to him, he said: “I am commissioned of |
atan to drive this steamer to hell!” and he i
flourished liis pistol, and would not come
down. But after awhile, through some
stratagem, he was brought from bis position,
and the lives of the passengers were saved, j
| O, my friends! that steamer had no such
peril as our institutions aro threat
1 ened with, if the ignorant and ;
unrestrained children of this land shall ;
come up in their ignorance and their crime
to engineer our civil and religious institu- j
tions, and drive them on the rocks. Educate j
this abandoned population, or they will over- i
throw the institutions of this land. Gather j
them into your Sabbath-schools. I con
gratulate you that many have been
gathered. Go forth, teachers, in the !
name of the Lortl Jesus Christ, and ;
on the coming Sabbath may there lie
found gathered scores and hundreds of these
wanderers, and instead of eighteen hundred
in the Sabbath-sehool, we shall see three
thousand or four thousand, and the grace of
God will come down upon them, anil the Holy
Spirit will bring them all into the trath.
Another characteristic of a live church is
one with appropriate architecture. In the !
j far West and amid destitute population, a
log church is very appropriate—the people
i living in log houses. But in communities
1 where people live in comfortable abodes, a !
church uncommodious or lacking in beauty is
j a moral nuisance. Because Christ was born in
a manger is no reason why we should worship
Him in a barn. Let the churches of Jesus
Christ be not only comfortable, but ornate.
Years ago we resolved to have a comfortable
church. We resolved that it should lie amphi- |
| theatrical in shape. The prominent archi
tects of the country, after figuring on tlie
matter a good while, said that such a church j
would in it be ehurchly, ee-I they would have ,
nothing to do with the enterprise. ,
But after awhile we found an architect will- 1
ing to risk his reputation. He put up for us
tlie first tabernacle, in amphithoatrical style. j
We liked it. All who came liked it. This
building followed in the same style. We be
lieve it is appropriate and adapted. An an
gular church will have an angular theology. !
The Church of Jesus Christ ought to be a great
family circle, the pulpit only the fire-place,
around which they are gathered in sweet and ;
domestic communion. But when our first
tabernacle went up. O the caricature arid the
seofling ! They said: “It's a hippodrome!
Its a holy cirdus 1 It’s Talma go's theatre ! ”
But the Lord came down with power upon
tliat old building, and made it a gat -of
heaven to a great man} - . And this building
followed. Tnat we were l ight in persisting
in the style of architecture is proved
by the fact that now there ure sixty or
seventy churches in the United States
in the same style. Indeed, our tabernacle has
revolutionized Church architecture in this
country. A live Church must have a com
modious, a comfortable, an adapted building.
“How amiable are Thy Tabernacles, O Lord
of Hosts! I would rather is: a door-keeper in
the house of ruy God than to dwell in the tent*
of wickedness.-'
Again, the characteristic of a live church
must lie that it is a soul-saving church. It |
I must be the old Gospel of < hrist. “Oh,” say
I some people, the Gospel of Christ allows but :
a small swing for a man s faculties, and some
men have left the ministry with that idea.”|
One such said to Rowland Hill: “I have
left the ministry because 1 don't want to
bide my talent* any longer." “Well.” re
El led Rowland Hill. “I think the more you
ide your talents the bettei Why, there is
no field on earth so grand a* that which is
open before tlie Goers-! ministry. Have you
powers of analysts? Exhaust them here. Have
you unconquerable logic? J/t. it grapple with
! Haul's Epistle to the Romans. Have 1
you strong imagination? I>st it dis
course in the Psalm.- of David, or
John's ApooaJypti; Vision. Have you great
‘ power of pathos? Exhaust, it in telling the j
story of a Saviour's love. Have you a bold
MT. VERNON, MONTGOMERY 00.. GA„ WEDNESDAY. APRIL 20, 1887.
itvleOf thinking? Then follow Ezekiel's wheel,
full of eyes,and hear through his chapters tho
rush of the wings Os the seraphim. All ye
who want a grand field in which to work for
God, come into the Gos|tel ministry. At
any rate, come into Christian circles,
and somewhere and somehow declare the
grace of God. Panion for all sin. Comfort
for all trouble. Eternal life for all the dead.
O, mv soul! preach it fOr ever. It has been
my ambition, and 1 believe it Ims Ixvn yours,
my deal- people, in these years of my
ministry, to have this a soul saving Church,
ami we never yet threw out tlie Gospel net
I but we drew in a great multitude. They
, have come, a hundred at a time: and two
hundred and fifty at a time; and I expect
i the day will appear when, in some service,
| there will be three thousand souls accepting
tbc offers of eternal life. I wish 1
could tell you the circumstances
that have come under mv observation
proving the fact that God lias blessed the
prayers of these people in Ix-h.-df of souls im
mortal. I could tell you of one llight, when ,
1 stood at tlie end of the platform, and a gen- j
tlenmn passed me, liis check bronzed with the '
sea, and as he went into the inquiry-room ]
he said to me: “1 am an Englishman.”
I said: “lam very glad to see you; walk in.”
That night he gave liis heart to the Lord. It
was n clear case of quick but thorough con
version. Passing out ill the close of the in
quiry meeting. I said: “How long have you
been in this country.'” lie said: “I arrived by'
eteanicrtliisiiioiningat eleven o’clock." I said:
•How long will you lie in the city?” He said:
“l leave to-tttorrmv for Canada, and thence 1
go to Halifax, and tlionoo to Europe, and I’ll
never be here again.'’ I said: “I think von
must have come to this country to have your
soul saved.” He said: “That certainly was
the reason.” In that other room, one night,
at the close of the service, there sat. among
other persons three persons, looking so
cheerful that I said to myself : “These
arc not anxious inquirers." I said to the man:
“Are you a Christian?" He said: ‘lain.
I said: “When did you become a Christian?’
He said: “To-night.” His wife sat next to
• him. I said to her: “Arc you a Christian ?”
She said: “lam.” Tsaid: “AVhen did you
become n, Christian?” Sim said: “To
night.” 1 remarked: “Is this Voting
lady your daughter?’ They said: “Vi's.”
I said to her: “Arc you ft Christian?”
Shosaid: “Yes.” I said: “When did you be
come a Christian ?” She said: “To-night.” 1
said to them: “From whence came .you?’
They said: “We are from Charleston, South
Carolina." 1 said: “When did you came?”
They said: “Wo came yesterday.” “How
long are you going to remain?” Wo
go to-morrow. We have never been
here before, and shall never bo hero
again.” I have heard from them since.
They arc members of the Church of Jesus
Christ, in good and regular standing, eminent
for consistency and piety. And so God has
made it a soul-saving Church. Hitt 1 could
tell you of a tragic scene, when once at
tho close of the service 1 found tt man
in one of these front seats, wrought upon
most mightily. I said to 1 tint: “What is tho
matter?’ He replied: “I am a captive of
strong drink; I earne from the West; I
thought-, perhaps, you could do me seine good;
1 find you can’t do me any good; I find there
is no hope for me.” 1 said: “Come into this
side room and wo will talk together." “Oh.
no!” he said, “there’s no need if my
going in ; 1 am a lost man ; l have a Is-autiful
wife ; 1 have four beautiful children : 1 had a
fine profession ; I have had a thorough edu
cation ; I had every opportunity a man over
had, but J am a captive of strong drink ; God
only knows what I suffer.” 1 said : “Be
encouraged; come in here, and we’ll talk
j together about it.” “No,” lie said, “I
can’t come; you can t do me me any good.
I was on the Hudson River Railroad yester
day, and coming down, 1 resolved never again
to touch a drop of strong drink. While I sat
I there a man came in—a low creature-—and
sat by me; he had a whiskey Mask, and be
i said tome: ‘ Will you take a drink :’I said no;
but oh how 1 wanted it! and as I said no, it
seemed that the liquor curled up around the
mouth of the flash and liegged: ‘Take me 1
| take me! take me!’ I felt I couldn’t resist it,
and yet I was determined not to drink, and I
I rushed out on tlie platform of the car, ami
] thought 1 would jump off; wo were
1 going at the rate of forty miles
an hour, and 1 didn’t ilare to jump;
the paroxysm of thirst went off, and I am
here to-night.” I said: “Come in. I’ll pray
for you, and commend you to God.” He
I came in trembling. Home of you remember.
| After the service, we walked out and up the
I street. I said: “You have an awful
j struggle; i’ll take you into a drag
store: perhaps tho doctor can give you some
medicine that will help you in your struggle,
though, after all, you will have to depend
U|X)ii the grace of God.” I said to the doc
tor: “Can you give this man something to
• help him in his buttle against strong drink?’
“1 can,” replied the doctor, and he pro
pared a bottle of medicine. I said:
“There is no alcohol in this —no/strong
drink?’ “None at all,” said the doctor.
“How long will this la-t?” I inquired. “It
will last him a week. “O,” I said, “give us
another lot tie.” We passisl out into the
street and stood under tlie gaslight. It was
getting late, and I said to the man: “I must
jmrt, with you. J'ut your trust in the Lord,
and He wifi see you through. You will make
use of this medicine when the paroxysm of
thirst comes on.” A few weeks passed away
and I got a letter from Boston saying: “Dear
friend, I inclose the money you paid for that
medicine. I have never used any of it. The
thirst for strong drink has entirely gone
j away from me. I send you two or
j three newspapers to show you what.
1 have been doing since I earne to Boston." \
J opened tiio newspapers and saw accounts |
I of meetings of two or three thousand people |
- to whom this man ha/1 been preaching right i
eousness, temperance, and judgment to
come. i have bearel from him again
and again sines*. Ho is faithful ikiw. j
and will be, I know, faithful to the last. O j
this work of send saving! Wemlel God that
out of this auelience to-duy 500 mzn might i
hear the voie:e of the Hon eif Gesl bidding I
the-m e-ome to a glorious re-siirree-t.ion!
All the offe rs of the: Geisp-1 are i-xteneleel to
you, “without iii'ineiy and with'iut price,” |
anel you arc e-orise-ious 'if the fact that the-se
opportunities will soon Is: gone f'lrever
The e-ejiulue.-tor ej a rail-train was telling tat j
of the fae-t that he was one night stamling ;
by liis train on a side trae-k. his
t’-ain having been switched off so that
tho express train might dart past, lirihindereel
He- said while he; stessl there in the darknes»>.
besieie bis train on the; side-t.raeik. he lie-arel
the thunder of the express in the elistanee. :
Tlieu he saw the flash e»f the heaellight.
The train earne with fearful vel'ie-ity,
neare-r anel n'rarer, until after awhile, when it
came very near, by the flash of the headlight,
h<- saw that the switchman, 'either through in
teixie-ation '<! irielifferenoe, had n'it attenaeel to
his duty, anel that the train, unless some thing
we re done immediately, woulel rush on the
: sale track arid 'lash the other train to atoms.
He shouted to th<' switchman: “Met up that
| switch!" and with one stroke the switch
went back, anel the express thundered
ou. O, men anel women, going on t'/ward
the eternal world, swift as the years, swift aa
the months, swift as the 'lays, swift as the j
hours, swift as the minutes, swift as the sec- ;
onels —on what trae-k are you running? Te> ;
warel light or darkness? Toward vie.-tory ot j
e| feat? Toward h*-ave-n or hell? Set up that
switch. Cry aieni'l to God. “Now is toe day
of salvation
Thk man who would pick another
: ra an’e pocket would write an anonymous j
ximm unication to a newspaper.
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
MOMENTS.
Oh, there are moments in man s mortal
years.
When for an instant Hint which long bn*
Inin
Beyond our reach, is on a suddgn found
In things of smallest, compass, and wo hold
The unbouneleei shut in one small minute's
space.
And worlds within the hollow fit our band;
A world of music in one word of love,
A world of love in one quick wordless look.
A world of thought in one translucent
phrase,
A world of memory in one mournful chord,
A world of sorrow iu one little song.
Such moments are man’s holiest; tho elivine
And first-sown seexis of love’s eternity.
A Grandfather For Sale.
“If's all very well for you, Okbot, to
quote that trite remark about rank being
only the guinea’s stamp. You know ns
well as Ido that the social guinea here
in Boston,of all places—must be stamped
before it will go into circulation. Society
strongly resembles retail trade in this one
particular. Let. tne offer a lump of the
purest gold to any small dealer as pay
ment for (lie goods 1 have bought of him,
and lie would at once say he’d rather
have the dirtiest bank-note in town than
my unstamped metal; wouldn’t he?”
“Well,l suppose he would. If we were
in a more primitive' slate of existence the
yellow metal, as it came from mother
earth, would satisfy our greed. Now it
has to lie vouched for as gold before il
can take its proper position among the j
other circulating mediums.”
“Exactly so! And as we arc not in a
primitive stale, Iml a very ‘highly nil
til red’ one, I, for example, 1 to have
a stamp before I can puss muster. All
the wealth my Midas of a father left to
me will not take me more than just so ;
far; vet I dress according to the laws of
to-day, I don’t eat with my knife,! know j
how to raise my hat to a lady ; in short, I
flatter myself that I make'a fairly good up
pcarance. Blit I have no grand father
worth speaking of!” And though there
was mock pathos in liis tone, Maxwell
Jennings meant more of what he said
than lie would have been willing his com
panion should Ruspecl.
Edgar Cabot glanced at him a little
contemptuously; then he allowed his
eyes to wander enviously around the
luxurious appointments of Maxwell’s
Everything bespoke an abund
ance of both money and taste on tlie'
part of the one wiiei resided there. A
casual eibservcr woulel never have sup
posed that a man who could appreciate
the engravings and books which crowded
the walls and tables was a mushroom of
an hour, the son of a man who hud
amassed a large fortune by the manufac
ture of rum and judicious speculations in
stocks anil mines. Tho moment that Tom
Jennings’s business and all other posses
sions fell into liis son’s hands, that, young
man sold tho obnoxious distilleries and
went abroad for three years to finish the
studies his father hael sent him there to
begin. Old Tom Jennings had the sense
to know that he could never aspire to
any higher position in life than the one
he was born Into; but ho was determined
to “make Max a gentleman,” and so far
as cultivation and study could do it, he |
succeeded.
“By Jupiter, Jennings, if I bail a tithe 1
of your money I wouldn’t care a pica- I
ytine if 1 hadn’t a grandfather!” sighed ,
Cabot, whose bank account was as short
as liis pedigree was long.
“And I, Cabot, would give a liunelree!
thousand dollars tins minute if 1 had one
of your dignified ancestors,” Jennings
answered, earnestly. “Yes, I’d give; it,
gladly if I in any way could claim a
great-uncle or grandfather of note!”
“A fellow has a perfect right to sell
what is indubitably Ids own, hasn't, he?”
asked Cabot, thoughtfully.
“Os course he has.”
“ I, as everyone knows, am the last ol
my line of tlie Cabots. (am baelly in
want of money; you think yonrself -or,
to be more exact, Dr. and Mrs. Kandall
think you—badly in want of ancestors.
What will you give me for, say old
Colonel Cabot? The one, you know, who
wsts killed in King Philip’s war.”
“What an absurd ielea!” exclaimed I
Jennings, with a laugh.
“ Not at all aiiHiirel. The olel codger ;
i is now my great uncle; if I sell him to
l you, why, of course, he’ll be your’a. Or,
! if you don’t like hirn, there’s my grand
father, Joeige Cab'it how will he fill
| your bill? Now, Jennings, elon’t leiok so
j amtlsed. I assure you /am in dead earn
j est. lam so hard up P<l sell my soul—
J much more such a trifle as a granelfatber
I —for a hundred thousand elollars.”
Jennings knew that Cabot spoke tin;
! truth about bis financial condition, and,
j b':ing a good-natured fellow, who was
I grateful to (jabot for several introduc-
I tions which he valued very highly, es
peoially the one to the- aforementioned
Kaii'lails, determined to help Caliot out
1 of his peeuniory quagmire by humoring
him in his ridiculous proposition.
“ I declare, Cabot, if the thing were
feasible I'el accept your offer with im
mense- gratitoeie. But suppose I should
tell anyone that Judge (Jabot belonged to
me, who woui'J believe me?”
“If you were to buy him of me you’el
give me a receipt f'>r him, I suppose?
Just as J would give you a receipt for the
money yon paid me: for him.
“Certainly 1 should,” answered Jen
nings, laughing at the idea of giving a
receipt for an ancestor.
“Then you could truthfully say that
you had d'icumentary evidence that
Jndge Cabot was an ancestor of your own,
and that would settle if. as I would be
careful to *»v so. tei'i. for people: rarely
insist iipem one * proving that So-and-so
is bis ‘kin'. and if anybody was still elu
bious you could tv ju-tiy indignant be
► ca use- v<Mii wore! was doubted
“I think if I buy one of them I would
like to have the other to keep him com
pany; he might feel lonesome so entirely
out of liis element. What will you take
for the two?” asked Jennings, seriously.
Caliot looked fixedly at him for an in
stant; then, seeing that he was in earnest,
answered:
“Oh, I’ll not bargain with you in this !
trade. I’ll be grateful if you will give j
me a hundred thousand for the two of’em
the <'lil Colonel anel the Judge.”
“Are you sure that will satisfy you?!
Suppose I sny a hundred and twenty-five !
for the two?”
“That will suit me still better, of
course,” said Cabot aloud. To himself In
added: “The fellow is a bigger muff titan
I thought. However, he is a good fellow,
and 1 will help him swear that they arc
his kinsmen, just to ser how many gulli
ble fools there are in the world.”
“How will you have the money? In
bonds or real estate?” asked Jennings,
“or a happy combination of both?”
“If yeiu are really in earnest, 1 would
prefer a little of both.”
“Meet me at the Suffolk Bank to-mor
row, at ten, and I will turn the ‘tin’ over i
to you. It is an lumr that will suit you,
1 suppose, as you are a man of leisure?”
The hour and the whole tenor of the
proposition suited Cabot to a nicety; so
the next day the. transfer was made, Jen
nings receiving, in lieu of a given sum of
money, a receipt for “all right- and title
to tho possession of the late Colonel Henry
Caliot and the late Judge Frederic Cabot,
formerly tli<‘ possession of Edgar Cabot,
and to all honors, rank, glory, etc., which
may accrue from the ownership of the
same. ”
A few days later Cabot proposed the
j name of Maxwell as a member of the very
exclusive West End club to which Vie be
longed. At, this proposition there was
some demur, and Cabot quietly said to
one of the objectors:
“I know what, you fejlenvs are thinking
of. You fancy that Max lias nothing but
j liis money to back him for admittance
I here, but you are mistaken. F happen to
know -know, mind you that he can
claim lawful ownership in his excellency,
the late Judge Cabot. Ho has papers in
liis possession which prove it.”
“Are you sure?” was the amazed in
quiry.
“I ntn. I have seen the documents to
which I refer.”
“It must have been on his mother’s
side if there was such relationship.”
“Did you never hear of my aunt,
Letitia, who disappeared so mysteriously?”
“I thought, site committed suicide.”
“Home of us Cabots are such lunatics
that we think suicide preferable to a
mesalliance. ” replied Cabot, significantly.
Ho tlie story went around that, Max
Jennings line! just discovered that lie was
a deecndant »f the old Cabot family, and
when his name was proposed for election
tlie're was not a single' black ball against
him. He was accordingly notified that
iu; wjim duly elected a member of tlie
Miles Blandish Club.
As soon as Jennings received this
notification lie hastened to the Reception’
Commiltee of said dub, and explained
the whole matter to them. Whereat,
pleased with liis frankness, and highly
amused at the absurdity of the transac
tion, the club; at its next meeting, unan
imously electeel him a member “on his
eiwn merits, anel not those eif his sup
; posit it,ions ancestors;” and also, equally
| unanimously, dropped from its roll tlie:
! name of Edgar Cabot, “A man who
I ootibl sell his grandfather not being
, worthy <if the noble name of a Miles
Blandish Brother,” was the verdict.
Dr. Ihtndull, in common with most of
the sons of the first settlers, was a mem
ber of this same club, so he, naturally
told his wife about the transaction be
tween Cabot and Jennings. Hlc an
swe'rc'l :
“I am sure it evinces a very proper
feeling on Mr. Jennings’ part to want a
grandfather; but surely lie must have
! known that such a sale was impossible.
What better off is he for the nominal
ownership of Judge Caliot? Does it give
him any of the (Jabot virtues?”
“Has the actual ownership of sueh a
grandfather given Edgar Cabot any of
tlieise virtues? Do you think the Judge
has much to be proud of in suehanpieir?”
asked her husband.
“You know, my dear, 1 never had any
i love for Edgar Cabot, ami I Viave still
j less for him now. D<i you supjieise that
Mr. Jennings had any ielea that this pur
chase would enhance liis value in our
eyes? He has certainly been very atten
tive to Olive lately, and I have feared
tliat she liked hirn too well.”
“That will never do!” exclaimed the
doctor, emphatically. “I cannot have
one eif my girls marry the son of that
olel Tom Jennings, a most disreputable
old creature who possessed but one virtue,
tliat of generosity, so far as I can hear.
No, no: that must not be! I have noth
ing against Max Jennings himself, but
‘Vilooel will tell,’ you know.”
“As it has done in the case of Edgar
Cabot,” said Mrs. Randall, dryly. She
liked Max, ami she more than suspected
that Olive returned the love which Max
so evidently felt for tier, and she did
wish that there could lie some way de
vised by which he could be transformed
into a suitable husband for her. And
then his wealth, too! Poor Olive hael
ne>t all the pretty things which girls of
her age ought to have, the meither felt.
“There are exceptions to all rules,” said
the doctor, concisely, “and Edgar Cabot
is the exception to this one.”
“May not Max .Jennings be also an
exception?” suggested Mrs. Randall, but
her husband rnaeb- no reply, only became
suddenly very much interested in the
evening paper.
A little later, in all about two months
after the purchase of his ancestor, Jen
nings called on Dr Randall’s family one
evening, arid Olive’s younger sister, an
irrr-pr -ibl< girl of thirteen, named Pau
line ..iid te. him, somewhat abruptly:
VOL 11. NO. 7.
“Oh, Mr. Jennings, is it true that you
have bought Mr. Cabot’s grandfather?”
“It is true that Judge Cabot now be
longs to me—that he is my grandfather.'"
was Max’s answer.
“Since Pauline has broached the sob
ject, Mr. Jennings,” said Mrs. Randal?,
j “I must own that lam a little carious to
I know what gave rise to this remarkable
j story which is going around about yon
and Edgar Cabot.”
“Oh. it is very simple. Cabot *»■
hard up, and I traded off a few dollar
( for an ancestor or two,” replied Max,
lightly.
“Do you really mean to claim those
dead Cabots for your own?” asked Dr.
j Randall, a little testily.
“I do. Why not?” was Max’s query..
“Is not what you pay for your own?”
Dr. Randall could neither say yes nor
' no. While he was hesitating for a suJt
j able answer which should cover the whole
I ground and yet not hurt Max’s feelings,
i Max continued:
“You know, sir, that you value descent
i above money, bet us suppose a ease; If
a man had a daughter, and two men
i were to present themselves us suitors, the
! one with a good name but a poor purse,
the other in exactly the reverse condi
tion, to which would you advise her to
give an affirmative answer?”
Dr. Randall appreciated the full mean
ing of this question, which was even
harder than the previous one to be an
swered. He could not collect his thoughts
as quickly as his older daughter did,
however. Before her father could fr;Mj'*■
a reply, Olive said, determinedly:
“I think it would he well to let the
girl have some voice in such a matter. I
think that the characters of the two men
ought to be taken into consideration. I
don’t believe any girl would want a man
who could sell his grandfather. She VS
be more apt to see worthy qualities in
the one who didn’t consider money the
only thing worth having.”
There was no mistaking the signifi
cance of Olive’s tones, or of her flushed
face. Dr. Randall loved his children, so
saying to himself: “Max is at heart*
gentleman, in spite of his extraction;
perhaps there was good blood on bis
mother’s side.” he pretended to make a
jest of the whole matter, and answered
“Ah, Max, you see what a minority I
am in! My wife always agrees with
Olive, and even Pauline echoes her, so I
dare not dispute a word she says.”
Max looked pleased, and Mrs. Randall
positively beamed on her husband. Rut
fancy the feelings of all when Max
said:
“The most singular part of the whole
affair is this: One of my of old Toni
Jennings’s friends heard of this bargain
between Cabot and me, and put me in the
way of (Moving that Tom Jennings
adopted me in my earliest infancy out of
an orphan asylum, where 1 dad been placed
by mother just, before her death. She
was in consumption, and as her last few
hours drew near she made a confidant of
Tom Jennings’s wife, and told her that
she had been deceived by a false marriage
between herself and the father of this
Edgar Cabot. As the years passed, and
Tom found that the Cabots were not, as
a rule, dissolute men, be thought he
would investigate tlie so-called false mat
riage. lie did so, and found that it was
a genuine one; that my father, Edgar
Cabot, Sr., had had no intention of de
cciving my mother, but having died sud
denly before iny birth, had kept, the roar
riage secret only for fear of bis father*
wrath, for my mother was a plain farm
er’s daughter, poor but honest, as the
phrase is. Old Tom had become fond
of me, and knowing that the Cabots had
nothing to bequeath me pxeept the name,
lie legally adopted me as his son. So.
you see, 1 purchased my ancestors of my
older half brother, Edgar Cabot. 1 came
here to-night, Dr. Randall, to tell you
this story: To-morrow—-”
“Max, was your mother’s name
! Rachel?” Dr. Randall asked, abruptly.
“Yes; Rachel Dennison, of Weston
I Mills.”
“I was | present, at your birth, boy, and
| your mother told me this story. I inves
j tigated it for her sake, and found it true,
! your father having been a widower be
j fore he met your mother. When I next,
j saw her she was dead and the baby had
! vanished, so the whole thing went out of
!my mind until this moment.” Here the
doctor had to pause to rub his specta
cles, and Pauline took advantage of the
brief silence to say:
“Now that you’ve got a grandfather of
1 your own, I supimse you and Olive will
be getting married, and then you’ll be
my brother Max, will you not?”— Er<wr
ce» E. Wadteijh , in the Current.
The Strongest Man on Earth.
There is a man on the Darson River,
below Dayton, named Angelo Cordelia,
who claims to be the strongest man in the
world. He is an Italian, aged twenty
eight, and stands five feet ten inches,
weighing 19S pounds. His strength was
born with him, for he had no athletic
training. He differs from other men
chiefly in the osseous structure. Although
not of unusual size, his spinal column is
much beyond the ordinary width, and his
bones and joints arc made on a similarly
large and generous scale. He has lifted
a man of 200 pounds with the middle
| finger of his right hand. The man stood
I with one foot on the floor, his arms out
; stretched, his hands grasped by two per
sons to balance his burly. Cordelia then
i stooped and placed the third finger of his
right hand under the man's foot. and.
I with scarcely any precept ible effort.raised
' him to the height of four feet and de
, \ posited him on a table near at hand. Once
two powerful men waylaid Cordelia, with
intent to thrash him. but he seized one in
! each hand and hammered them together
until life was nearly knocked out of them.
Virginia (Net.) Footlight.
mt mi
There are 113 tanners in the Connecti
j cut Legislature.