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I ___ W/ rtx <r „ I <wy» ’£>' - loli :raf Si ilibrml I '-'- •^a=3L?=*»^ 108 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,