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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.