Newspaper Page Text
W. D. CHAMBERS, Proprietor.
VOL. X
.MASTERY.
not Ambition mister thee,
But be Ambition'* muster:
Thus will Power thy servant be,
And not thy soul's disaster.
—The Criterion.
Amy's BirtMay Flowers.
Bt Elizabeth MoCaachsx.
Mrs. Dale's Ungers trembled, and
her lips trembled, too, as she stood
before her mirror, tying her bonnet
strings and pinning her veil. Amy
had usually tied her bonnet string*
and pinned her veil.
It was almost a year since *h* had
cne day folded Amy’s hands and slip
ped into them the last flowers that
they ever would hold in the world,
hut she had no*" yet grown accustomed
to doing for herself all the little
things those once ousy hands had
dene for litr.
During the time that was almost a
year Bhe had missed Amy with that
lonelin.-ss with which a mother does
nj'.ss the daughter who goes away into
the great, strange silence just when
she is old enough to be her mother’s
best friend as well as her child. Mrs.
Dale missed all those things that had
made up Amy’s life, and, perhaps most
she missed the little things that Amy
had done for her, and that now she
did for herself.
Then, too, Amy had been her only
daughter. Mrs, Dale’s two sons were
•in college, and her husband was away
from home all day. She had many in
terests and many duties, too, yet she
was Very lonely. She was much more
lonely without Amy than even her hus
band or her sons could know.
As she stood before the mirror, ty
ing her bonnet strings and pinning her
veil, her heart was even heavier than
it usually was. The next day would
be Amy’s birthday, and instead of pre
paring gifts and surprises, Mrs. Dale
was about to go Into the city to buy
the most beautiful flowers she could
find to lay on the girl’s grave. Amy
had loved flowers, and the next day
would be her first birthday in that
other world, that world In which
mothers are never left lonely.
—firs. Dale was thinking all this to
herself as she went into the city on
the trolley car. It was September,
and it was afternoon. The car went
g*et fields beginning to turn bt
and between lines of trees beginning
to show among their green sometimes
a red leaf, or a leaf of bright gold.
The sun made the leaves all the
brighter, and it gilded the brown fields
too, and made the trees east long
shadows. Amy had always been so
glad that her birthday had fallen on
one of the mystic days that come just
before September slips Into October.
Her mother thought of that, too.
She thought of so many things about
which Amy had been glad. She was a
little less sad and lonely as she re
membered some of them. She thonght
and remembered all the time that she
was in the trolley-car, and even after
she was in the city, and walking along
the crowded street to a florist’s shop
on one of its corners.
When she reached the florists shop
she stopped, and stood looking at the
flowers In the shop windows.
"What shall I get?” she said to her
self. ‘‘Roses, white roses; Amy al
ways loved them. Or violets—it is
rather early for violets, though. Or
lilies—l might get lillies.”
For a moment she almost forgot
that she was not buying them to give
Into Amy's eager hands. She was not
very rich and she began to consider.
She compared in her mind the num
ber of roses with the number of lillies
ehe might get. She decided upon the
roses.
‘‘They are sweeter and simpler for
a young girl like Amy,” she said to
■erself, gently.
She turned away from the windows,
and was just about to open the door
of the florist's shop when she saw
coming up the street towards her one
of Amy's girl friends. She paused
and waited. She had always been
very friendly with the girls, and now
she felt even a greater interest in
them. She had especially liked Elean
or Greer.
The girl was coming so rapidly up
the street that she would have passed
the florist’s shop without seeing Mrs.
Dale if that lady had not spoken to
her.
'Mv dear Eleanor, you certainly are
in a hurry,” she said.
Eleanor came to a sudden stop. "O
Mrs. Dale, dear Mrs. Dale, I am so
glad to see you!” She took Mrs.
Dale's hand and held it for a moment.
Eleanor had loved Amy, and she, too,
had been lonely without her. She,
100, remembered that the next day
Wm, ld have been Amy’s birthday. She
said not a word, but she held Mrs.
Dale’s hand very closely, and looked
into her eyes; and Amy’s mother un
derstood the unspoken sympathy.
"How are you, my dear child?” was
that she said, for she did not yet
speak very often of the daughter who
had died.
I am very well,” Eleanor said, “and
ver y busy. I read the history of
ffiusic and teach children music—just
ss usual, dear Mrs Dale.” She smiled
Just a little wistfully, Mrs. Dale
thought.
Prompted by the thought, the asked
gently; "Are you happy, Eleanor
dear?” •
Eleanor hesitated for an instant,
snu then she smiled again and said,
Yea— usually I am. Just at nresen; 1
DADE COUNTY SENT!NEL.
am sighing for the luries of life.”
Mr*. Dale was relieved. She knew
that Eleanor was too sensible to sigh
very long for anything. "What do
you mean hy the luxtrles of life,
dear?" she asked.
'‘Now really, Mrs. Dale!” Eleanor
protested brightly; then, with more
| color in her face, aho added, “Jits* how
they are the eight Cohc’erts that the
Beethoven Society is going to give.”
Mrs.. Dale smiled in sympathy,
“They are certainly the greatest of
luxuries to music lovers,” she agreed.
“And to music teachers who must
spend their money for—other things,’’
Eleanor added, with a laugh. '’Please
don’t think I am really Unhappy be
cause 1 can't afford to go, Mrs. Dale.
I’m hott I’m just .croaking a little.
It'S feUch a help to any One to hear
good music,—especially, to a music
teacher,—and such a joy! But I’m
not Uhhappy about it; I’m glad I cart
do other things. I don’t feel a bit like
croaking any more since I’ve seen
you!”
“You dear child!” exclaimed Mrs.
Dale, warmly. She knew that most of
the other things that Elejnor did were
done for other persons, and done will
ingly and bravely. “You dear child!”
she repeated.
Eleanor pressed her hand closely.
I must fly to my next pupil, Mrs. Dale,
May I come to see you tomorrow—
perhaps late in the afternoon?” she
whispered.
The quick tears came into Amy’3
mother’s eyes. “Yes, do!” she said.
"Good by, my dear!”
Eleanor sped up the street to her
next pupil, and Mrs. Dale turned to
enter the florist's shop and buy the
white roses.
“Eleanor is a dear, good child,” she
thought, “so brave and unselfish! It
is a pity she can't go to those concerts.
They would give her such help, and
such happiness, too! I wish I could
give her a ticket to them. Amy would
be so pleased; she loved Eleanor. If
to-morrow were not Amy’s birthday,
and I were not going to get the flowers
for her grave, I should be able to Jo
that for Eleanor. She would let me
because I am Amy’s mother. I won
der—” /
She stood quite still. A pleasant
new possibility came into her mind.
She turned away from the florist’s
shop. In less than an hour she was
going home, past the yellowing fields
and sun-lighted trees. She had no
flowers with her. but the look in her
eyes was less sad and less lonely for
Amy.
In the last fen- moments of daylight
she wrote a little note to Eleanor. The
girl wept tears, half-happy, half-sad.
as she read;
MY DEAR CHILD: To-morrow, as
you know, is Amy’s birthday. If Amy
were here I should give her something
to celebrate it. Amy is not here, but
you are dear; and you are a girl like
Amy, and her friend. Will you not
take the gift tor her, and go and listen
to the glorious music that you so love
and can so well make helpful to your
self and others? Come to see me
soon, and believe me, Your warm
friend,
AMY SPENCER DALE.
Slipped into the note Eleanor found
a ticket to the Beethoven society con
certs. Amy’s mother had sent it very
happily, but after it had gone she set
alone in the gathering twilight, wish
ing that she had just one flower to
take on the next day to Amy’s grave.
“Amy would have liked me to do
that,” she thought, “but still—on her
first birthady—”
She did not finish the sentence, for
just at that moment little Marjorie
Williams, who lived next door, came
running in.
“O Mrs. Dale,” she cried, “I’ve been
to the woods with father, and I've
brought you some flowers!” She ran
up to Mrs. Dale, and dropped into her
arms a great mass of. gpideq rod and
blue autum Jasies. Then she kissed
her and danced away home.
Mrs. Dale gathered the golden rod
and Jasies in her arms, and pressed
her cheek softly against them. The
next morning she took them and laid
them on Amy’s grave. Strangely her
heart felt lighter than it had felt since
Amy died.
She did not know ■why, but when
Eleanor came, later in the day, and
kissed her again and again, and
thanked her with wet eyes for the
gift, she began to know. Never after
did she cover Amy’s grave with costly
quick-fading flowers.
Instead, at Christmas, and at Easter
and on Amy's birthday, she did some
lovely kindness for some other girl for
Amy’s sake. Sometimes it was small,
sometimes it was large; but always it
was something that made the girl
happier and better, and consequently
more valuable to the world. —Youth’s
Companion.
A Keal Philosopher.
A Battersea workingman was once
possessed of a notoriously bad tem
pered wife, who did not scruple, when
the fit seized her, to lay violent hands
upon her patient spouse. One fine
clay he was observed by a friend, who
saw him entering a crockery shop lad
en with an armful of cups and sau
cers.
“Hello, John!” he cried. "Selling up
your home?”
“No,” responded John, “but I really
couldn’t stand the expense any longer.
These here ones break into little bits
at once when my wife throws ’em at
me, and so I'm going to change them
for thicker!"—London Answers.
The plan of destroying hail clouds
by exploding bombs among them
was suggested nearly 100 years ago
by Prof, Parrot of Riga.
ARP PRAISES WOMEN
Butow Philosopher Addresses the
Home Muflioa Society.
"
BIS WORDS EL’CIT GREAT INTEREST
Recounts the Good A/Ork and Loving
Self-Sacrifice of Eve'fc Daugh
ters—A Synopsis of His
Speech-.
—
Recently in Cartersvillie, Ga., the
Wbman’s Home Missionary Society of
the north Georgia conference met;
Among those who made addresses
were Bill Arp. His talk was interest
ing throughout, and is, by request from
many, reproduced in full in The AD
lanta Constitution in lieu of his regu
lar letter. Among other things, the
Bartow philisopher said:
“If our youth is happily spent, our
old age will be crowned with pleftsant
memories. How blessed are those chil
dren whose homes rtfe happy! Whosb
parents are kihd and loving, who ard
not cursed with wealth nor pinched
with poverty. I believe that it is possi
ble for parents to make the home so at
tractive that even the boys would rath
er stay there in their lelsllhe hours |
than to seek the tireless company of i
thosb about town whose homes are not
happy. I don’t know about David’s
home, nor what he did In his youth, but
his prayer was one of great anguish
when he said, ‘Visit not upon me the
iniqultiees of my youth.’
“But I was ruminating about the
state and condition of Methodism and
missions in the long ago, when I was
young and the most of you were art
unknown quantity. When I was In my
teens and was just noticing the girls
and wondering what they were made
for, the Methodist church was the ortiy
church in our town —and it had the
only graveyard, for I had to pass right j
by St every night that I visited my ]
sweetheart's home. I had a rival in
her affections, and one dark night he
saw a ghost and ran home ftfad I get
rid of him, though I Whs accused of
being the ghost. Near there was the
church and there were the people, but
where was the bell and where wss the,
steeple, for it had neither. It was an
old-fashioned, unpainted building and
had small glass windows of 8 by 10
glass, and two doors in front, which
used to be a peculiarity of Methodist
churches. It was said that one door
was to take in the converts and the
other to turn them out. The Baptist
churches of that day had but one door,
for when once they got in they never,
got out. This old church contained on
the Sabbath nearly all the religion that
was In the town, and at night was the
trysting place of the old people who
loved God and the young men and
maidens who loved one another. Nc
tice was given that meeting would be
gin at early candle-light. Candles! that
gave what Milton calls a dim religious
light. Don’t smile, my young friends, j
for Shakeespeare wrote by candle-light
and says, ’How far that little candle
throws its beams, so shines a good
deed in a naughty world.’ Everybody
was familiar with the amen corner
and had reverence for those who occu
pied it. My wife and I still remember
the low, gutteral amens of Brother
Murphy, the snap-short amens of
Brother Ivy, and thb deep groanings
of old Father Ivy in echo to the plead
ing prayers of the preachers. Father j
Norton was a very close and stingy
man, and on one occasion got to shout
ing and clapped his hands and ex
claimed, “Thank God for giving us a
religion that has nev r cost me 25 ■
oqnts.’ And the preacher responded,
‘And may the Lord have mercy on
your stingy soul.’ We remember, too,
the good Sister Jenkins, who always
had three or four little children tag
ging after her, besides one at the
breast, and spread them out on the
long front bench and took a basket
of biscuit and fried chicken to keep
them quiet, and all the space between
the front bench and the pulpit was
their crawling ground, and when they
wanted water she reached Ip to the
pulpit and got it from the preacher’s
pitcher.
“By and by anew preacher came
who was determined to purge the
church of its loose and languid mem
bers. At his second .service he had
before him the book of membership
and read out the roll and remarked
that somebody had been adding to
some of the names in pencil with such
capital letters as D. D., which he sup
posed stood for doctor of divinity, but
learned later that it stood for dram
drinker, and there were other letters,
such as B. -K., which stood for bar
keeper, and N. T. for nigger trader
and H. R. for horse racer, and there
was G for gambler and an F. for fid
dler. He raised a big rumpus over all
such as these and declared they should
all be.turned out and they were. He
reminded me of old Simon Peter Rich
ardson, who, while stationed here,
went over to visit his old home on the
Peedee, in South Carolina. When he
returned I asked him if he had a good
time, and he said yes he had a glo
rious old time in his old church —the
church he first joined and used to
preach in. Oh, said he, we had a glo
rious revival, the best I ever experi
enced. Did you take In many? said I.
“Take In, take in; no, my friend, we
never took in nary one; but we turned
seventeen out, thank the Lord. Oh,
It was a glorious revival.'
“But I was ruminating about the dif
ference between now and then in
church work and missions and salaries.
OfßLoial Organ of Dado COunty
TRENTON, GA. FRIDAY. APRIL4.I9O*I,
and church environments and the cul
ture of the preachers. Tkere was old
Father Donally, with his wooden leg,
who always came to our
and attracted great ehiwtfF who ramrt
to hbar film scare the sinners and scar
ify the Christians and denounce the
fashions and follies of thelday. I have
not forgotten his rebuke to a gay
young couple who behaved unseemly
during the sermon and the old man
stopped and said, 'if that yottng ittati
over there with hair on his face anti
that young woman With a grbeh bon
net oh her hehd and the devil’s martin
gales around her neck and his stirrups
on her ears don’t stop their giggling
while I am preaching GocEb message to
sinners, I will pint ’em out to the ecm
stregsUlbiL’
“But mission work was totally un
known as an organized feature of
church work. The first We ever heard
of was introduced by settne northern
emissaries who came to this region to
plant Christianity among the Indians.
“But you must pardon me. I did not
forget that the object of this confer
ence waS home mission work, but elo
quent men and culturedMvomen who
have {Receded mb have faithfully cov
ered that ground in every phase and
have left me nothing but memories
that are only kin to it. There is, how
ever, no dividing line. Both fqreign
and dombstic missions are founded in
Christian charity and Christian prog
ress.
“Just think of it for a moment. Do
you kpow that we have eighteen thou
sand missionaries in foreign lands? In
China, India, Turkey, Egypt and Cape
Colony, and these missionaries are
reinforced by eighty thousand native
preachers in twenty-three thousand
towns and villages, with one ahd a
half million communicants atid Chris
tioh communities of ovhh fdiif million
people. These missionaries have over
one million pupils under instruction.
They have ninety-font universities and
colleges, ahd some of thbm are Worid
reiiowned ahd rank well with oiir own.
The best endowed of these colleges are
at Constantinople, Beirut, Peßin, Egypt
and Cape Colony. Then
one thousand sfecohdarv for
traihing in the
and also one twenty-two
The most grati
fying and significant fact is that more
than one-third of all the pupils are
girls. The colleges have over two thou
sand of them, and in the common
schools they constitute piore than half
the number of pupils. Just think of it
and rejoice, for it is a pit lfnl fact-that,
for centuries in these benighted lands
woman lias.been under the bah, and
youhg girls were slaves to man’s domi
nation, convenience and passion. What
a beautiful and glorious picture she
now has of the freedom and elevation
of her sex, and it has all come through
the work of missionaries, and is worth
a million times more than it has ever
cost.
“The freedom and elevation of wo
man in the most glorious and heavenly
work of the past century, and it still
goes on, not only in foreign lands, but
here at Woman is now at the
head of every charitable work. Who,
else is educating our children In th£
public schools? Whb Is
the church, the Sabbath school Jr re
Epworth League and the aid
Who is in almost exclusive
this conference? Fifty years
had no voice in these things and they
were considered beyond her sphere,
and St. Paul was quoted against her
every time she presumed to talk in
meeting or speak very loud at home.
“Love is stronger than creeds or
kindred pr country. Especially the
love of woman. How often do we see
Methodist or Presbyterian women
chosing their mates outside of their
church and joining the church of their
husbandp. They do not stop to con
sult the/creed, but change their church
as will/ngly as they change their
name, and I have known them to do
that tvo or three times. Brother Sam
Jones os not ashamed to tell how he
found his wife in a Baptist duck pond,
and I make no secret of telling how I
found mine in that same old Methodist
I have described to you—not up
in the ‘Amen’ corner among the saints,
nor, afar back among the sinners, but
about midway, where the angels con
gregfte. Men do not change their
churrhes to please their wives, for
they still maintain their rightful lord
ship as the head of the family. But
for /ore a woman will change not only
herchurch, but her name. The love of
wonan has no parallel. It extinguishes
, all fear. The apostles shrank from
1 darger and hid themselves, and one
betfayed and another denied his Lord
anc master, but woman was last at
Hii cross and earliest at His grave.
fThen we bid you God speed in your
ndale work, you members of this mis
sijn. If Paul had respect for the Jews
■ because unto them was committed the
( opcles of God. how much more shall
ve have respect for the Christian wo
qen of this land who are planting
those oracles at home and abroad.”
RHEA LOSES HIS SEAT.
Hfuse Votes Moss as Representative
From Third Kentucky District.
A Washington special says: The
consideration of the contested elec
fon case of Moss vs. Rhea from the
i Third Kentucky district was resumed
(when the house met Tuesday. Only
two hour; was occupied by the con
j/testee, -Mr.- Rhea, in concluding the
[argument begun by him Monday in de
-1 tense of his right to his seat. On the
I final vote Rhea was unseated, 127 to
[ 127, and Moss declared a member of
* the house.
DR.TALHAGE’S SERfION
The Eminent Divine’* Sunday
Discourse.
Sul>Jeri: Tlie Benefits or A<!ver.ltv—
Must Al! Go ThiousH Sonic Kind of a
Thrashing Process For Our Ouu Good
—Triumph After Misfortune.
WASIItVC.TOXj D. C.—From a process
familiar td the farmer Di*. Talmage draws
lessons of consolation Sud fcncdtu*rtpfnteiit
for people in sorrow and adversity. J
text is Isaiah xxviii, 27, 28: “For the
fitches are not thrashed with a thrashing
instrument, neither is a cart wheel turned
about upon the cummin, but the fitches
are beaten out with a staff and the cum
min with a rod. Bread corn is bruised be
cause he will not ever be thrashing it. -
Misfortunes of vario’us kinds ttait* upon
various bedplc, find iu all times the great
need of ninety-nine pedplC out of a hun
dred is solace. Look, then, to this neg
lected allegory of my text.
There are three kinds of seed men
tioned —fitches, cummin and corn. Of the
last we all know. But it may be well to
state that the fitches and the cummin were
small seeds, like the caraway or the chick
pea, When these grain* or herbs were to
bfi thrashed they Were thrown on the
floor, arid the Workmen wdnld crime archind
with staff or rod or flail and bbat them un
til the seed would be separated, but when
the corn was to be thrashed that was
tlirdwri dri the floor, and the men would
fasten horses or oxen to a cert with iron
dented wheels; that rart would be drawn
around the and so the
work would be Different
kinds 8f thrashing for
“The fitches were no't thrssWlyvith a
thrashing instrument, neither cart
wheel turned about upon the cummin, but
the fitches are beaten out with a staff and
the cummin with a rod. Bread corn is
bruised because he will not ever be thrash
ing it.”
The great thought that the text presses
upon our souls is that we all go through
some kind of thrashing process. The fact
that you may be devoting your life to hon
orable and noble purposes will not win you
any escape; Wilberforee,- tlie Christian
emancipator! Was iri his day derisively
tailed “Doctor Cantwell:’’ Thomas Bab
ihgtdii Macaule.v; the ndvo'cate of all that
was good; long before lie, became the most
conspicuous historian of his day,' WaS cari
catured in One of the quarterly reviews a?
VBabbletHngue Macaulay.” Norman Mc-
Leod; the great friend of the Scotch poor,
has industriously maligned iri all quarters,
although oil the day when he was carried
out td his burial a workman stood and
looked at the funeral procession and said,
“If he had done nothing for anybody mare
thdn he hag done for me, he would shine
as the stars forever and ever.” All the
email wits of London had their fling at
John Wesley, the father of Methodism.
If such men could not escape the malign
ing of the world, neither can you expect
to get rid of the sharp, keen stroke of the
tribulum. All who will live godly in Christ
Jesus must suffer persecution. Besides
that, there are the sicknesses and the
bankruptcies and the irritations and the
disappointments which arc ever putting a
cup of aloes to your lips. Those wrinkles
on your face are heirggiyplm’9 Which; if
deciphered* would makagMut a thrilling
Story of trouble. The kgHlep of the rab
bit is seen the next on the enow,
and on the white aged <tr th”
footprints showing swift trouble
alighted. -JV
Even amid the Ltjj®ind hilarities of life
trouble will break in. As when
the people in the Charles
town theatre the Revolutionary
War, and were witnessing a
farce and was in grent grutu
lation the gtiSforUn advancing army Were
heard broke up wild
panic and®P?rss®ieir lives, so oftentimes
While gpH amid the joys and
(MHrorld you hear the can
tiQlif tflflwer W Amreat disaster, All tht
fkiauof all and the corn must
JF'X marsha4:s* iff: thrashing floor and be
Fields®' 'J
lere to us if we es
, The fitches and the cum
‘ ondHHrashing floor might look
to the Son another thrashing floor
e and say: at that poor, miserable,
bruised have only been a little
| pounded, has been almost de
| stroyed.” the com, if- it had lips,
would say; “Do you know the
I rearon you*He not been as much pounded
I as I have?fflßis because you are not of so
; much worwtMs I am. If you were, you
! Would be >4i#i erely run over.” Yet there
j are men rwftuppose they are the Lord’s
favorites flgfjy because their barns arc
: full and tfij* bank account is flush and
I there are inKWierals in the house. It may
I be beeaus Sffcy are fitches and cummin,
while dowMmt the end of the lane the poor
j widow may be tne Lord’s corn.
You are but little pounded because you
are but little worth and she bruised and
ground because she is the best part of the
harvest. The heft of the thrashing ms-'
chine is according to the value of the
grain. If you have not been much thrashed
in life, perhaps there is not much to
thrash! If you have not been much shaken
of trouble, perhaps it is because, there is
going to be a very small yield.
When there are plenty of blackberries,
[ the gatherers go out with large baskets.
; but whm the drought has almost consumed
j the fruit, then a quart measure will do as
I well.-
i It took the venomous snake on Paul's
I hand, and the pounding of him with stones
unti he was taken up for dead, and the
i jamming against him of prison gates, and
' the Ephesian vociferation, and the ankles
. skinned by the painful stocks, and the
! foundering of the Alexandrian corn ship,
and the beheading stroke of the Roman
I sheriff to bring Paul to hri proper develop-
I ment. ....
j It was not because Robert Moffat and
I Lady Rachel Russell and Frederick Oher
lia were worse than other pcojde that they
had to suffer. It was because they were
better, and God wanted to make them
best. By the carelessness of the thrashing
you may always conclude the value of the
grain.
Next, my text teaches us that God pro
portions our trials to what we can bear—
the staff for the fitches, the rod for the
cummin, the iron wheel for the corn.
Sometimes people in great trouble say,
“Oh, I tan't bear it!" But you did bear it.
God would not have sent it upon you it
He had not known that you could bear it.
You trembled and you swooned, but you
got through. God wilGjiot take from your
eyes one tear too many nor from your
lungs one sigh too deep nor from your tem
ples one throb too sharp. The perplexi
ties of your earthly business have not in
them one tangle too intricate. You some
times feel as if our world were full of
bludgeons flying haphazard. Oh, no; they
are thrashing instruments that God just
suits to your case. There is not a dollar
of bad debts on your ledger .or a disap
pointment about goods that you expected
to go up, but that have gone down, or a
swindle of your business partner or a trick
on the part of those who are in the eame
kind of merchandise that you are, but God
intended to overrule for your immortal
help. “Oh,” you say, “there is no need
talking that way to me. I don’t like to be
cheated and outraged.” Neither does the
rorn like the corn thrasher, but after it
has been thrashed and winnowed it has a
great deal better rtpinion of winnowing
mills and corn thrashers.
“Well,” you say, “if I could choose my
troubles, I would be willing to be troubled. 1 ’
Ah, my brother, then it would not be
trouble. You tVWId choose soraethirtg that
would not hurt, and it hurt rt does
not get sanctified. Your trial perhaps
be childlessness. You are fond Of Clni
dr.’n. You say, "Why does God send
children to that other household, where
they itK unwelcome and are beaten ana
banged about tflidfl t woUid have taken
them’ the arms of mV affection? You
say, r, Anf Other trial but this r our
trial perhaps niffy be d disfigured counte
nance or a face that is fdsily Caricatured,
and you say, “I could endure anything it
only I was good looking. ’ And your trial
perhaps is a violent temper, alto you have
to drive it like six unbroken horses tilled
the gunpowder explosions of a great holi
day, kn.a ever and anon it runs away with
you. Ttfur 1 trial is the Asthma, You say,
“If it were rliCuntStjsm or neuralgia or
erysipelas, blit it is this Asthma, l*
such an exhausting thing to bfeathe.”
Your trouble is a husband, sharp, Srtap
py and cross about the house and raising
a small riot because a button is off. How
could you know, the button is off? Your
trial is a Wife ever in contest with the ser
vants, and stib is a sloven. Though she
was very careful about her appearance in
vour presence once, now she is careless,
because, She Says, her forturie is made!
Your trial is a h'drd school lesson you can
not learn, and you havd bitten your linger
nails until they are a sight to behold.
They never cry in heaven because* they
have nothing to cry about. There arc net
tears of bereavement, for you shall have
your friends all round about you. There
are no' teats of poverty because each o le
sits at the King's table and has his own
chariot Sf salvation and free aeeese to the
wardrobe where' princes get their array.
No tears of sickness, for there are no
pneumonias in the air and nO malarial ex
nalatiO:!' from the rolling river of life and
no crutch for tile lame limb and no splint
for the broken arm, but the pulses throb
bing with the health of the eternal God in
and elimtte like our June before the blossoms
fall bi* Wr gorgeous October before the
leaves scatter.
In ti.at land the sou's till! talk over the
different modes of thrashing. Oh, the
story of the staff that struck the fitehes
and the rod that heat the cummin and thd
iron wheel that went over the corn! Dan
iel will describe the lions and Jonah leyia
thian and Paul the elmwood whips with
which he wnj scourged, and Eve will tell
how aromatic Eden was the day she left
it, a.id John Dozers will tell of the smart
of the’ (lame ftpd Elijah of the fiery team
that Wheeled him Up the skv steeps and
Christ Of the numbness and the paroxysms
and hemorrhages Of the awful crucifixion.
There they are before the throne of God
—on oiie Pl*vatiOn all those who were
struck of the roo. rid the highest elevation
and amid the highest altitudes of heaven
dll those who were under the wheel. He
will not btei* be thrashing it.
Is there not enough salve in this text to
make a plaster large enough to heal all
your wounds? When a child is hurt, the
mother is very apt to say to it, “NOW. it
Will, soon feel better.” And that is what
God says tv.ien He embosoms all our trou
ble in the iiiisil Of this great promise.
“Weeping may endurS for a night, but
joy comcth in the morning. You may
leave your pocket handkerchief sopping
wet with fears on your death pillow, but
you will go up absolutely sorrowless. They
will wear black, you will wear white; cy
presses for them, palms for you. You will
say: "Is it possible tlmt lam here? Is this
heaven? Ana L so pure now I will never
dd anything Wrong? I si) Well that 1
will never lid sick again? Are 'these com
panionships so firm that they" will never
again be broken? Is that Mari’? Is that
Jomi ?, that my loved one I put away
into diflme.ss? Can it be that these are
the faces of those who ]“" so wan and
ernacia’ed in the back room that awful
night dying? Oh, how radiant they are.
“Look at them! How radiant they are!
Why, how unlike this place is from what
I thought when I left the world below.
Ministers drew pictures of this land, but
how tame compared with the reality! They
told mo on earth that death wn sunset.
No, no! It is sunrise! Glorious sunrise!
I see the light now purpling the hills, and
the clouds flame with the coming day,”
Then the gates of heaven will be opened,
and the entranced soul, with the acuteness
and power of the celestial vision, will look
thousands of miles down upon the ban
nered procession, a river of shimmering
splendor, and will cry out, “Who are
they?” And the angel of God, standing
close by, will say, "Do you not know who
(hey are?” "No,” says the entranced soul,
“I cannot guess who they are.” The angel
will say, “I will tell you, then, who they
are. These are they who came out of great
tribulation, or thrashing, and their robes
washed and made white in the blood of the
1: mb.”
Would that I could administer some of
these drops of celestial anodyne to these
nervous and excited souls. If you would
take enough of it, it'would cure all your
pangs. The thought that you are going to
get through with this after awhile, all this
sorrow and all trouble.
We shall have a great many grand days
in heaven, but I will tell you which will be
the grandest day of all the million ages of
heaven. You say, “Are you sure you can
tell me?” Yes, I can. It will he the day
we get there. Some say heaven is growing
more glorious. I suppose it is, but I do
not care much about that. Heaven now is
good enough for me.
History has no more gratulatory scene
than the breaking in of the English army
upon Lucknow, India. A few weeks before
a massacre had occurred at Cawnpur, -and
200 women and children had been put in a
room. Then five professional butchers went
in and slew them. Then the bodies of the
slain w.-re taken out and thrown into a
well. As the English army came into
Cawnpur they went into the room, and
oh, what a horrid scene!
Sword strokes on the wall near the floor,
showing that the poor things had crouched
when they died, and they saw also that the
floor was ankle deep in blood. The soldiers
wa'ked on their heels across it, lest their
shoes be submerged of the carnage. And
on that floor of blood there were "flowing
locks of hair and fragments of dresses.
Out in Lucknow they had heard, of the
massac;e. and the women were waiting for
the same awful death, waiting amid anguish
untold, waiting in pain and starvation, but
waiting heroically, when, one day, Have
lock and Outram and Norman and Sir
David Baird and Peel, the heroes of the
English army—nuzza for them!—broke in ■
on that horrid scene, and while yet the
guns were sounding, and while cheers were
issuing from the starving, dying people on
the one side and from the travel worn and
powder blackened soldiers on the other,
right there, in front of the king’s palace,
there was such a scene of handshaking and
embracing and boisterous joy as would ut
terly confound the pen of the poet and the
pencil of the painter. And no wonder,
when these emaciated women, who had
suffered so heroically for Christ’s sake,
marched out from their incarceration, one
wounded English soldier got up. in his fa
tigue and wounds and leaned against the
wall and threw his cap up and shouted,
“Three cheers, my boys, for the brave
women!” Yes, that was an exciting scene.
But a gladder and more triumphant scene
will it be when you come up into .heaven
from the conflicts apd incarceration of this
world, streaming with the wounds of bat
tle, and wan with hunger, and while the
hosts of God are cheering their great ho
sanna you will strike hands of congratula
tion and eternal deliverance in the presence
of the throne. On that night there will be
bonfires on every hill of heaven, and there
will be a candle in every window. Ah, no!
I forget, I forget. They will have no need
of the candle or of sun. for the Lord God
giveth them light, and they shall reign for
ever and ever. Hail, hail, sons and daugh
ters of the Lord God Almighty!
iCopyright, 1902, L. Klopseh.l
SI.OO a Year-
NO. 46.
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