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XIX.
THREE INgW
By Wm. Perry Brown.
HE.
One morning in August, 1863, Dr. George
lyzarde, of the —th South Carolina infantry,
then on special staff detail in Richmond, Va.,
"was passing down a line of new recruits drawn
tip for medical inspection. lie put them
through the usual contortions. They swung
their arms, rose up on their toes, rolled their
■eyes, and put out their tongues after the man
lier of their kind, while he perfunctorily
thumped and scrutinized them not unlike a
critical darky in a melon patch.
At last he halted before a medium-sized,
yellow-haired lad, whose beardless face, slen
<ler physique and evasive, not to say nervous
manner indicated that youthful timidity was
-Strongly contending with the fiery resolution
that had doubtless brought him hither. His
preternaturally large bright eyes hardly ever
rose in their glances above the surgeon’s sash
and sword belt. His face and neck were well
tanned, yet his features were of classic
regularity and his hand small and
shapely. The routine questions as to age, etc.,
■were answered with evident reluctance. The
doctor seemed to grow snspious, for he sud
denly pressed his knuckles sharply against the
youth’s chest. The latter sprang back with a
swift appealing glance at his tormentor, who
abruptly turned, passed to the next man and
so on down the line. When he had finished,
Doctor lyzarde returned to the lad, and con
sulting his list, said in a cold, official tone:
“Your name is Oliver Wild?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will come with me, Wild. Your case
Seems to require special attention."
The surgeon led the way, while Wild, with
.eyes upon the ground, quietly followed him
ante a private office, when the latter closed
the door and turning to the would-be soilder
he said sternly:
"Now, miss or madam, how long have you
weeu masquerading in this attire and what is
your real purpose ?”
The yo'uth looked up with a frightened con
traction of feature, then assumed with effort a
hardened, indifferent air, saying:
“I reely don’t make out to understand ye,
sir.”
• “I will make my meaning plain. You are a
woman. It is difficult to conceal such things
from a physician who knows his business. Do
hot deny it. ’Twould save you from a more
public exposure. Your motives though widely
mistaken may be honorable; yet, though the
confederacy needs soldiers badly we can do
without women in that capacity for a while
yet. I also fear that in your language, as in
your actions, you are veiling your real station
in life by an assumption of ignorance as un
natural to you as it seems degrading to me.”
As lyzarde concluded, the other lowered his
gaze to the floor and remained obstinately
Silent. The doctor resumed.
“You will see that it is impossible for me to
pass you. Yet if you have a real desire to
serve your country, there are other ways where
in you may do so without unsexhig yourself,
□.'here are ”
“Do yon really think so ?” she interrupted.
(We may as well say “she” now.) In her
earnestness she forgot her cracker dialect and
intonation, and spoke with a pure and refined
enunciation.
“Certainly,” replied lyzarde. “There are
hospitals needing good nurses; also the Sisters
of Mercy and Charity of various religious and
secular orders who follow the ambulance and
brave shot and shell to accomplish good work
on the battle field. The courage of the soldier
is not more essential than the devotion of
those who minister to human suffering amid
frightful perils to the living. Even your face
Ana hands are artificially tanned. See?”
Before she could resist he took
One of her hands, pushed up the coatsleeve,
revealing thereby a shapely white arm.
Through the brown upon her cheek he saw the
rich color rising as she hung her head. At
this period some one entered the outer office,
and the doctor, bidding her to remain there
until his return, went out, closing the door
behind him.
It was several minutes before he came back,
only to find that the would-be recruit had van
ished. An open window looking into a back
yard, that communicated withan alley leading
to the street, explained the manner of her exit.
He afterwards made various discreet inquiries,
yet heard of her no more, finally abandoning
the quest with a feeling of pique. She had
interested him more than he felt the heroine
of such a freakish escapade deserved. There
was a contradiction and a mystery involved
therein that nuzzled and fascinated him ; yet
as the months wore on these impressions grad
ually faded into a vague, gently regretful
memory.
SHE.
Sister Maria Jones, a nurse of thg order of
the “ White Cross,” attached to the ambulances
of Gordon's division, was attending the
wounded in the rear of the trenches before
liichmond. The time was the winter of
1864-5. Grant was drawing his cordon tightly
around the doomed city. Without those bat
tle-worn lines were all tho pomp and circum
stance of war; within, its suffering and deso
lation. The men in the rifle pits were stretched
to the utmost limit cons staut with safety, and
the fighting was incessant and severe.
One day Sister Maria w.is called ou to attend
a young surgeon, whose professional ardor on
the field had subjected him to a dangerous
wound. She started back at the sight of his
pale, inanimate face, then qnietly settling her
self with a new resolve, she hardly left his
Side for two days. He was then taken to Rich
mond where better accommodations could be
secured to him. After his departure Sister
Maria continued her work of mercy as usual,
yet there were graver lines upon her face and,
at times, a soft, introspective light in her eye,
while she might have been detected in com
mitting certain thoughts to her diary that she
would never willingly have made public. The
next entry after the wounded surgeon's de
parture ran thus:
“He is gone, and so ends my brief dream.
He recovered his strength sufficiently to en
dure removal, and during one lucid interval ho
recognized me. It happened that I alone was
by his side. His brown eyes opined with a
bewildered glare; he looked around him wear
iedly, then fixed his gaze upon my face. In
spite of myself I blushed and looked down.
Then I heard him murmur, as if to himself:
‘“lt must—my little recruit—ran off.’
“I dared not raise my eyes, though I could
afterward have bitten out my
tongue at my own stupidity. I might
have given him one word —one sign even of
recognition; but no; I must stand there down
faced like a fool, until a gasping sigh aroused
sn<‘. He had fainted dead away. Ho never
seemed to know me after that. Ah me! Per
haps it is just as well, for in this terrible hurly
burly of war we are not likely to meet again.
THEY.
On a mellow May morning of the year 1867,
a gentleman was walking along one nt those
puzzling, alphabetical side streets of Washing
ton, which in the early post helium days were
usually either bathed in mud or choked with
dust. 'A lodging and lioardiug house atmos
phere pervaded the dingy brick houses on
either side. A tawdry wearitu s of aspect
brooded over them, as though the requirc
ui nts of existence wet - burdensome.
Andrew Johnson's efforts to conciliate the
old aristocratic element of the south were at
th. ir climax, and the national Capitol was
much fronu.uted by the scs lai and political
leaders of Dixie in consequence. Many of luem
Were sadly impoverished and aired, per
force, their decayed yet unruffled gentility
about the boarding houses rather than the
great hotels.
The gentleman finally pulled a certain door
bell and was ushered into a much used parlor
by a white-aproned mulatto, who took his card
and hastened up stairs. The visitor sank back
into a chair and looked out at the window. He
was tali, slender and well dressed, with a pen
sive air, a long brown mustache and close
clipped hair slightly tinted with gray. Five
minutes passed, and his attitude remained un
changed. Then there was a soft rustle of drapery
down the hall, a faint scent of violets in the
air, and a low clear voice entering his earns its
owner glided into his presence. He had arisen,
hat in hand, as these words were uttered:
“Dr. lyzarde will I pardon this intrusion I
hope, for instead of Mr. Seabrook, it is only
his niece. Uncle Horace is out Good
Heavens'”
“My little recruit again!”
These exclamations were the result of a
mutual survey of each other. The lady
flushed violently, then her face slowly paled,
as her large eyes rested in wondering embrrass
ment on the stranger. He drew a deep breath,
then said, hesitatingly:
“Are you indeed Mr. Seabrook’s niece—his
favorite niece, as he has told mo?”
“He is foolish enough to call mo so: yet—
what must you think of me—you his old friend,
whom I thought I had never seen before?”
Her color again rose and her eyes fell before
his gaze, but he smiled roguishly, saying:
“It might take hours to tell
all I have thought about you.
And so you were the romantic young lady
who ran away from the convent school
in Charleston after Gettysburg, bent on
doing heroic and impracticable wonders
for your country. Horace wrote me
something of it at the time, yet I
never dreamed until now that my little recruit
and she were one.”
“I fear it has not added to your good opin
ion of me, and had I thought the stern young
doctor before whom I trembled, and Uncle
Horace’s old friend George lyzarde were also
one and the same, I should never have dared
to face you.”
“Yet I have often wished to see yon,” said
he earnestly. “It must have been that the
wish was father to the thought in enabling me
to recognize you today, having only seen you
once before.”
“Are you so sure of that?” she asked archly.
Ho looked at her inquiringly, then replied:
“I was wounded, you know, or rather you
didn’t know. It was shortly before tho sur
render. I was delirious, I think, but I fancied
that I caugh t glimpses of your face, fairer than
I had seen it before, yet still yours. It was
doubtless only fancy, though its fleeting, recur
ring vividness made it seem real.”
“Then you never heard of Sister Maria
Her face was grave, yet a merry light
danced in her eyes.
,10 >” he returned unsuspectingly.
“There were many nurses about us, yet—. 1
believe you are quizzing me.”
“What wonderful penetration! So, sir, you
never heard of her. I fear you will next deny
having coldly advised a timid soldier boy to go
as a nurse, after telling him—”
“Why, of course I remember that, and—”
“Silence! After.plainly intimating that his
budding patriotism deserved no higher avenue
to feme.”- •
“I humbly plead guilty to that charge, yet
what has that to do with Sister Maria Smith ?”
“Jones, sir. There were already too many
Smiths in the order. Now, don’t it occur to
you that your soldier boy might have re
changed his sex in appearing as a nurse? Men
have many privileges, but sisterhood is as yet
denied them. Sister Tom Jones wouldn’t
have sounded well, so it had to bo Maria in
stead, and—”
“Then you were Sister Maria!”
“Who nursed you in tho field hospital.”
“Then I did see you there after all. I shall
never dispute my fancies again. How I regret
that I did not have sense to express my grati
tude.”
They looked at each other in silence for a
moment. Then her gaze wandered through
the window: on her cheek was a tender play
of color, and she sighed softly. Bisown look
was one of unrepressed admiration. Finally
he took her unresisting hand, saying:
“Miss Seabrook, forgive my abruptness. 1
have often thought of you, slight and peculiar
as has been our intercourse, and now- ”
The front door suddenly opened and a heavy
step was heard in the hall. With a glance
and a smile trail-figuring her face that no lover
could mistake, she gently withdrew her hand
just as an affable looking, middle-aged man
appeared in the doorway, and said with a Pro
tean assumption of raillery:
“Uncle Horace, here is a stranger who as
serts so strongly his desire to boa friend, that
I shall leave him with you to settle the ques
tion.”
And she did. The nature of the settlement
may be determined from the following notice
that appeared in the “Charleston Courier”
sometime during the following November:
“At the residence of Horace Seabrook, Esq.,
Oak cottage, St. Andrews parish, by the Rev.
Charles Cotesworth, Miss Alice Seabrook to
Dr. G. W. lyzarde, of this city. No cards.”
The Heroine of Gadsden.
From the Detroit Free Tress.
As General Sfreight approached Gadsden
Ala., in making his great cavalry raid, General
Forrest was close upon his heels witii a thousand
men who might properly have been called “raga
muffins.” They were in various uniforms, armed
in various ways, and not more than half the com
mand had saddles. They were biting away at the
federal general’s heels, hoping to bother him until
a force could get in his front, when he came to a
creek which was hank-full from the recent rains.
As soon as his troopers were over the rearguard pro
ceeded to arrange for burning tho highway bridge.
This was close to the house of a widow named
Samson. The family was composed only of the
mother and daughter, the latter a girl of sixteen.
There was sharp fighting between the federal rear
guard and Forrest's advance, but instead of seeking
the shelter of the house the girl, Emma by name,
w.is out where she could see all that was going on.
She was a strong sympathizer with those who wore
the gray, and whin the fedcruls 1 egan piling rails
on the bridge she realized how Forrest would be
balked by its destruction. She ran, bareheaded, to
the spot and began pulling the rails off, and it was
ouly when two men seize i her arms and led her
away that she deslste 1. The bridge was held by the
federals until its destruction was certain, and they
then retired into the town. When Forrest camo up
he found his further advance completely checked,
and in his trouble he rode up to the fence where
mull rand daughter stood < nd asked if there was
no ford. Emma remembered of a crossing half a I
mile away, and at once offered to guide the general |
to it. Shells and bullets were flying ail about them
a, they talked, but the girl cl mbed upon the fen ■, '
sprang to the saddle behind Forrest, and away the :
pair r. d -for the ford, it was lound pru-tlcuol", '
and while l.e ' elected his be t men and hor.: " for i
further pur.-’iit the girl returned home.
T mt cro‘. n> led to Stre.'ght's capture within a I
cou|l: of day-, an 1 he was captured by tii kory.
Forrest cot a body of men ahead of tile fi lerals, |
who displayed themselves from prominent joints,
and tills, with au.m- v fighting in II: rear, kd j
Eti eight to believe that he wo* being closed in upon
by a largo force. Fo-re-.t sent in a ffngof truce and
deiaande 1 a surrender, claiming to have 1,000 men,
and. after taking an hour to Convlmo lin-elf tint ■
he was in a trip Strciebt i.urrendere: the whole
command. When his nu n came to k arms t ey
ouln im'ien 1 th’ confederates <dabt r tie, andt.ad
to *" ki.pt I ' 11... ..'.st' r 1.11 IIIr: . li.'kery.
V> li.ii the war doe d the legislate e of Alabama i
voted the elrl a large tract of min lands, and an
offer was : i u-to i her to sum d-i-atlo .al m ■
stilut'.'. in the t. a.."me she F. 1 fallen in lota
with a Texir- tan;,ci named John n. i.nd she de- i
cl.ned tn. offer that slit- might a *rry him and re
move to Texas, where she is st present hvmg.
ATLANTA, GA., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1,1587
YOUNG MEN’S DEFENSE.
Dr. Talmage’s Sermon Sun
day Morning.
A GOOD HOME THE BEST DEFENSE.
Brooklyn, October 30. [Special.] Six
thousand people, sitting and standing in the
Brooklyn Tabernacle, and all the adjoining
rooms packed, and people turned away! Such
was tho scene today. The congregation sang:
•‘Awekc my soul, stretch cveiy nerve,
And press with vigor on.”
Tho Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D. D..
preached on the subject: “Defense of Young
Men,” and took his text from 11. Kings, chap
ter 6, verse 17: “And the Lord opened the
eyes of the young man.” He said:
One morning in Dothan a young theological
student was scared by finding himself and
Elisha, the prophet, upon whom he wai'el,
surrounded by a whole army of enemies. But
venerable Elisha was not seared at all, : *
cause he saw the mountains full of defense
for him, in chariots made out of
lire, wheels of fire, dashboard of tire, and
cushion of fire, drawn by hordes with nostrils
of lire, and mane of lire, and haunches of tiro,
and hoofs of tire—a supernatual appearance
that could not be seen with the natural eye.
So tho old minister prayed that the young min
ister might see them also, and the prayer was
answered, and the Lord opened the eyes of the
young man, and ho also saw the fiery proces
sion, looking somewhat. I suppose.' like the
Adirondacks or the Alleghanies in this autum
nal resplendence.
Many young men, standing among the most
tremendous realitios, have their eyes half shut
or entirely closed. May God grant that my
sermon may open wide your eyes to your
safety, your opportunity and your destiny.
A mighty defense for a young man is a good
home. Sonic of my hearers look back with
tender satisfaction to their early home. It
may have been rude and rustic, hidden among
the hills, ami architect or upholsterer never
planned or adorned it. But all the fresco on
princely walls never looked so enticing to you
as those rough hewn rafters. You can think
of no park or arbor of trees planted ou fash
ionable country scat so attractive as tho plain
brook that ran in front of the old farmhouse
and sang under the weeping willows. No
barred gateway, adorned with statue
of bronze, and swung open by’
obsequious porter in full dress, has half the
glory of the swing gate. Many of you have a
second dwelling place, your adopted home,
that also is sacred forever. There you built the
first family altar. There your children were
born. All those trees you planted. That room
is solemn, because once in it, over the hot pil
low’, flapped the wing of death, liner that
roof you expect w hen your work is done to lie
down and die. You try with many words Io
tell the excellency of tiie place, but you fail#
There is only one word in the language that
can describe your meaning. It is home.
Now I declare it, that young man is compar
atively safe who goes out into the world w ith
a charm like this upon him. The jiwmnrv
lining ana
p .j H;_'. m •;) be to iihii a slffela and it sheitx t
I never knew a man faithful both to his early
and adopted home, who at the same time was
given over to any gross form of dissipation or
wickedness. He who seeks his enjoyment
chiefly from outside association, rather than
from the more quiet ami unpresuming pleas
pised bis father’s house, and you know his
history of sin and his death of shame. If
you seem unnecessarily isolated from your
kindred and former associates, is there not
some room that you can call yourjown? Into it
gather books, and pictures, and a harp. Have
a portrait over the mantel. Make, ungodly
mirth stand back from the threshold. Conse
crate some spot with the knee of prayer. By
the memory of other days, a father’s counsel,
and a mother’s love, and a sister’s confidence,
call it home
Another defense fc.” a ycung man is indus
trious habit. Many young men, in starting
upon life in this age, expect to make their way
through the world by the use of their wits
rather than the toil of their hands. A child
now goes to the city and fails twice before he
is as old as his father was when he first saw’
the spires of the great town. Sitting in some
office, rented at a thousand dollars a year, he
is waiting for the bank to declare its dividend,
or goes into the mark t expecting before
night to be made rich by the rushing up of tho
stocks. But luck seemod so dull he resolved
on some other tack. Perhaps he borrowed
from his employer’s money drawer, and for
gets to put it back, or, for merely the
purpose of improving his penmanship males a
copy-plate of a merchant’s signature. Neve r
mind, all is right in trade. In some dark, night
there may come in his dreams a \ ision of
Blackwell’s Island, or of Sing Sing, but it soon
vanishes. In a short time he will be ready to
retire from the busy world, and amid his flocks
and herds culture tho domestic viitucs. Then
those young men who once w’ere his school
mates, and know no better than to engage in
honest work, will come with iheir ox teams to
draw’ him logs, and with their bard hands help
heave up his castle. '1 his is no fancy picture.
It is every day life. J should not wonder if
there were some rotton beams in that beauti
ful palace. I should n«/t wonder if dire sick
nesses should smite through tho young
man, or if God should p >ur into
his aup of life a draught that would thrill him
with unbearable agony, J should not wonder
if his children should become to him a living
curse, making his home a pest and a disgrace.
I should not wonder if he goes to a mi-ctable
grave, and beyond it into the gnashing of
teeth. The v/ayof the ungodly shall perish.
My young friends, there is no way to genu
ine success except through toil, either of the
head or hand. At the battle of Lre< y, in 131 G,
the Priucc of Wales, finding himn ls heavily
pressed by the enemy, sent word to his father
for help The father, watching the battle
from a windmill, and seeing that h.s son was
not wounded and could gain tho day if he
would, sent word: “No, I will not come. Let
the boy win his spurs, for, if God will, I de
sire that this day be his w ith all its honors.”
Young man, fight your own battle all through,
and you shall have the victory. Oh, it is a
battle worth fighting. Two monarclis of old
fought a duel, Charles V. and Frauds, and
the stakes were kingdoms-Milan and Bur
gundy. You fight with bin, and the stake is
heaven or hell.
Do not get tho fatal idea that you are a ge
nius, and that therefore there is no need of
close application. It is here where multitudes
fail. The great curse of this age is the ge
niuses, men with enormous self-conceit and
egotism, and nothing else. I had rather bo an
ox than an eagle; plain, and plodding, and
useful, rather than high-flying and good for i
nothing but to pick out the eyes of carcasses.
Extraordinary capacity without use is extraor- I
dinary fuilnr '. There is no hope for that per- j
son who begins life resolved to live by his wits, |
for the probability ix ho has not any. It was j
not safe fur Adam, even in his unfailon state, I
to have nothing to do. and therefore God
commanded him to be a farmer and horticultu- I
list. Ho was to dress the garden and
keep it, and bad ho and bis wife obeyed the
divine injunction and been nt work, they I
would not have been sauntering under the
trees and hungering after that fruit which I
(lestroscd th<-m and their posterity; jnoof ;
positive for all ages to come that tho.se who do |
not attend to their busint ss an? sure to get j
into mischief. Ido not know that the prod- ■
igal in S'.iipturc would ever have lw n re
claimed had ho not giv n up his idle habits
and gone to feeding wine for a living, j
“Goto the ant, thou sluggard, consider Ler ,
w ays and be wise, which, having no overseer,
or guide provideth her food in the summer ami
gathered her meat in tho harvest.” The devil
dues not so often attack the man w ho is busy
w’ith the pen, and the book, and the trowel,
and the saw, and the hammer. He is afraid of
those weapons. But woo to that man who this
roaring lion meets with his hands in bis pock
ets. Do not demand that your toil always bo
elegant, and cleanly and refined. There is a
certain amount of drudgery through which W’o
must all pass, w’hatever bo our occupation,
ion know* how men are sentenced, a certain
number to years of prison, and after they have
suffered and worked out tho time, then they
are allowed to go free. And so it is with
all of us. God passed on us the sentence:
“By the sweat of thy brow' thou shall eat
bread.” We must endure our time of drudgery
and then, after awhile, wo will be allowed to
go Into comparative liberty. We must be
willing to enduro the sentence. We all know’
what drudgery connected with the begin
ning of any trade or profession, but this does
not continue all our lives, if it be the student’s
or the merchant's or the mechanic’s life. 1
1 know* ybu have at tho beginning many a hard
time, but alter awhile these things will become
e \ . You will be your own master* God’s
.sentence will be satisfied. You
will be discharged from prison.
Bless God that you have a brain to
think, and hands to w’ork, and feet to w’alk
w ith, for in your constant activity, O young
man, is one of your strongest defenses.’ I’ut
your trust in God and do your level best. That
child had it right w hen the horses ran away
with the load of wood and ho sat upon it.
When asked if he was frightened, he said:
“JSo.: I prayed to God and hung on like a
beaver.”
Again, profound respect for the Sabbath will
bo to the young man a powerful preservative
against evil. God has thrust into tho toil and
fatigue of life a recreative day, when the soul
is especially to be fed. It is"no new-fangled
notion of a w ild brained reformer, but an insti
tution established at tho beginning. God has
made natural and moral laws so harmonious
that the body, as well as tho soul, demands
this institution. Our bodies are soveu-day
clocks, that must be wound up as often as that,
or they will run down. Failure must come
sooner or later to tho man who breaks the Sab
bath. Inspiration has called it the Lord’s
Day. and he who devotes it to the world is
guilty of robbf iy. God will not let the sin go
unj unished, either in this world or the world
to come. This is the statement of a man who
had broken this divine enactment:
“I was engaged in manufacturing on the Le
high river. On the Sabbath I used to rest, but
never regarded God in it. One beautiful Sab
bath, w hen the noise was all hushed, and the
day was all that loveliness could make it, I
sat down on my piazza, and wont to work in
venting a new shuttle. 1 neither stopped to
eat nor drink till the sun went down. By that
time 1 had the invention completed. The. next
morning I exhibited it, boasted of my day’s
work, and was applauded. The shuttle was
tried and worked well, but that Sabbath day’s
work cost me thirty thousand dollars. We
branched out and enlarged, and the curse of
heaven was upon m ? from that day onwafd.”
While tho divine frown must rest upon him
who tramples upon this statute, God’s special
lavor will be upon that young mW.
V a**/, properly ob-
'WfvVM, e ill ifcfhwiwo oveu
a'?!.the week. The song, and sermon, and
sanctuary will hold back from presumptuous
scenes. That, young man who begins the du
ties of life with either secret or open disre
spect of the holy day, I venture to prophesy,
will meet W’ith noproinim nt successes. God’s
curse w ill fall upon his ship, his store, his of
fice, his studio, his body, and his soul. The
way of the wicked He turneth upside down.
In one of these old fables it was said that a
wonderful child was born in Bagdad, and a
magician could hear his footseps six thousand
miles away. But I can hear in tho footstep of
that young man, on his way to the house of
worship this morning, stepnot only of a life
time of usefulness but the coming step of et«?r
nal joys of heavens yet millions of miles
away.
Again, a noble, ideal and confident expecta
tian of approximating to it, will infallibly ad
vance. The artist completes in his mind the
great thought that he wishes to transfer to the
canvas or Ihe marble before he takes up the
crayon or the chisel. The architect plans out
the entire structure before he orders tho work
men to begin, and though there may for a long
while .seem to be nothing but blundering and
rudeness, he has in his mind every Corinthian
wreath, and Gothic arch and Byzantine capi
tal. The poet arranges the entire plot before
he begins to chime the first canto of tingling
men who attempt to build their character
without knowing whether in the end it shall
b * a rude traitor’s d<-n or a St. Mark’s of
Venice. Men who begin to write tho intricate
poem of their Jives without knowing
whether it shall be a Homer’s Odesscy or a
rhyme: tor’s botch. Nine hundred and ninety
nine men out of a thousand are living without
any great life-plot. Boot< d, and sjmrred, and
plumed, and urging their swift courser in the
hottest haste. 1 come out and ask: “Halloo,
man, whither away ?” His response is: “No
where.” Rush into the busy shop or store of
many a one, and taking the plane out of the
man’s hand and laying down the yard-stick
say: “ What, man, is this all about, so much
stir and sweat?” The reply will stumble and
break down betw’ccn teeth and lips. Every
day’s duty ought only to bo the follow ing up
of tlu-main plan of existence. Let men bo
consistent. If they prefer misdeeds to correct
course of a< tfon, then let them
draw out the <]<*>ign of knavery, and cruelty,
and plunder. Let every day’s falsehood and
wrong-doing be added as coloring to the pic
ture. Let bloody deeds red stripe the canvas,
and the clouds of a wrathful God hang down
h : vily ovc r the canvas, ready to break out. in
clamorous tempest. Let the waters be chafed,
a froth-tangle, and green with immeasurable
depths. '1 hen take a torch of burning pitch
and scorch into tho frame of the picture the
right name for it, namely, the Soul’s Sui
cide. If one entering upon sinful di
rections would only, in his mind, or
en paper, draw out in awful reality
this dreadful future, he would recoil from it,
and say: “Am I a Dante, that by my own life
J Hhoulil write another Inferno?” But if you
are resolved to live a life such as God and
good men will approve, do not let it be a vague
dream, an indefinite determination, but in
your mind or upon paper sketch it in all its
minutfrm You cannot know the changes to
which you may be subject, but you may know
what always will be right and always will be
wrong. Let gentleness, and charity, and ver
acity and faith stand in the heart of
the sketch. On some still brook’s
bank make a Jamb and liun lie
down together. Draw two or three of the
trees of life, not frost-stricken, nor ice glazed,
nor win<l-sirij>ped, but with thick verduie
waving like the palms of heaven. On the
darkest cloud place the rainbow, that billow
of the 'lying storm. You n' < d not burn the
title of the frame. The dullest will catch the
design at a glimpse, and say: “That is the
roau to heaven.” Ah, rnof On this sea of
life what innumciable ships, heavily I
1 i<en and veil r gged, y< t some
bound for another port. Swept every
whither of wind or wave, they go up by the
mountains, they go down by tho billows, and
are at their wits’end. They sail by no ' hart, I
they watch no star, they Jong for no harhorr. j
1 beg overy young man today to draw out a •
sketch <4 v haL by th'- grace of God, he means I
to be, though in excellence so high that you j
cannot reach it. lie who starts out in life
with a high ideal of character, and faith in its
attainment, will find himself encased from a
thousand temptations.
'J’hcre arc magnificent possibilities before
car.U of you young men of the stout heart, and
* the buoyant step, and tho bounding spirit. I
| would marshal you for grand achievement.
I God now provides for you the licet, and tho
armor, and the fortifications; who is on the
Lord's side? Tho captain of tho zouaves in
ancient times, to encourage them against tho
immense odds on tho side of their enemies,
said: “Gome, my mon, look tlieso follows in
tho face. They aro 6,(MX); you are 300. Surely
tho match is even.” That sp<‘cch gave
them tho victory. Bo not, my hearers,
dismayed at any time by what seems an im
mense odds against you. Is fortune, is want
of education, are men, are devils against you,
though tho multitudes of earth and hell con
front you, stand up to the charge. With a
million against you, tho match is just even.
Nay, you have a decided advantage. If God
be for us, who can bo against us? Thus pro
tected, you need not spend much time in
answering your assailants.
IM any years ago word came to me that two
impostors, as temperance lecturers, had been
speaking in Ohio in various places, and giv
ing tlieir experience, and they told their au
dience that they had long hern intimate with
me ami had become drunkards by dining at
my table, where I always had liquors of all
sorts. Indignant to the last degree. I went
down to Patrick ('ampbell, chief of Brooklyn
police, saying I was going to start that night
for Ohio to have these villains arrested, and I
wanted him to tell mo how to make the ar
rest. Ho smiled and said: “Do not waste
your time by chasing these men. (jo homo
and do your work, and tlu'y can do you no
harm.” I took his counsel and all was well.
Long ago 1 made up my mind that if one will
put his trust in God and be faithful to duty,
he need not fear any e\ il. Have God on your
side, young man. and all the combined forces
of earth ami hell can do youjno damage.
And this leads mo to say that the mightiest
pf all defense for a young man is the possession
thorough religofious principle. Nothing can
take the place of it. He may have mamiers
that would put to shame the gracefulness ami
courtesy of a Lord Cho-.terfiekl. Foreign lan
guage mav drop from his tongue. He may be
able to discuss literatures, and laws, and
foreign customs, lie may wield a pen of un
equalled polish and power. His quickness and
tact may qualify him for the high
est salary of the counting house.
He may be as sharp as lierod and
asslrong as Samson, with as fine lucksas those
which hung Absalom, still he is not safe from
contamination. Tho more elegant his manner,
and the more fascinating his dross, the more
peril. Satan does not care much for the alle
giance of a coward and illiterate being. He
can bring him into efficient service. But ho
loves to storm that castle of character which
has in it the most spoils and treasures. It was
not some crazy craft creeping along tho coast,
with a valueless cargo that the pirate attacked,
but the ship, full-winged and flagged, plying
between great ports, carrying its million of
specie. The more your natural and acquired
accomplishments, the more need of the religion
of Jesus. That does not cut. in upon or hack up
any smoothness of disposition or behavior.
11 gives symmetry. It arrests that in the soul
which ought to bo arrested and propels that
which ought to be propelled. It fills up the
guild’s. It elevates and transforms To
beauty it gives more beauty, to tact more tact,
tU vnthnsiasm of nature more enthusiasm.
Whop tho Holy Spirit impresses the image of
God ♦nrfc’ie i nw dovb not njmJl the
If in all the multitudes of young men upon
whom religion has acted you could find one na
ture that had been the least damaged, I would
yield this proposition. You may now have
enough strength of character to repel the vari
ous temptations to gross wickedness which
assail you, but 1 do not know in what
strait you may bo thrust at sonic
future time. Nothing short of the grace of
the cross may then bo able to deliver you from
the lions. You are not meeker than Moses,
nor holier than David, nor more patient than
Job, and you ought not to consider yourself
invulnerable. You may have some weak
point of character that you have never dis
covered, and in some hour when you arc as
saulted the Philistines will bo upon thee, Sam
son. Trust not in yotir good habits, or your
early training, or your pi ide. of • character;
nothing short of the arm of Almighty God
will be sufficient Io uphold you. You look
forward to the world sometimes with a chill
ing despondency. Cheer up! I will tell
you how you all may make a fortune.
“Seek first the kingdom of God and His right
eousness and all other things will be added
unto you.” I know you go not want to be
mean in this matter. Give God the freshness
of your life. You will not have the heart to
drink down the brimming cup of life and then
pour the dregs on God’s altar. r l’o a Saviour
so infinitely generous you have not tho heart
to act like that. That is not bravo, that is
not honorable, that is not manly. Your great
est want in all tho world is a new heart. in
God’s name I tell you that. And tin? Blessed
Spirit presses through tho solemnities and
privileges of this holy hour. Put the cup of
life eternal to.your thirsty lips. Thrust it not
back. Mercy offers it, bleeding mercy, Ipng
suffering mercy. Reject all other friendships,
be ungrateful for all other kiiulne .s, prove rec
reant to all other bargains, but despise God’s
luve for your immortal soul—-don’tyou dothat.
I would like to seo some of you this hour
press out of the ranks of the world and lay
your con'ptcred spirit at tho feet of Jesus.
This hour is no wandering vagabond stagg< r
ing over the earth, it is a winged messenger of
the skies whispering inrrcy to thy soul. Life
is smooth now hut after a while it may be
rough, wild ami precipitate. There comes a
cris’s in the history of every man. \V< t? Idom
understand ll.at tuning point until it Is far
past. The road of life is fork' d and I read on
two signboards: “This is the way to happi
ness.” “This is the way to ruin.” How apt
w<? are to pass the forks of the road without
thinking whether it comes out at the door of
bliss or the gates of darkness.
Many years dgo 1 stood on tho anniversary
platform with a minister of Christ who inadc
this remarkable statement:
“Thirty years ago two young men started
out in the evening to attend Park theater,
New York, where a play was Io bo acted in
which the cause of religion was to be placed in
a ridiculous ami hypocritical light. They camo
to tho neps. Tho consciences of both smote
them. Ono stalled to go homo but returned
again to the door and yet had not courage to
ent trand finally departed.|But the other young
man entered the pit of the theater. It was thu
turning point in tho history of those two young
men. The, man who entered was 'aught in
the whirl of temptation. Hesank deep* r and
deeper in infamy. He was lost. That other
young man was saved, ami he now stands be
fore you to bless God that for twenty years he
has been permitted to preach the gospel,’*
“Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and
Jet thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy
youth ; hut know thou that, for all these things
God will bring thee into judgment.”
MODE TROUBLE.
Hartford Cwirant: A Hartford youngd'-r goes to
Chur h where the concluding urn ri of tho par. oTs
prayer is Ming by th' 1 choir. The other night, uft< r
I he had said his pmyers, he produced a harmonica
i from ts ncalh his pillow nn I astonished bls mother
by bl< w i g a bln t where the amen came In, re
in; i ..lug: “That’s the way v.c do In cbm ch.”
r.’l.'inti'-: Hiirjiilx. I rftben l-.n’t thia General
Cr >ton, tin: <i.lLr il"l t< iiq ■ uin/j orator? ]'.■ .in
ended imlividual Thsh my ‘hP : g’) r. in",
sir. Citizen How'*M you' , so g-•!. In this J .--
: r ■ ' ' I
cd She ven teen b i.cn e -h on •: xcu-c me: thought
your loot peisiiumliy b turcl evidensh i
this morri’n’.
T.'i W' Torn traveler- The old gang of
toughs that ran the town a year a/') ►C 'uo to have |
gone away. Native--Not far; a cumuiittev of us just I
peraiML'led 'em v» settle up ou tfiu hill kuar.
PRICE FIVE CENS.
BETSY AT TIIE SHOW.
Sho Finishes Her Piedmont Ex
position Story.
KNEE DEEP IN MUD BUT LOTS OF FUN".
AtlAnty, Georgy, October 29th, 1887.— 1
agreed to tell yon how wo 'tins seed the presi
dent under difficulties.
When wo riz a Wednesday mornin' it was a
pourin’ down rain.
We knowed in reason, rain or shine, it was a
gwitie to be the biggest day of tho exposition,
on account of the shatn battle to bo fit at
tho grounds, and the president and his wife
bein’ tliar. Rain never set none of our gang
back.
After breakfast it licit up and never rained
no more tel 11 or 12 o'clock.
We hated monstous bad to git our now Sun
day hats wet., but wo couldn’t miss a seoin' of
tho president. We done bought our railroad
tickets the day before, and aimed to
go out on tho kars, but tiie
crowd from the knr shed plum to the exposi
tion depot under liroad bridge was so thick
they couldn t hardly mote, and we knowed in
reason if we got wedged in amongst 'em it
mought take us nearly all day to git thar,
and we’d miss a seein' of tho president and
his wife and the sham battle ami cveiything
else, so I says to Calcdony and tether gals, says
I, “less all go on the street kar,” and
wo made a break for i’eachtreo street, and
Towed to go out a piece and ketch a empty kar
a-eoiniii’ back; thought mebbe nobody else
wouldn’t think about doin’ that and made
shore we could git seats, but its like pup says,
“They haint nobody so smart but somebody
else is a little smarter.” Them empty kars
was all full. Folks walked a mile ami rid back
to git a seat. We’nns kepa gwine, hopin’ we’d
keteli a kar, tel wo got over halfway, and
never met nair'n that wasn’t .so full ther wasn’t
room enough left for n bob tail lice. We wasn't
by ourselves; tho sidewalk fur as you could see
before you and behind you was thick with
folks a-walkin’.
Tho road was full of over’ kind of thing to
ride in, from a tine carriage down to a
One-horse dray and a coal cart
—nicest kinder folks hiked up in a
coal waggin. A man with a kivered
waggin and two mules was a fetchin’ of a load
of turnips to town : some of that walkin' crowd
met him and axed him what ho’d take for tiie
whole load mid bought it, pitched tiie turnips
out < n side of the road, jumped in tho waggin
and went, to the fair grounds.
We seed Colonel A very and his little son
dressed as lino as a fiddle jist from Washing
ton city a settin’ up on a rough old dray— and
they w as happy.
in all that big crowd, and as wet and muddy
as it was, we never seed a drunk man, and eves
body was j, lly and lively as ducks in a pond.
They started out for a frolic, was bent on
bavin’ fun in spite of rain, mud or anylitjag
oho. Women would look tbor w«.
dresses nil full of urud ftnd laffgh lit
they selves. Things they <• onid er ci-iej A 1 t '‘“
nny other time seemed to th-klb 'em t<>
that day. The thought of seeiu’ the *
put ’em all in a good humor.
Wo never had but one chance Io ride; we
mot a griniiiii’ nigger on a coal waggin; he
hollered at his mules “Whoa, Beck? Whoa,
Bizet W-w-whoa-nhl Whoa, I.izo! Jif, efj
es yon all whi-whi-whi folks wants to ride I
t-t-tnke you dar for, for, for fifty cents.”
But we was nearly thar then and didn’t
have no fifty cents to give no-how.
But laws, you had orter seed llm crowds ot
muddy folks that piled in that old dirty waggin
ami paid fifty cents to ride a hundred yards.
Wo wasn’t nigh us tired when wo got that
that day as wo was on a Monday
when we stood a hour or two wedgod in a
crowd a wailin’ for the train. Wo was jammed
in amongst some old women and couldn’t git
our hands to the top of our beads, and couldn’t
hardly ketch our breath. The orowd behind
us shoved and wo moved about one step a min
ute, and Cousin Pink lack to fainted.
Plenty of’em did faint and had to bo tuck
out to the air, and more of ’em would er faint
ed if it hadn’t rained in they faces.
I jist told ’em a We liicsday I didn't low to
git into nalr iintlicrsicli asnup; 1 drutlier walk
as to stand. But laws would you believe it,
them very same fainty women was thar agin
on a Wednes lay ; li ey dr t • r I a n' as to miss
soein’ of the pre-'.lc:,i, and some of 'em would
er fainted if Hie h In’t got to seed him.
Wo went in the gate Is hind t he grand stand.
Tho military companies was all in the big rac®
track ring a gitliu’ ready for th®
Kham battle and a wait ng to so®
tho president. Folks was a standin’ so thick
together the companies never had no room to
drill. Tho hills outside of Um grounds wa®
black with folks, the whole face of the y: th
’peered to ho alive. 1 never seed as many I,e
foro in my life, and they had not all Come, you
couldn’t miss no body out er town then.
TTiatJgrand stand holds twenty-five thou-
Kaml and it was chock full and the platform at
the top crowded with folks that had been a
standiu’ thar for hours not a seein’ of nothin’,
but wouldn’t git out. Our gang went up th®
back steps of the, stand ami in a few minutes
wo knowed by the shouts and screams and
sol d folks all a riinniii’ that the president and
Ins wife was a cornin' :.o we stood still. Th®
carriage had to come right close to wliar wa
va, :*n*l wo got a good look at’em. Lot®
of folks rushed up to the carriage
and tried to shake hands with
’em, but they done quit a-shakin’ of hands.
They say M is Cleveland’s done shuck hands so
mmji ti 1 her arm's putty nigh out’u jiut, and
lu.r ole man made her quit it.
Tlrny had .six gray horses a-pnllin’ of that
carriage, an<l it was kivered all over with
flowers, even Io the wheels. They driv on
around in front of tiie grand stand, and
everbody riz to they feet and hollered. 1 learn
a old 'Oman away down in the crowd say in a
pitiful tone: “Laws, laws, folk . moutset down;
I can’t see nothin’; 1 as well bo in Pickens
county.” And the way she whined it out
you’d thought ther wasn’t nothin’ tn Pickena
county.
If folks had e’r’set down ever body coulder
seed, but when one riz. all riz. I was sorter
like the woman from Pickens county tel I
found a cheer, and mo and < ih dony stood up
in it wliar wo could look over all thar beads.
It was a grand sight, to see so many thousand
jarnplo a wavin’ of ther hankcrdier®
and a hollering, as the president’®
carriage driv around. Cannons and
guns afirin’ and evei'body plum wild.
A inan come up behind us, and we beam
him say ho come all tho way from South
Ca'ilny on purpose to see the president, and
hadn’t enw him. Howa.s tryln’to got a place
to : he shoved his way in, ami was a Ktand
iri’right next to nm and < al. He dived hi®
h'ad fust one side and then t’other a
dodgin’ of the women’s big hats. He
tiptoed, but ho wasn't high enough.
11. tretch' d liis neck but the crowd was too
tliii k, be In pt on Iryin’ to ws> and a beggin of
’em pitiful to ret down in front; they never
paid no atteiitionto him. I was sorry fer him;
■i* much to be seed and lie couldnt see nothin*,
lie k"p a lookin and a lookin, last ho give up,
and said sorter to Ills si'f like ho was most
ready to cry: “Oh jisbawl I cant see a blasted
tiling but a mountain.”
Me and Calcdony lack to fell off’ll tho
cheer a laogliin. But you. dont know
How funny it wax less you could
er hoarn him say it. Another man c/rnie along
and savs, “ I’m a lookin' for Lucy s bonnet.
We didn’t know whether Lucy had lost her
I (XiuUuu'.d on FinuOAutun Twelfth Page,
