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LILLIE IDLES; on, HD El THE BDsE mint 1 Story of the War in the Southwest. BY ARVIDE 0. BALDWIN. CHAPTER L INTRODUCTORY. The war was an extremely severe strain on'the people of the South, especially those situated along the southern border of Mason and Dixon's line. It would not have seemed so severe if it had not been for the suffering of the innocent. Men precipitate war, and should be the ones to assume war’s duties and pay all its penalties; but alas! they do not. Many poor women, with small children, have had to resort to that ■sort of food that an animal would disda : n to eat, in order to sustain life in that country. Bushwhackers, guerrillas, jay hawkers and every evil that war could generate were en tailed upon those that were along the bor der and could not break through the ter rible line of brush-thieves and escape. Jn •d’gnity upon indignity was heaped upon the unprotected females, until a desperation bom of despair took possession of them and raised them to do acts heroic, or drove them downward to devilish deeds. The northern part of the State of Arkan sas was peculiarly adapted to the successful prosecution of the nefarious business ol the gangs of desperadoes that infested that portion of the country. The numerous caves in the northwest famished a safe retreat in case of pursuit and an impregnable strong hold in case of attack. The Ozark Moun tains are in the northwestern part of the State. The “divide," or top of the moun tains, is comparatively level—about half of the surface being prairie and the remainder covered with a stunted, inferior growth of timber. The “breaks” are that portion of the country situated between the streams and the divide, and this broken, hilly sec tion is of such a nature and sameness that a large body of men could not traverse it unless they were to go parallel with the ridges. A stranger in the depths of these hill-forests, -without a guide or compass, would easily become lost and bewildered. Upon the topmost point of this con tinuous range of mountains runs the road known now, as it was known years ago, as the “Wire Road.” This road was formerly used by the Butterfield Express Company, and a wire was stretched along its winding course, over which news was transmitted, and important points thus brought into dose communication with the world. As there was no rail or water connection with this country, the trafficking was done with teams, which carried the produce out, and brought those things wanted by the inhabit ants. Slave labor had made many families wealthy, and there were some intelligent, refined people here. There were, also, many people of the poorer class, and not a few of them possessed the essentials for making first-rate villains, capable of doing any desperate deed that crcumstances seemed to render desirable. Their oppor tunity came with the coming of the war, and my story will show how well they im proved it. For the better understanding of this his toric tale I have written this preliminary explanation. “Mother, John is come! John is come!” and Lillie Eddies danced on her toes, in a circle, by the open window. Her hands were clasped in ecstasy, and her loose golden hair floated ganzily around her tall, elegant figure. “Why, no, not John, surely, so soon after returning to college!” replied the mother, a stately, gray-haired dame, as she slowly adjusted her gold-bowed spectacles. “Byi it is certainly he”, she continued, “for Jell ■ is now going for his luggage. Something is wrong, or John would not have left his studies now, when he is so near graduating. What can it be?” Her question was unanswered, for Lillie had rushed out upon the lawn and in a mo ment more was strongly clasped in the em brace of a big, noble-looking young man of perhaps twenty-one years of age. “How you have grown, sister, in the past year,” said John as he looked in admiration upon his lovely sister. “Can it be that you have grown so tall and womanly in so short a time? You were so slight and small then. ” “But you did not think I would always remain small, did you, brother?” laughingly asked the pretty girl. “Yes, dear, I am afraid that it would have been better if you had always re mained my little sister.” The look of gayety had all passed away, and a serious one had taken its place. '' What do you mean John? You can't be serious?” she inquired. "Too serious, too serious, dear child,” he hurriedly answered as he crossed the threshold to meet his doting mother. The meeting was affectionate, for they were a noble family, with all the elevating qualities of such people. Mrs. Eddies was a widow, her husband having died a few years previous to the opening of our story. He had been c phy sician, and had gone South from a Northern State while yet a young man, after trying, unsuccessfully, the battle of life in his native State. He had loved and won a beautiful bride, who had the courage and will to try and help build a home and a for tune in a new land away from relatives and friends. That they had succeeded was evi dent when one looked over the vast domain and took into consideration the grand Southern mansion, with its broad porches extending nearly around, and the numerous out-buildiugs, among which were the “negro quarters;” for the Eddleses owned slaves. They loved their adopted county, for in it they had won a competence and inde pendence, and had enjoyed all the happi ness usually vouchsafed to mortals. There were only two children, John and Lillie, and they had grown to be a pride and a blessing to their doting parents, who had bestowed upon tnem everything that wealth cou ! d procure. The death of the husband and father had been a severe blow to th« family, for the loss was irreparable, but they yet had loving friend - and each othei to live for, and comfort; and at the time om •story begins the severe pain of a recent great affliction had partially been healed. Afttr the greetings they all gathered around the large open fire-place that threw its cheerful light over the group aud made it very pleasant on this chilly March even ting. Questions were eager y asked and answered for a time, but the two ladies, with their natural shrewdness nnd insight, saw that there was something hangiag heavily on John's mind, and that while he seemed cheerful he was far from feeling SO. “There is someting the matter, John. Are you unwell, dear son?" asked the fond mother, reaching forward and lovinglv stroking his curly hair. "Mother,” John slowly replied, and he held his head low, “wo are on the brink of a terrible war. It may not last long; I hope it will not, but if i t does, it is going to be terrible. That brought me home.” respect and friendship so long as ycu con duct yourself as a gent man should.” “These are unsettled times, Miss Lillie, and you must have some one to take an interest in your wellfare—some one to pro tect you. I love you, may I not be your protector?’’ And John arose and thoughtfully paced the floor. "In May the convention will meet, and if our State secedes, which I believe it is de termined to do,” John went on to say, “the I nited (States will send troops here, and fighting is likely to take place even on our own plantation.” “No, no; the people of Arkansas cannot be so rash as to bring war into their own borders,” Mrs. Eddies replied, “for it would be rash and suicidal for them to do so, and they must know that they would suffer by the act. No, it cannot, cannot be.” “I do not wish to frighten you, mother; but the country is greatly agitated, and war is unavoidable. The South has gone too far. ” “What had we best do, my son?” “I am not decided on what will be best, but I could not remain away from you, knowing tbe excited condition of the peopled Perhaps it would be better for you and Lillie to go North to our relatives, and re main there until ail dauger is past. I will remain here and see to the property.” “Mother may go, but I never will while you remain here,” said Lillie. She had been an attentive listener until now. Her pearly teeth were closed, and a firmness settled around tbe delicate mouth as she spoke. “We never should run from an imaginary danger. We will all remain here until there is evidence of trouble,” the brave mother replied, and the children quietly acquiecsed, although the better informed mind of John Eddies convinced him that there were rea sons for fear. As the spring passed away and summer came, it was observed that there was an un usual increase of lawlessness. The convection had met as arranged and the act of secession was passed. The citizens that were opposed to the act did what little they could to prevent any separation from the General Government, but they were in a helpless minority, so when the deed was done and the State had severed the link that bound it to the nation, their lips were sealed. John Eddies acted with great discretion, and refrained, as much as possible, from expressing his opinion for or against seces sion; but he believed that war w ould be a death-blow to slavery, and his judgment was, that if that institution was wiped out it would be far preferable to remain with the old Government than to establish a new one. He was a Northern man by nature, and his sympathies were with that people, although he owned'slaves. While he was a Unionist, yet no man loved the “sunny South” better than he. He was not entire ly alone in his Union sentiments. There were others who believed with him, but all used the utmost caution in their speech. All such men, who did not show the proper sympathy for .the South, were marked, and neighbors and others made it troublesome for them. It was very unpleasant, to say the least, to live under such circumstances and to suffer such annoyances as they were subject to. While the Eddleses were now aware of the fact that it would be better to depart, they could not consistently do so and leave so much valuable property without protection, so they concluded to remain. CHAPTERIL THE REJECTION. The people were becoming more and more excited as time wore on, and some Idifficulties bad already occurred ou account of the bitterness of feeling. Edom Woodsley, the son of a wealthy neighbor, who had been an occasional vis itor to the Eddies mansion, was now almost a constant one. He was a young man of fair looks and good education. While he was gentlemanly in deportment and possessed of a handsome face, he could not conceal the undercurrent of treachery and baseness of his nature. Culture and circumstances had influenced him to be a gentleman against the natural tendency of his baser nature. Lately his attentions were directed to Lillie, who received them in a lady-like manner, but wiih a coldness that should have convinced him that they were not desired. Mrs. Eddies and John joined in her dis like for the young man, but he was always courteously treated while enjoying their hospitality. “John,” said Edom, as he met that gentle man coming from the house one day to give orders for some work to be done on the plantation, “it is about time that we be gin organizing. People in other parts of tbe State have already organized, and we will soon have to show our hand.” “I shall remain with my property and the ladies, as they have no other protector, and will not take any part in this affair as long as possible,” John replied. “ You may have to take a part sooner than you are aware of. The ‘Feds. ’ are likely to run into Arkansas soon, I hear.” “I can’t help that,” John replied, shortly. “Y’ou will fight, of course—fight for the freedom of your country?” Edom asked. “Yes, I will, whenever my country is in 1 danger of losing its freedom.” "But we are in that danger now. ” “I am not in a fighting mood,” replied •John, "and until I have to I don't intend to fight in a useless cause. “ "Do you say our cause is useless?” Edom demanded. . "It is the worst folly the South ever com mitted, and it will be a death-blow to our institutions,” stud John. “I see; you are a traitor.” “You are a liar, sir!” As John said the vrords in a slow, meas ured tone the blood left the face of young Woodsley, and clenching his fists he was about to spring forward to strike his com panion, when the queenly figure of Lillie Eddies stepped out of the doorway and in a commanding manner called for Edom to stop. “Stop, sir. stoV not another step.” Instantly his arms dropped at his side, and he was as meek as a lamb. He began to reason. He saw that his zeal for the South was likei.y to endaugerhis success in obtaining 4he beautiful girl whom he loved, and who so imperiously commanded him. Craftiness now changed him completely. “John, I was too hasty. I am sorry I have no better control over myself than to act rashly. I trust you will overlook it.” John Eddies had been standing with folded arms looking calmly at his excited visitor. A sneer came into his tone when he answered, for he intuitively saw' the ob ject of the sudden change in iiis demeanor. “ Very well: we will let this matter drop and try to be friends.” "Yes, friends,” Edom replied aloud, but mentally added “for policy. ” llis face was somewhat flu-hed as he ad vanced slowly to where Miss Eddies stood, a d reaching ont his hand he smilingli said. “I trust >ou will forgive me for this rashness; I could not have been in my right senses to have thought of injuring one so dear to her -whom I —l—would gladly die for. “That is enough nonsense, Mr. Woodsley. This is too serious a matter.” “But I am in earnest, Miss Lillie.” “Well, then, that is more reason for not mentioning it.” “May I see you alone. Miss Eddies?" he asked. “it is not worth while. If you wish to say thing to me you can say it here,” she re plied. “ But this is on business of some mo ment and interest to you. ” “Very well, then, be brief.” And Lillie led young Woodsley into the parlor. “Lillie,” he broke out abruptly as he clasped her hands, “you must know that I love you! yes, that I adore you! O, have you not a little love for me in return?” “I can never love you, Mr. Woodsley,” she replied; “but you will command my “But how will thit affect us? We will have nothing to do with it.” “Why, mother, they are now organizing bands of soldiers all over the country—al most at our own door. The danger of los ing life and property, in case of war, is very great.” “We have a protector,” Lillie loftily re plied. “John, you mean, of course?” “Yes.” “But you do not understand.” “Understand what?” she asked. “That John is a tra , ’’but before he could finish the word “traitor" one delicate finger was pointed at him like the barrel of a pistol, and with equal effect. “Don’t you dare say that of John, you scoundrel!” and her eyes flashed as she spoke. “What! do you call me scoundrel?” he demanded, doing his utmost to control his temper, which still showed by facial con tortions. “I call anyone a scoundrel that dare to say our John is a traitor." “I mean that he was a Unionist, and against the South, if that pleases you better. ” “He is not against the South, sir,” Lillie argrilv answered. “Well, he is not with us, and you know that ‘he who is not with us is against us.’ ” “Neither am I with anyone who is wicked enough to break up our Gove ruin nt; but I Jo not wish to talk more of this matter. We are having trouble enough now.” And she arose to go. “Lillie, Lillie Eddies, will you not say that I may hope; that I can some time call you ‘ wife,’ and thus havo a protecting claim over you? I can be of great help in these troublesome times to all your family, if you wid only hid me hope.” ' No, Mr. Woo Isley, I do not wish to marry; and if I did it would be by different wooing than this.” And Lillie advanced toward the door. Edom Woodsley stepped suddenly before her and grasped her arm with such force that it made her cry out with pain. “I must, and will know ” But before he could finish the sentence a blow laid him quiver ing on the floor. A pleasant-faced, plainly attired young man stood over the prostrate form and prevented the half-fainting girl from falling, and conducted her gently to a . seat. | The stunned man only remained in that j condition for a moment, when he began j raising himself and looked around in a be- I wildered way, until he began to compre hend what had happened, when with a look of unutterable hatred he stumbled to his feet, and, shaking his fist at his antagonist, growled through his grinding teeth: “Henry Arno, you will pay dearly for this interference, i’ll follow you until your death but I will liare revenge,” And with a | curse he turned and passed out and away. “0, Henry, what shall I do. what shall I i do?” the poor girl moaned as she partially j recovered from Ihe shock. “I am afraid of ; that man, he is so bad. ” “Do not fear him,” replied her new com : panion. “I will attend to that gentleman if j he dare to ever molest you again.” “I am not afraid for myself, but he swore so horribly to have revenge upon you that he will certainly do so if he has a chance. He may kill you. ” And she shuddered at the thought. “I will not let him take me unawares, and | lie is too cowardly to attack me openly, ” he replied. When John returned from the fields he ■ was astonished to find the household in a ! great state of excitement over the events ; related and the evils they were likely to | bring in the future. Mrs. Eddies had returned from a visit, and when apprised of the occurrences of the day was in a state of anxiety and fear. Two days from Henry Amo’s encounter with Edom Woodsley, five strange horse men rode up to the Eddies mansion and demanded dinner, which was readily fur nished them. The strangers were heavily armed, and | they flourished their pistols with a wanton recklessness that greatly frightened the ladies. “Gentlemen, yon are in the presence of ladies, and you will please conduct your selves like men,” said John in a tone of re spectful request. With an oath that jarred the china on the mantel shelf one ot them, a big, burly, red-headed fellow named Jim, demanded what he had to do about it, “1 am the proprietor of this place and the protector of these ladies, and I propose to take care of them,” John replied warmly. “Your name is Eddies, aint it?” asked another one of the ruffians, as he turned his black, snaky eyes searchingly upon young Eddies. “John Eddies is my name, sir.” “You are the chap what is agin the South, ! aint yer?” “No, sir. The man who says John Eddies is against the Somli is a liar.” “Does yer say I’m a liar?” demanded the snaky-eyed -visitor, drawing a ponderous navy pistol, and putting it unpleasantly near John’s nose. “Only the man who says I am against the South,” ho undauntedly replied. “Then yer aint agin us?” “Not against the South.” “Then jiue us.” “Join who?” “Jine the Capting. Put your name down. ” “Who is the Captain?” “Me,” pointing his finger toward his stomach. “ What regiment do you belong to, Cap tain.'” inquired John. “None yit. ” “Have you got vour commission?” “Got which?” “Your commission-papers from the Gov ernor authorizing you to raise a company,” John explained. “Don t need any. This is my ‘eomishing’ as yer call it,” said the scoundrel, as he cocked the ponderous pistol, and, taking a careless aim, shot the head from a photo graph hanging on the wall, across the room. The ladies screamed and the ruffians yelled like madmen. John gently forced his mother and sister through a doorway into another room and closed the door, lie knew now that he was in the presence of a gang of cutthroats and thieves, that he knew afterward by tie. name of bushwhackers and guerrillas. His object now was to get rid of his ob noxious company as soon and .as quietly as possible. i [to be cermxvED.j) BEY. DR. TALMAGE. THE BROOKLYN DIVINE’S SUN DAY SERMON. Subject: “Disabled Hunters Bringing Down the Most Game.” Text— “ The lame take the prey — lsaiah xxxin., 2& The utter demolition of the Assyrian host was here predicted. Not only robust men should go forth and gather the spoils of con quest, but even men crippled of arm and crippled of foot should go out and capture much that was valuable. Their physical disadvantages should not hinder their great enrichment. So it has been in the past, so if is now, so it witl be in the future. Ho it is in all departments. Men labor under seemingly great disadvantages and amid the most un favorable circumstances, yet making grand achievements, getting great blessing for themselves, great blessing for tbe world, great blessing for the church, and so “the lame take the prey. ” Do you know that the three great poets of the world were totally blind.’ Homer, Os sian, John Milton. Do you know that Mr. Prescott, who wrote that enchanting book, “The Conquest of Mexico,” never saw Mex ico, could not even see the paper on which he was writing! A framework across the sheet, between which, up and down, went the pen immortal. Do you know that Gambassio, the sculptor, could not see the marble before him or the chisel with which he cut it into shapes bewitching? Do you know that Alexander Pope, whose poems will last as long as the English language, was so much of an invalid that he had to be sewed up every morning in rough canvas in order to stand on his feet at all ■ Do you know that Stuart, the celebrated painter, did much of his wonderful work under the shadow of the dungeon, where be had been unjustly imprisoned for debt? Do you know that Demosthenes, by almost superhuman exertion, first had to conquer the lisp of his own speech before he con quered assemblages with his eloquence? Do you know that Bacon struggled all through innumerable sicknesses, and that I.ord Byron and Sir Walter Scott went limping on club feet through all their life, and that many of the great posts and paint ers and orators and historians and heroes of the world had something to keep them back, and pull them down, and impede their way, and cripple their physical or their intellectual movement; and yet they that pushed on and pushed up until they reached the spoils of worldly success, and amid the huzza of nations and centuries, “the lame took the prey?” 1 You know that a vast multitude of these men started under the disadvantage of ob scure parentage. Columbus, the son of the weaver. Ferguson, the astronomer, the son of the shepherd. America, the prey of the one; worlds on worlds the prey of the other. But what is true in so ular directions is more true in spiritual and religious directions,and. I proceed to prove it. There are in ail communities many inva lids. They never know a well day. They adhere to their occupations, but they go panting along the streets with exhaustions, and at eventime they lie down on the lounge with achings beyond all medicament. They have tried all prescriptions, they have gone through all the cures which were proclaimed infallible, and they have come now to surrender to perpetual ailments. They consider they are among many disadvantages; and when they see those who are buoyant in health pass by they almost envy their robust frames and easy respiration. But 1 haye noticed among that invalid class those who have the greatest knowledge of the Bible, who are in nearest intimacy with Jesus Christ, who have the most glow ing experiences of the truth, who have had the most remarkable answers to prayer, and who have most exhilar ant anticipations of heawia Tlie tempta tions which weary us who are in robust health they have conquered. They have divided among them the spoils <jf the conquest. Many who are alert and athletic and swarthy loiter in the way. These are the lame that take the prey. Rob bert Hall, an invalid; Edward Payson, an invalid; Richard Baxter, an invalid; Samuel Rutherford au invalid. This morn ing, when you want to call to mind those who are most Christlike, you think of some darkened room in your father’s house from which there went forth an influence potent for eternity. A step farther: Through raised letters the art of printing has been l*ough t to the at tention of the blind. Y’ou take up the Bible for the blind, and you close your eyes, and you run your fin gers over the raised letters, and you say: “Why, I never could got any information in this way. What a slow, cumbrous way of reading! God help the blind.” And yet I find among that class of persons —among the blind, the deaf and the dumb— the most thorough acquaintance with God’s word. Shut out from all other sources of information, no sooner does their hand touch the raised letter than they gather a prayer. Without eyes, they look off upon the kingdom of God’s love. Without hearing they catch the minstrelsy of the skies. Dumb, yet with pencil, or with irradiated countenance, they declare the glory of God. A large audience assembled in New York at the anniversary of the Deaf and Dumb asylum, and one of the visitors with chalk on the blackboard wrote this question to the pupils: “Do you not find it very hard to be deaf and dumb'?’ And one of the pupils took the chalk and wrote on the blackboard this sublime sentence in answer: “When the song of the angels shall buret upon our enrapt ured ear, we will scarce regret that our ears were never marred with earthly sounds.” Oh! ths brightest eyes in heaven will be those that never saw on earth. The ears most alert in heaven will be those that in this world heard neither voice of friend, nor thrum of harp, nor carol of bird, nor doxol ogy of congregations. A iad who had been blind from infancy was cured. The oculist operated upon the lad, and then put a very heavy bandage over the eyes, and after a few weeks had gone by, the bandage was removed, and the mother said to her child: “Will,e, can you see?” He said: “Oh! mamma, is this heaven?” The contrast between the darkness before and the brightness afterward was overwhelming. And I tell you the glories of heaven will tai a thousandfold brighter for those who never saw anything on earth. While many with good vision closed their eyes at nignt, and many who had a good artistic and cultured ear went down into discord, these aiHicted ones cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he made their sorrows their advantage, and so “the lame took the prey.” In the Seventh century there was a legend of St. Modobert. It was said that his mother was blind, and cne clay while looking at his mother he felt so sympathetic for her blind ness that he rushed forward and kissed her blind eyes, and, the legend says, her vision came immediately. That was only a legend, but it is a truth, a glorious truth, that a kiss of God’s eternal love has brought to many a blind eye eternal illumination. A step further: There are those in all com munities who toil mightily for a livelihood. They have scant wages. I’erhaps they are diseased, or have physical infirmities, so they are hindered from doing a continuous day’s word. A city missionary finds them up the dark alley, with no fire, with thin clothing, with very coaree bread. They never ride in the street cars; they cannot afford the five cents. I hey never see any pictures save those in the show windows on the street, from which they are often jostled, and looked at by some one who seems to say in the look: “Move on’ what are you doing here lookingat pictures?” Yet many of them live on mountains of transfiguration. At their rough table ho who fed the five thousand breaks the bread. They talk often of the good times that ara coming. This world has no chnrin for them, but heaven entrances their spirit 1 hey often divide their scant crust with some forlorn wretch w ho knocks at their door at night, and on the blast of the night wind, as tne door opens to let. them in, is heard the voice of him who said: “I was hungry and ye fed me.” No cohort of heaven will he too bright to transport them. By God’s helD th ev have vanquished the Assyrian host. They have divided among them the spoils. Lame, lame, yet they took the prey. I was riding along the country road one day, and 1 saw a man on crutches. 1 over took him. He was very old. He was goiii (r very slowly. At that rate it would have taken him two hours to go a mile. I said: “Wouldn't you like to ride ?” He said: “Thank you, I would. God bless you.” When he sat beside me he said: “You see I am very lame and very old, but the Lord has been a good 4<ord to me. I have buried all my children. The Lord gave them and the Lord had a right to lake them away. Blessed he his name. I was very sick and I had no money, and my neighbors came in and took care of me and I wanted nothing. I suffer a great deal with pain, K '-»t then I have so many mercies left. The Lord has been a good Lord to me.” And be fore we had got far I was in doubt whether I was giving him a ride or he was giving me a ride! He said: “Now, if you please, I'll get out here Just help me down on my crutches, if you please. God bless you. Thank you, sir. Good morning. Good morning. You have been feet to the lame, sir, you have. Good morning.” Swarthy men had gone the road that day. I do not know where they came out, but every hobble of that old man was toward the shining gate. With his old crutch he had struiut down many a Sen nacherib of temptation which has mastered you|and me. Lame, so fearfully lame, so aw fully lame; but he took the prey. A step further: There are in all com munities many orphans. During our last war,and in the years immediately following, how many children we heard say: “Oh! my father was killed in the war. ” Have you ever noticed—l fear you have not—how well those children have turned out? Starting under the greatest disadvantage, no orphan asylum could do for them what their father would have done had he lived. The skirmisher sat one night, by the light of fagots, in the swaihp, writing a letter home, when a sharp shooter's bullet ended the letter which was never folded, never posted an 1 never read. Those children came up under great disad vantage. No father to fight their way for them. Perhaps there was in the old family Bible an old yellow letter pasted fast, which told the story of that father's long march, and how he suffered in the hospital; but they looked still further on in the Bible, and they came to the story of how God is the father of Ihe fatherless, and the widow's portion, and they soon took their father’s place in that household. They battled the way for their mother. They came on up, and many of them have in the years since the war taken positions in church and state. While many of those who suffered nothing during those times have had sons go out into lives of in dolence and vagabondage, those who started under so many disadvantages because they were so early bereft, these are the lame who took the prey. A step further: There are those who would like to be good. They say: “Oh! it I only had wealth, or, if I had elo quence. or if I had high social position, how much I would accomplish for God and the church!” I stand here to-day to tell you that you have great opportunities for, usefulness. Who built the Pyramids? The King who ordered them built? No; the plain workmen who added stone after stone and stone after stone. Who built the dikes of Holland? The government that ordered the enterprise? No; I the plain workmen who carried the earth and l ung their trowel on the wall. Who are those who have built these vast cities? The capitalists? No; the carpenters, the masons, the plumbers, the plasterers, the tinners, the 'voofers, dependent on a day’s wages for a livelihood. And so in the great work of assuaging human suffering and en lightening human ignorance and halting hu man iniquity. In that great work, the chief part is to be done by ordinary men, with ordinary speech, in an ordinary man ner, and by ordinary means. The trouble is that in the army of Christ we all wanted to be captains and colonels and brig.lier generals. We are not willing to march with the rank and file and to do duty with the private soldier. We want to belong to the reserve corps, and read about the battle while warming ourselves at the campfires, or on furlough at home, our feet upon an ottoman, we sagging back into an arm chair. As you go down the street you see an excavation, and four or five men are work ing, andjjerhaps twenty or thirty leaning on the looking over at them. That is the way it is in the church of God to-day: where you find one Christian hard at work, there are fifty men watching the job. Oh! my friends, why do you not go to work and preach this Gospel! You say: "I have nojmlpit.” You have. It may be the bench, it may bo the mason's wall. The robe in which you are to proclaim this Gospel may be a"shoemaker’s apron. But woe unto you if you preach not this Gospel somewhere, some how! If this world is ever brought to Christ, it will be through the unanimous and long continued efforts of men who, waiting for no special endowment, conse crate to God what they have. Among the most useless people in the world are men with ten taients, while many a one with only two talents, or no talent at all, is doing a great work, and so “the lame take the prey.” There are thousands of ministers of whom you have never heard —in log cabins at the West, in mission chapels at the East—who are warring against the legions of darkness, successfully warring. Tract distributors, month by month undermining the citadels of sin. You do not know their going or their coming; but the footfalls of their ministry are heard in the palaces of heaven. Who are the workers in our Sabbath schools throughout this land to-day? Men celo brated, men brilliant, men of vast es tate? For the most part, not that at all. I have noticed that the chief characteris tics of the most of those who are success ful in the work is that they know their Bibles, are earnest in prayer, are anxious for the salvation of the young, and Sabbath by Sabbath are willing to sit down un observed and tell of Christ and the resurrec tion. These are the humble workers who are recruiting tho great army of Christian youth—not by might, not by power, not by profound argument, not by brilliant antithesis, but by tlie blessing of God on plain talk, and humble story, and silent lear, and anxious look. “The lame take the prev.” Oh! this work of saving the youth of our country—how few appreciate what it is! This generation tramping on to the grave we will soon all be gone. What next? An engineer on a locomotive going across the western prairies day after day saw a little child come out in front of a cabin and wave to him; so he got in the habit of wav ing back to the little child, and it was the day’s joy to him to s « tho little one come out in front of the cabin door and wave to him, while he answered back. One day the train was belated it came on to the dusk of the evening. As the engineer stood at his post he saw by the headlight that little girl on the track, wondering why the train did not come, looking for the train, knowing nothing of its peril. A great horror seized upon the engineer. He reversed the engine. He gave it in charge of the other man on board, and then he climbed over the engine, and he came down on the cow’-catcher. He said, though he had reversed the engine, it seemed as though it wi re going at lightning speed, faster and faster, though it was really slow ing tip, and with al:n< st supernatural clutch ha caught that child by the hair and lifted it up, ami when the train stopped and the pas sengers gathered around to see what was the matter, there the old engineer lay, fainted dead away, the little child alive and in his swarthy arms. “Oh!” you say, “that was well done.” But 1 want you to exercise some kindness and appreciation toward those in the community who are snatching the lit tle ones from under the wheels of tempta tion and sin—snatching them from under thundering rail trains and eternal disaster,bringing them up into respectabi ity in this world and into glory for the world to come. You appreciate what the engineer did; why can you not appreciate the grander work done by every Sabbath school teacher this afternoon? Oh! my friends, I want to impress upon myself and upon yourselves that it is not the number of talents wo possess, but the use vv» make of them, God has a royal family in the world, i Now, if 1 should ask: “Who are the ! royal families of history?” you would ! say: “House of Hapsburg, house of | Stuarts, house of Bourbons.” They lived in I palaces an 1 had great equipage. But who i are the Lord's royal family! Some of them may serve you in the household, some of them aro in unlighted garrets, some of them will walk this afternoon down the street, on their arm a basket of broken food; some of them are in the alms house, despised and rejected of men, yet in the last great day, while it will be found that some of us who fared sumptuously every day are burled back into discomfiture, there are the lame that will take the prey. One step further: There are a great many people discouraged about getting to heaven. You are brought up in good families, you had Christian parentage; but they frankly tell me that you are a thousand miles away from the right track. My brother, you are the one 1 want to preach to this morning 1 have been looking for you. I will tell you how you got astray. It was not maliciousness on your part. It was perhaps through the geniality and sociality of your nature that you fell into sin. You wandered away from your duty, you unconsciously left the house of God; you admit the Gospel to lie true, and yet you have so grievously and so prolonge lly wandered, you say rescue is impossible. It would take a week to count up the name 3 of those in heaven who were on earth worse than you tell me you are. They went the whole round of Iniquity, they disgraced themselves, they disgraced their household,they despaired of return because their reputation was gone, their property wa' gone,everything was gone: but in some hour like this theyhieard the voice of God, and throw themselvcß on the divine compassion, and rose up more than con querors. And I tell you there is the same chance for you. That is one reason why I like to preach this Gospel, so free a Gospel, so tremendous a Gospel. It takes a man all wrong, and makes him all right. In a former settlement where I preached, a member of my congregation quit the house of God, quit respectable circles, went into all styles of sin, and was slain of his iniquity. The day for his burial came, and his body was brought to the house of God. Some of his com rades who had destroyed him were overheard along the street, on "the way to the burial, saying: “Come, let us go ami hear Talmaga damn this old sinner!” Oh! I had nothing but tears for the dead, and I had nothing but invitations for the living. You see 1 could not do otherwise. “Christ Jesus came to seek and save that which was lost.” Christ in his dying prayer said: “Father, forgive them,” and that was a prayer for you and for me. Oh! start on the road to heaven to-day. You are not happy. The thirst of your soul will never be slaked by the fountains of sin. You turn everywhere but to God for help. Right where you are, call on Him. Ha knows you, Ho knows all about you, Ha knows all the odds against which you have been contending in life. Do not go to Him with a long rigmarole of a prayer, but just look up and say: “Help! Help!” But you say: “My hand trembles so from my dissipations I can’t even take bold of a hymn book to sing.” Do not worry about that, my brother; I will give out a hymn at the close so familiar you can sing it without a book. But you, say: “1 have such terrible habits on ma I can’t get rid of them.” My answer is: Almighty grace can break up that habit, and will break it up. But you say: “The wron" 1 did was to one dead and in heaven now,and I can’t correct that wrong.” You can correct it. B.v the grace of God,go into the present** of that one. ami the apologies you ought tq have made ou earth make in heaven. “Oh!” says some man, “if I should try to do right, if I should turn away from my evil doing unto the Lord, I would be jostled, 1 would be driven back; nobody would have any svnipathy for me.” You are mistaken. Here, in the presence of the church on earth and in heaven, X give you to-day the right hand of Christian fellowship. God sent me here., to-day to preach this, and he sent you lmfe to hear this: the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thought, and let him return unto the Lord, who will have mercy, and unto our God* who will abundantly pardon.” Though you may have been the worst sinner, you may become the best saint, and in the great clay of judgement it wilt be found that “where sin abounded, grace does much more abound, an d while the spoils of an everlasting kingdom are being awarded for your pursuit, it will be found that the lame took the prey. Blessed be God that we are, this (Sabbath, one week nearer the obliteration of all the inequalities of this life and all its disquietudes. Years ago, on a boat on the North river, the pilot gave a very sharp ring to the bell for the boat to slow up. The engineer attended to the machinery, and then he came up with some alarm oa dock lo see what was the matter. Ha saw it was a moonlight night, and therd" were no obstacles in the way. Ho went to the pilot and said: “Why did you ring the bell in that way? Why do you want to stop? there’s nothing the matter.” and the pilot said to him “There is a mist gathering on the river; don’t you see that? and there is night gathering darker and darker, and I can’t see the way.” Then the engineer, look ing around and seeing it was a bright moon light, looked into the face of the pilot and saw that he was dying, and then that he was dead. God grant that when our last moment comes we may be found at our post doing our whole duty; and when the mists of the river of death gather on our eyelids, may the good Pilot take the wheel from our hands and guide us into the calm harbor of eternal restl Drop the anchor, furl the sail; I am safe within the vale. Wild Ponies on the Southern Coast. On the hanks 61* sand bars that divide 1 the Atlantic Ocean from Pamlico Sound, North Carolina, just inside the light house that marks out to the mariner dreade4 Cape Lookout, there is to be found a hardy race of ponies known as “bankers.” These ponies have lived there as long as the tradition of the old est inhabitant inhabitant dates back. Entirely surrounded by deep water at all seasons, having no communication with the mainland, and being barren of vege tation save a scanty groowth of seed grass and low shrubs, the banks have re mained uninhabited except by these ponies, which seem to thrive and multi ply in spite of the hardships to which, they are exposed. How they first came there, or of what origin, is conjecture, and tradition merely hints the story of some violent storm, with its attendant shipwreck and loss of nil on board save 8 lot of ponies from some European port, which were east upon the sands, and, surviving the storm, became the progenitors of the race now •o numerous. Having to rely on instinct alone, these animals are a subject of study to the naturalist, as they are a prey not only to the driving sands but to the storms of the cape, that break upon and over the narrow sand bar and change with each recurring hurricane the top ography of the country. The ponies, choosing tlio protected sides of the hil locks, burrow deep into the yielding sand and stamp out a protected stall, where they take refuge from the storm; and, while many are destroyed, their number lias increased.— American Agri cultiiriitt. Copper is coming into fashion as a material for ornamenting mens umbrellas, etc.