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REV. I)R. TALMAGE
THE BROOKLYN DIVINE’S SUN
DAY SERMON.
Subject: “Noue l.ike Jesus.”
Text: “ Unto you therefore which believe
He is precious." I. Peterii., 7,
We had for many years in this country
commercial depression. What was the mas
ter with the stores? With the harvests?
With the people? Lack of faith. Money
enough, goods enough, skillful brains
enough, industrious hands enough, but
no faith. Now, what damages the com
mercial world damages the spiritual. Our
great lack is faith. That is the hinge on
which eternity turns. says some one in
the audience, “I have faith. I believe Christ
came down to save the world.” I reply that
in worldly matters when you have faith you
always act upon it. For instance, if l could
show you a business operation by which you
could make SSOIK) you would immed ately
go into it. You would prove your faith in
what I tell you by your prompt and imme
diate ac tion. Now, if what you call faith in
Christ has led you to surrender your entire
nature to Jesus, and to corresponding action
in your life, it is genuine faith, and if it has
not, it is not faith at all.
There are some things which I believe
with the head. Then there are other things
which 1 believe with the heart. And them
there are other things which I believe both
with the head and heart. I believe, for in
stance. that Cromwell lived. That is a mat
ter of the head. Then there are other
things which 1 believe with the heart and
not with the head. That is, I have no es
pecial reason for believing them, and yet J.
want to believe them, and the wish is the
father to the expectation. But there is a
very great difference between that which we
believe about ourselves and that which we be
lieve about others. For instance, you remem
ber not a great while ago there was a disaster
in Pennsylvania, amid the mines; there was
an explosion amid the damps, and many lives
were lost. In the morning you picked up
your newspaper and saw that there had been
a great disaster in Pennsylvania. You said:
“Ah, what a sad thing is this; how many
lives lost! O, what sorrow!” Then you read
a little further on. There had been an almost
miraculous effort to get these men out, and a
few had been saved. “Oh,” you said, “what
a brave thing, what a grand thing that was!
How well it was done!” Then you folded the
paper up and sat down to your morning re
past. Your appetite had not been interfered
with, and during that day, perhaps, you
thought only two or three times of the dis
aster. But suppose you and I had been in the
mine, and the dying had been all around us,
and we had heard the pickaxes just above us
as they were trying to work their way down,
and after a while we saw the light, and then
the life bucket let down through the shaft,
and, suffocated and half dead, we had just
strength enough to throw ourselves over into
it, and had been hauled out into the light.
Then what an appreciation we would have
had of the agony and the darkness beneath,
and the joy of deliverance. That is the dif
ference between believing a thing about
others and believing it about ourselves.
We take, up the Bible aud read that Christ
came to save the world. “That was beauti
ful,” you say, “a fine specimen of self-denial;
That was very grand, indeed.” But suppose
it is found that we ourselves were down in
the mine of sin and in the darkness, and
Christ stretched down his arm of mercy
through the gloom and lifted us out of the
pit, and set our feet on the Rock of Ages,
and put a new song into our mouth. Oh,
then it is a matter of handclapping; it is a
matter of deep emotions. Which kind of
faith have you, my brother?
It is faith that makes a Christian, and it is
the proportion of faith that makes the differ
ence between Christians. What was it that
lifted Paul and Luther and Payson and
Doddridge above the ordinary level of Chris
tian character? It was the simplicity, the
brilliancy, the power and the splendor of
their faith. Oh, that we had more of it!
God give us more faith to preach and .more
faith to hear. Lord! we believe, help Thou
our unbelief!” “To you which believe He is
precious.”
First: I remark Christ is prebious to the
believer, as a Saviour from sin. A man says:
“To whom are you talking? lam one of the
most respectable men in this neighborhood;
do you call me a sinner?” Yes“ The heart
is deceitful above all things aud desperately
wicked. ” Y'ou say: “How do you know any
thing about my heart?” I know that about
it, for God announces it in His word; and
what God says is always right. When a
man becomes a Christian people say: “That
man sets himself above us.” Oh, no! Instead
of setting himself up he throws himself
down. Me cries out: “I was lost once, but
now lam found. I was blind once, but now
I see. I prostrate myself at the foot of the
cross of the Saviour’s mercy.”
What a grand thing it is to feel that all
the bad words 1 have ever uttered, and all
the bad deeds I have ever done, and all the
bad thoughts that have gone through my
mind, are as though they never had been,for
the sake of what Christ has done. You
know there is a difference in stains. Some
can be washed out by water, but others re
quire a chemical preparation. The sin of the
heart is so black and indelible a mark that
no human application can cleanse it, -while
the blood of Jesus Christ can wash it out for
ever. O, the infinite, the omnipotent chen
istry of the Gospel! Some man says: “I be
lieve ail that. I believe God has forgiven the
most of my sins, but there is one sin I cannot
forget.” What is it? Ido not want to know
what it is. but I take the responsibility of
saying that God will forgive it as willingly
as any other sin.
O’er sins like mountains for their size,
Tne seas of sovereign grace expand,
The seas of shrereign g-ace arise.
mere was a very good man about seventy
five years of age, that once said: “I believe
God has forgiven me, but there was one sin
which I committed when I was about twenty
years of age that I never forgave myself for,
and I can’t feel happy- when I think of it.”
He said that one sin sometimes come over his
heart, and blotted out all his hope of heaven.
Why, he lacked in faith. The grace that can
forgive a small sin can forgive a large sin.
Mighty to save. Mighty to save. Who is
the God like unto our God, that pardoneth
iniquity? O, what Jesus is to the soul that
believes in him! The soul looks up into
Christ’s face and says: “To what extent
wilt thou forgive me?” And Jesus looks back
into his face and says: “To the uttermost.”
The soul says: “Will it never be brought up
again?” “Never,” says Christ. “Won’t it
be brought up again in the Judgment Day?”
“No,” says Christ, “never in the Judgment
Day-.” What bread is to the hungry, what
harbor is to be bestormed, what light is to
the blind, what liberty is to the captive,
that, and more than that, is Christ to the
man who trusts him.
Just try to get Christ away from that
Christian.’ Put on that man the thumb
screw. Twist it until the bones ( rack. Put
that foot into the iron boot of persecution until
it is mashed to a puip. Stretch that man on
the rack of the Inquisition, and louder than
all the uproar of the persecutors, you will
hear his voice like the voice of Alexander Le
Croix, above the crackling fagots as he cried
out: “O Jesus! O, my blessed Jesus! O,
divine Jesus! who would not-die for thee?”
Again: l remark that Christ is precious to
the believer, as a friend. Y'ou have commer
cial friends and you have family friends. To
the commercial friend you go when you have
business troubles. Y'ou can look back to
some day —it may have been ten or twenty
years ago—when, if you had not had that
friend, you would have been entirely over
thrown in business. But I want to tell you
this morning of Jesus, the best business
friend a man ever had. He can pull you
out of the worst perplexities There are
people in this audience who have got in
the habit of putting down all their
worldly troubles at the feet of Jesus. Why,
Christ meets the businessman on the street
and says: “O, business man, I know all thy
troubles. I will be with thee. I will see thee
througk.” Look out how you try to corner
or trample on a man who is backed up by- the
Lord God Almighty. Look out how you
trample on him. O, there is a financier that
many of our business men have not found
out. Christ owns all the boards of trade, all
the insurance companies and ail the banking
houses. They say taat the Vanderbilts own
the raiiroids; but Christ owns the Vander
bilts and th fc railroads, an ! all the plottings
of sto k gamblers shall be put to confusion,
and God with His little finger shall wipe out
their infamous proje ts. How oft nit has
beeu that we have seen men gather up riches
by fraud, in a pyramid of strength and
beauty, and the Lord came aud blew on it
and it was gone: while there are those here
•o day who,it they could speak out in this as
semblage. or dared to speak out. would say:
“The best friend 1 ha 1 in 1837; the best friend
Iliad m 1857; the best friend I had at the
opening of the war;-the best friend I ever
had has been the Lord Jesus Christ. 1 would
rather give up all other friends than this
one.”
But we have also family friends. They
come in when we have sickness in the house
hold. Perhaps they say nothing, but they
sit down and they weep as the light goes out
from the bright eyes and the white petals of
the lily are scattered in the blast of death.
They watch through the long night by the
dying couch, and then, when the spirit his
gone, sooth you with great comfort. They
say: “Don’t cry. Jesus pities vou. Allis
well. Y'ou will meet the lost one again.”
Then, when your son went off, breaking your
heart, did they not come and put the story in
the very best shape and prophecy the return
of the prodigal: Were they not in your
house when the birth angel flapped its wings
over your dwelling? And they have been
there at the baptisms and at the weddings.
Family friends! But I have to tell you that
Christ is the best family friend. Oh,
blessed is that cradle over which Jesus
bends. Blessed is that nursery where Jesus
walks. Blessed is that sick brow from which
Jesus wipes the dampness. Blessed is that
table where Jesus breaks the bread. Blessed
is that grave where Jesus stands with His
scarred feet on the upturned sod, saying: “I
am the resurrection and the life; he’that be
lieveth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall
he live.” Have you a babe in the house?
Put it into the arms of the great Child
Lover. Is there a sick one in the house?
Think of Him who said: “Damsel, arise.”
Are you afraid you will come to want? Think
of Him who fed tbe five thousand. Is there
a little one in your house that you are afraid
will be blind or deaf or lame? Think of
Him who touched the blinded eye and
snatched back the boy from epileptic con
vulsion. Oh, He is the best friend. Look
over your family friends to-day and find an
other that can be compared to Him. When
we want our friends they are sometimes
out of town Christ is always In towm.
We find that some will stick to us is
prosperity who will not in adversity.
But Christ comes through darkest night
and amid ghastly sorrow, and across
roughest sea, to comfort you. There are
men and women here who would have been
dead twenty years ago but for Jesus. They
have gone through trial enough to exhaust
ten times their physical strength. Their
property went, their health went, their fami
lies were scattered. God only knows what
they suffered. They are an amazement to
themselves that they have been able to stand
it. They look at their once happy home,
surrounded by all comfort. Gonef They
think of the time when they use to rise
strong in the morning and walk vigorously
down the street, and bad experienced a
health they thought inexhaustible. Gone!
Lverything gone but Jesus. He has pitied
them. His eye has watched them. His om
nipotence has defended them. Yes. He has
been with them. They have gone through
disaster,and He was a pillar of fire by night.
They have gone across stormy Galilee, but
Christ had His foot on the neck of the storm.
They felt the waves of trouble coming up
around them gradually, and they began to
climb into the strong rock of God’s de
fense, and then they sang, as they looked
over the waters: “God is our refuge and
strength, an ever present help in time of
trouble: therefore we will not fear though
the earth be removed, though the mountains
be carried into the midst of the sea, though
the waters thereof roar and be troubled,
though the mountains shake with the swell
ing thereof. Selah.” The other day there
was a sailor who came into the Bethel in New
York, and said: “My lads (he was standing
among sailors), I don't know what’s the
matter with me. I used to hear a good deal
about religion and about Jesus Christ. I
don’t know that I have any religion, or that
I know anything much about Christ; but
when I was in mid-Atlantic I looked up one
day through the rigging, and there seemed to
come light through my soul. I have felt dif
ferent ever since, and I love those I once
hated, and I feel a joy I can’t tell you. I
really don’t know what is the matter of me.”
A rough sailor got up and said: “My lad. I
know what’s the matter of you. You have
found Jesus. It is enough to make any man
happy.”
His worth if all the nations knew
Sure the whole earth would love him too.
I remark again: Christ is precious to the
believer, as a final deliverer. You and 1
must after awhile get out of this world.
Here and there, one perhaps may come on to
eighty, to ninety years of age, but your com
mon sense tells you that the next twenty-five
years will land the majority of this audience
in eternity. The next ten years will thin out
a great many of these family circles. This
day may do the work for some of us. Now,
why do I say this? To scare you? No; but
just as I would stand in your office, if I were
a business man, and talk over risks. You do
not consider it cowardly to talk in your
store over temporal risks. Is it base in us
this morning to talk a little while over the
risks of the soul, that are for eternity! In
every congregation death has the last
year been doing a great deal of
work. Where is your father? Where
is your mother? Your child? Your brother?
Your sister? O, how cruel does death seem
to be! Will he pluck a very flower? Will he
prison every fountain! Will He put black on
every door knob? Will He snap every heart
string? Can I keep nothing? Are there no
charmed weapons with which to go out and
contend against Him? Give me some keen
sword, sharpened in God s armory, with
which I may stab him through. Give me
some battle ax that I may clutch it, and hew
him from helmet to sandal. Thank God,
thank God, that he that rideth on the pale
horse hath more than a match in Him who
rideth on the white horse. St. John heard
the contest, the pawing of the steeds, the
rush, the battle cry, the omet, until the pale
horse came down on his haunches, ana his
rider bit the dust, while Christ the con
queror, with uplifted voice, declared it: “Oh
death, I will be thy plague; O grave, I will
be thy destruction.”
The sepulcher is a lighted castle on the
shore of heavenly seas, and sentinel angels
walk up and down at the door to guard it.
The dust and the dampness of the grave are
only the spray of the white surf of celestial
seas, and the long breathing of the dying
Christian, that you call his gasping, is only
the long inhalation of the air of heaven. Oh,
bless God for what Christ is to the Christian
soul, here and hereafter 1
I heard a man say some time ago that they
never laugh in heaven. Ido not know where
he got his authority for that. I think they
do laugh in heaven. When victors come
home, do we not laugh ? When fortunes are
won in a day, do we not laugh: After we
have been ten or fifteen years away from
our friends and we greet them again, do we
not laugh? Yes, we will laugh in heaven.
Not hollow laughter, not meaningless
laughter, but a lull. round, clear,
deep, resonant outbreak of eternal
gladness. Oh, the glee of that moment when
we first see Jesus? I think we will take the
first two or three years in heaven to look at
Jesus: and if, in ten thousanl years, there
should be a moment when the doxology
paused, ten thousand souls would cry out:
“Sing! sing!" and when the cry was: “What
shall we sing?” the answer would be: “Jesus!
tfesTTS:- on, you may have all the crowns in
heavon; I do not care so much about them.
You may have all the robes in heaven; I do
not care so much about them. Y’ou may
have all the sceptres in heaven; I do not care
so much about them. Y'ou may have all the
thrones in heaven; I do not care so much
about them. But give me Jesus—that is
enough heaven for me. O Jesus! I long to
see Thee. Thou “Chief among ten thousand,
the One altogether lovely.”
There mav be some here who have come
hardly knowsng why they come. Perhaps it
was as in Paul’s time—you have come to hear
what this babbler sayeth; but lam glad to
meet you face to face, and to strike hands
with you in one earnest talk about your
deathless spirit. Do you know, my friend,
that this world is not good enough for you!
It cheats. It fades. It dies. You aiv immortal.
I s -e it in the deathless spirit looking out from
your eye. It is a mighty spirit. It is an
immortal spirit. It beats against the window
of the cage. I come out to feed it. During
the past week the world has been trying to
feed it with husks. I ceine out this morning
to t eed it with that bread of which if a man
eat he will never hunger. AA'hat has the
world done for you? Has it not bruised you?
Hi sit not betrayed you? Has it not mal
treated you? Look me in the eye, immortal
man, and tell me if that is not so. And yet,
will you trust it? O, I wish that you could
forget me, the weak and sinful man—that I
might vanish from your sight this morning,
and that JeSus might come in. Aye, he
comes here this morning to plead for your
soul—comes in all covered with the wounds
of Calvary. He says: “O, immortal man!
I died for thee. I pity thee. I come to save
thee. With these hands, torn and crushed 1
will lift thee up into pleasures that never
die.” Who will reject —who will drive him
hack? When Christ was slain on the cross,
they had a cross, and they had na.ls, and
they had hammers. Y'ou’ crucify by your
sin, O impenitent soul, the Lord Jesus Christ.
Here is a cross; but where are the nails?
Where are the hammers? “Ah,” says some
one rejecting Christ, some one standing a
long way off. “I will furnish the nails. I
don’t believe in that Jesus. 1 will furnish
the nails.” Now we have the nails; who will
furnish the hammers? “Ah,” says some hard
heart, “I will furnish the hammers.” Now
we have the nails and the hammers. We
have no spears; who will furnish the spears?
“Ah,” says some one long in the habit of sin
and rejection of Christ’s mercy: “I will fur
nish them.” Now we have all the instru
ments; the cross, the nails, the hammers, the
spears, and the crucifixion goes on. O, the
darkness! O, the pang! O, the tears! O,
the death! “Behold the Lamb of God, that
takest away the sin of the world. ”
Lord J esus, help that man. He sits far
back to-day. He does not like to come for
ward. He feels strange in a religious assem
blage. He thinks, perhaps, we do no want
him. O, Jesus, take that trembling hand.
Put thine ear to that agitated heart and hear
how it beats. O, lift the iron gate of that
prison house and let that man go free.
Lord Jesus, help that woman. She is a
wanderer. No tears can she weep. See,
Lord Jesus, that polluted soul; see that blis
tered foot. No church for her. No good
cheer for her. No hope for her. Lord Jesus,
go to that soul. Thou wilt not stone her.
Let the red hot chain, that burns to tne bone
till the bloody ichor hisses in the heat, snap
at thy touch. O, have mercy on Mary Mag
dalene.
Lord Jesus, help that young man. He took
money out of his employer's till. Didst Thou
see it? The clerks were all gone. The lights
were down. The shutters were up. Didst
Thou see it? O, let him not fall into the pit.
Rememberest Thou not his mother’s prayers?
She can pray for him no more. Lord Jesus,
touch him on the shoulder. Touch him on
the heart. Lord, save that young man.
There are many young men here. I got a
letter from one of them, who is probably
here to-day,and I shall have no other oppor
tunity of answering that letter. You say
you believe in me. O, do you believe in
Jesus? I cannot save you, my dear brother.
Christ can. He wants and waits to save you,
and He comes to-day to save you. Will
you have Him? I do not know what
our young men do without Christ—how
they get on amid all the temptations and
trials to which they are subjected. O, young
men,come to Christ to-day , and put your soul
and your interest for this life and for the
next into his keeping. In olden times, you
know, a cup bearer, would bring wine or
water to the king, who would drink it, first
tasting it himself, to show that there was no
poison in it, then passing it to the king, who
would drink it. The highest honor that I
ask is that I may be cup bearer to-day to
your soul. I bring you this water of ever
lasting life. I have been drinking of it. It
has never done me any harm. O, drink it,
and live forever. And let that aged man put
his head down on the staff, and let that poor
widowed soul bury her worried face in her
handkerchief, and these little children fold
their hands in prayer, while we commend
you to Him who was vrounded for our trans
gression and bruised for ,our iniquities; for
to 3'ou which believe He is precious.
HARD CRABS ARE RIPE.
Notes Concerning the Season's Crop
atid the Method of Gathering It.
The season for hard crabs opened this
week in the Baltimore markets. The
season is somewhat late and the quality
of the crabs is only fair. The first arri
vals are known as the mud crabs, and
come from the lower portion of the
Chesapeake Bay. They are caught in
deep water on mud bottoms by dredging
for them with dredges made for the pur
pose, somewhat after the fashion of
oyster dredges, only of lighter construc
tion. Nearly all the crabs taken in this
way are females. The meat is off in
color, the mud having permeated it.
Little fat is to be found in the mud crab
and none in the line crab. The latter
at this season are somewhat small and
nearly all males; they are termed line
crabs from the fact of their being caught
on trot lines. The mud crabs are dull,
and can be handled without fear of be
ing “pinched,” but the line crabs are
frisky little fellows, and have to be han
dled with wooden tongs. The meat of
the line crab is white and of tempting
appearance.
Baltimore crabbers are highly incens
ed at the laws now in force, which for
bid their plying their vocation in many
of the best crabbing grounds in Mary
land waters. The waters, they contend,
are free, and the supply of crabs being
virtually inexhaustible, they cannot see
the justice of forcing them to go to the
Virginia shores to work. Thomas Mt
Dryden is fitting out a number of boats
which start for Virginia Saturday. The
boats used are ordinary seine boats, ac
companied bj» crab bifig skiffs. The out
fits consist of tents for the habitation of
the men, barrels of tripe and salted eels
for crab bait, and trot lines of about 300
fathoms each. To these lines are attach
ed, at the rate of about two to a fathom,
suoods of about 12 inches each, and each
snood is baited with a piece of eel or
tripe.
The line has an anchor nt each end,
which sinks it, and from the anchor to
the surface of the water a line runs,
which is attached to a gourd or other
light buoy. As soon as the line is laid
out the crabber sits in the bow of his
skiff and begins overhauling it, the crabs
being taken off with a short-handled dip
net. The work is exceedingly arduous,
and in hot weather is anything but pleas
ant. With a few days of warm weather
the crabs will make their way up the
bay, and as soon as the water gets
warmed a little the crabs will begin to
shed, and the delicious soft crab will be
on the market.
Considerable attention is now being
paid bs r the agricultural department of the
Russian Government to the improvement ot
the farm live stock kept in the various parts
of that vast empire. <Juite recently a num
ber of Clydesdale stallions, Shorthorn and
Swiss cattle and Yorkshire pigs have been
purchased and imported from Great Britain.
LILLIE EDDLES;
OH,
ABDUCTED BY THE BUSH
WHACKERS.
A Story of the War in
the Southwest.
, ■■ " ♦ -»■— . .
BY ARVIDE 0. BALDWIN.
CHAPTER VI. —Continued.
* Y T er frien’ dar ’pears sick, Marse AVoods
ley,” continued the undaunted Jeff, point
ing to the prostrate form near them.
“He’s no friend of mine, you black nig
ger.”
“Go away, Jeff,” commanded his master.
Jeff readily complied, but could not re
frain from having another word.
“AA’hat fer yer leff ’im in de bush near de
road when yer come ter de house? AYhy
tdidn’t yer done fetch ’im up when yer
come?”
John gave the negro a look that was in
tended to be severe, but the cute fellow
saw beneath it one of ill-disguised appro
bation.
Jeff’s last speech was intended more for
his master's ears than AVoodsley’s. This was
the method he took to acquaint him of the
fact that both men had come to the plan
tation together, and that the whole thing
had been planned by them. From what
Jeff said, John believed that he knew more
of the two men than he had nlready made
known.
Henry Arno was requested to take charge
of the prisoner, for such he was for the
present. He was conducted into the man
sion, and taken to and locked in the garret
for safe keeping. He was informed that in
case he tried to escape, or made trouble, a
fate like that of the man below awaited
him.
John ordered the hands to take the dead
man—for he was dead, shot through the
heart —and bury him.
Jeff was called in and questioned.
“Yes, Marse John, I seed de men t
cornin’ up de Wire Road togedder. Dey
didn’t see me, kase I drap in de bush near
ter der road what lead ter der house. De
men came widin er few yards an’ stop.
“Dey was er talkin' of you, sah —Marse
Woodsley say: ‘lll go up ter de house an’
call de gentleum out, an’ yer can come up
an’ arrest ’im an’ we’ll hab an easy time
wid der res’.’
“Shall I kill der cuss?’ ax de udder man.
“ ‘Not ef yer kin help it,’ said Marse
Woodsley.
“ ‘AVhy?’ ax der man.
“ ‘Bekase I don’ done want ’im killed,
leastwise not now/ AVoodsley tole ’im.
* ‘Look ’er here, AVoodsley, Ikenttakenc
foolishness. Ef he act mean, down come
his house, sure’s yer bo n. I don’ take nc
chancesi’ Fore God, Marse Eddies, doze
am de words dem fellers said.”
“I am glad you overheard them, Jeff, and
I thank you for telling me. Did you see
any one else—some one with a rifle?”
“No, Marse John, not anudder pusson.*
“AVhat were you doing down at the road,
Jeff?”
“Huntin’, sah "
“Hunting! Hunting what?”
“De ole brack an’white cow. She done
work off las’ night, an’ so I's lookin’ fer hei
dis momin’. ”
“Jeff, some friend of mine saved my liW
this morning, and I want to find out whe
he is. I'll give you this,” holding out a
shining gold coin, “if you will find the man.
Ask the hands if they saw him. ”
Jeff was emig a figure in tbe carpaL
When his mtflfcr ceased speaking he
not look up, but turned toward the door.
Before the slave reached the door it
dawned upon John’s mind that that indi
vidual had never returned the rifle that he
had given him to guard the premises with.
“Jeff?”-
“Sah?”
“Did you have a gun with you wbile you
were hunting the cow?”
“I did, sah.”
“And you came up to the stables .non?
“Yes, sah.”
“Did you lend your gun to any one, Jeff?’ -
“No, sah. I nebber parts wid my weap
ons. ”
“Jeff, did you fire that shot?”
There was no answer.
John Eddies rose from his seat, his face
betraying his great agitation. He reached
down and took the dusky hand of his faith
ful slave in his. His voice trembled with
emotion as he addressed the colored man
before him.
“Jeff, ” he said, “I know you are the man.
I know that you have saved my life this day.
Empty praise in such a case is valueless,
and while I give you the thankfulness of an
overflowing heart, I give you from this time
on what is of more value—your personal
freedom. No human being has the author
ity to command you from this day on. And,
while you are free, Jeff, remember that
whenever you want a friend or a favor,
you cannot uppeal to any one with more
certainly of assistance than to John Ed
dies. ”
It was not the coin that he had in
tended for Jeff that he let slip into his
hand, but another, a large yellow one.
Tears of joy came unbidden to the eyes
of the colored man as his thankful master
poured forth his words of gratitude upon
him.
There was romething peculiar about Jeff,
Eddies thought, for he hung around and
appeared unhappy, even with the knowl
edge of his freedom. He went from the
house to the stables, and from the stables
to the house again. His head hung down,
and he had a dejected air generally.
CHAPTEB YIL
THE ATTACK.
The entire household noticed the nnnsnal
manner of the restless ex-slave, aud Lillie
called John’s attention to the matter.
“Brother, something is wrong with Jeff;
he isn’t acting naturally. I would see what
is wrong with him. ”
“Jeff,” said Jofin, as that individual agnin
approached, “you appear dejected. Is any
thing wrong?”
“Marse John,” aud Jeff sighed, “does dis
yer freedom mean dat yer’s got no mo in
trust in me?”
“That’s it exactly, Jeff. You are your
nwn master now. ”
“Den dat are freedom done make me iebe
all my ole frien’s. Dis nigger hev freedom,
but no home. Marse John, ef I isn’t ano
‘count nigger yer ken hev de freedom, an’
I’ll lib wid dem what I lnbs.”
This was something unexpected—some
thing unusual. For a slave to refuse his
freedom when offered it, and willingly re
turn to slavery, was not a common occur
rence,
John was perplexed.
“Jeff," he said, after turning th* Matter
over in his mind, “I have given you your
freedom. That freedom is yours. You will
J never be a slave again. If you like youi
j present home sufficiently well to remain
' with us, we will gladly let you share it
while we have one. Y’ou can have eharge
of the hands, and I will pay you for your
services. Is that enough, Jeff?”
Still ho did not appear satisfied, but beck
oning John aside, he had a low, confi
d ntial talk with him. AALen the two sepa
rated John was smiling, and almost a halo
of happiness was around the face of the
negro. He was changed. His step was
elastic—he had renewed his youth. Not a
word was said about the conversation, and
no one but John and leff knew its import.
As the day wore on anxiety was more
perceptible in the faces of the inhabitants
of the mansion. AVhile there was no visible
danger, yet these people seemed to feel the
danger that menaced them. Every approach
leading to the mansion was closely watched,
and when a negro came running up from the
road, tlm whites of his eyes showing with
fear, as he exclaimed: “Dey’s er cumin’!
Dey's er cumin’! ” it was nothing more
than had been expected, and even the la
dies heaved sighs of relief from great anx
iety. although they knew that the visitors
j would create trouble.
John requested the ladies to take refug*
in the cellar as a safe refuge from stray bul
lets. in case of an attack, but not one would
comply with the request, and they all re
mained and were comparatively calm, but
pule.
As the men turned from the AA'ire Road
John, who was watching, commenced to
count: “One, two, three, four, five, six,
sent n. eight—there are more than I ex
pected. The rascals are continually getting
accessions to their ranks. ”
They turned the corner and came cm up
the dusty road in pairs. They wore the
j clothes ot' the Arkansas citizen, aud carried
j all sorts ot weapons. They made a fair
j military display for so few men, and t ie
Eddies people wouid have enjoyed the sight
if it had i ot been for Laving a knowledge
of their purpose, AVLeu the men had got
within hailing distance they stopped.
“Halloo!”
No attention was paid it, and after a short
pause the call was repeated.
“Halloo!”
John partially opened the and
looked out.
“What do you want?”
“Is AVoodsley here?”
“Yes. AVhat do you want of him?
“Tell him to come hyar.”
“He can't go. Any message you have for
him I will deliver."
The rattling of g’ass in the gable of the
building was heard, aud a voice from above
called out
“ Captain, I’m a prisoner! Eddies has
locked me up! Kill the skunk and let me
loose. ’’
Henry Amo bounded up the stairs.
Unlocking the door and striding rapidly
forward to where tfle prisoner was appeal
ing to the bushwhackers for freedom, he
grasped that unfortunate man by the col
lar and threw him in a heap in the corner.
“If you dare cry out, or show yourself
again at that window, I’ll blow what little
brains you have out, ” said Amo, snaking
his fist in his fallen foe's face.
“Come out, Mr. Eddies; we want to talk
with y®r,” said the Captain in a persuasive
tone.
“You can talk with me from where you
are; or, if you prefer, come in.”
This appeared to be as fair as the Cap
tain could wish.
“ Come, boys, we’ll go in. ” And they began
to dismount.
“No, you don’t. Just one at a time. I’ve
got no business with those others. If you
want to talk, come in.”
“Boys, give it to the sneaking hound!’-’
the Captain yelled.
The mansion door closed with a bang,
aud none too soon, for at once the rattling of
Bhot and bullets against the mansion began,
and (he Leavy oaken door was pierced in
many places.
An instant later a single shot from the
house replied and one bushwhacker ceased
hostilities. John rushed for his rifle.
Springing to a window he took aim at one of
the enemy, and as he fired a blood-curdling
yell broke forth above the din, and—John
turned away from the window.
[TO BE CONTINUED.!
Domestic Hints and Helps.
Lyonaise Potatoes. —Cut one pint
cold boiled potatoes into small pieces
and season them with pepper and salt;
add one teaspoonful chopped parsley;
put a teaspoonful of butter on the fire in
a saucepan; when hot add a slice of
onion; fry brown; add potatoes, and fry
to a light brown.
Cocoanut Pie. —One cup of white su
gar, butter size of a hen’s egg, whites of
three eggs, well beaten; one tablespoon
ful of flour, three-quarters of a grated
cocoanut, and milk of cocoanut added
last, or a tablespoonful of milk, scant
measure. Bake on pie plates lined with
puff paste.
Slaw Dressing.. —Heat together to a
boiling point in a stewpan, a gill of vin
egar and an ounce of butter. Stir in an
egg well beaten and a gill of sweet
cream. Season to taste and pour over
finely chopped cabbage. Another way
is to mix together a gill of water and a
gill of vinegar, thicken with half an
ounce of flour. Cook ten minutes, add
an ounce of butter and season to taste.
Puree of Peas. —Wash a quart of
peas which have been already hulled,
put them in a saucepan witli three pirds
of water, very little salt and pepper, half
an ounce of ham and an onion cut in
slices. Boil until soft, then drain off the
water and rub the peas through a colan
der. Heat again on the fixe, adding two
heaping tablespoonfuls of butter and a
pinch of sugar. Serve very hot.
Sponge Cake. —Three eggs, beat two
minutes; one aud one-half cups cf sugar;
mix with the eggs and beat five minutes;
add one cup of flour with one teaspoon
baking powder, beat one minute; add
one-half cup water, beat one minute:
another cup of flour with one teaspoon
baking powder; beat well; add a little
salt and the grated rind of a lemon.
HickorynutCake. —One and one-half
cups of sugar, one-half cup of butter,
two eggs, one cup sweet milk, one and
one-half teaspoons baking powder, one
cup hickorynut meats, chopped fine;
nearly three cups of flour.
Doughnuts. —One cup sugar, one cup
sweet milk, one egg, butter the size of
black-walnut, salt aud two teaspoons
of baking powder; mix rather soft and
fry in boiling lard.
Ginger-cake.-— A little less than a
pint of molasses, a little less than a pint
of buttermilk, a little less than a half
cup butter, two eggs, four cups of flour,
ginger and salt, one teaspoon soda.
Clam Chowder. Take one-half
pound of pork and try out in an iron
kettle, add two sliced onions, pepper
and salt, and pour over the whole two
quarts of hot water; boil for fifteen min
utes, then add two quarts of clams and
three sliced potatoes; cook until done,
then pour over one pint of milk, and add
one-half poui. l crackers.
CHILDREN’S COLUMN. ,
Bird* and Boy*.
Down In the meadow the little brown thrushe*
Build them a nest in the barberry bushes;
And when it is finished all cosy and neat,
Three speckled eggs make their pleasure
complete.
“Twit-ter-ee twitter 1” they chirp to each
other, .
“Building a nest is no end of bother;
But, oh, when our dear little birdies we see.
How happy we’ll be! How happy we’ll bet”
Up at the cottage where children are grow
ing,
The young mother patiently sits at her sew
ing.
It’s something to work for small hobblede
hoys
That will tear their trousers and make such
a noise;
“And one must admit,” says the dear little
mother,
“That bringing up boys is no end of bother;
But, oh, when they kiss me, and climb on
my knee,
It’s sweetness for me! It’s sweetness formal"
—[Youth.
A. Little Ciirl’* Wonderful E,c.ipe.
Yesterday morning a most remarka
ble accident occurred on the New Or
leans and Northeastern railway, near
Nicholson station, Miss., by which a
little girl was thrown out of the train
into a blackberry bush beside the track
and miraculously escaped injury, re
ceiving only a few slight scratches from
the triers.
The Boston excursion train was run
ning in as the first section cf the fast or
cannon-ball train which was followed
about twenty mmute3 behind by the
second section. The train was running
at the same rate of speed as the cannon
ball train—that is, about 40 miles an
hour—and the little girl whose name is
Mabel Smith, either leaned out of a
window and lost her balance, or stepped
out on the platform and was whirled ofl
the coach; at any rate, she was
thrown off with groat force, and had
her body Struck the ground, would
doubtless have been instantly killed.
Providence, however, was watching
over the child, and she fell into a black
berry bush, where she lay unable to
move. The train, with her parents on
board, sped onward in the early dawn,
no one on board being aware of the ac
cident.
Twenty minutes later the cannon-ball
train came along, and the sharp eyes of
the engineer detected the little one ly
ing in her very uncomfortable bed of
briers. Ho applied the air brakes,
brought the train to a halt, and the lit
tle girl was picked up and taken aboard
the train. This occurred about a mile
south of Nicholson station.
On the arrival of the cannon-ball
train the little girl was roturned to her
almost frantic parents. —[New Orleans
Picayune.
The HCingrlt'lier in It, Haunt*.
There is an overhanging, stunted,
leafless bough over there, and upon it
has just alighted a kingfisher. At first
its form is motionless; soon it assumes
more animation and anon it is all eye
and ear. Then it darts—hangs for a
moment in the air like a kestrel, and
returns to the perch. Again it darts
with unerring aim and secures some
thing. This is tossed, beaten and bro
ken with a formidable beak and then
swallowed head foremost. -The process
is again and again repeated and you find
that the prey is small fish. From watch
ing an hour you are entranced at the
beauty of the fluttering, quivering thing
a 3 the sun shinos upon its green and
gold vibrations in mid-air. You gain
some estimation, too, of the vast
amount of immature fish which a
pair of kingfishers and their young
must destroy in a single season. Later in
summer you may see the youug brood
with open quivering wings, and con
stant calling as the parent birds fly to
and fro. Their plumago is little lea*
brilliant than that of the adult. The
hole in which the young are reared is
never made by the parent birds, but al
ways by some small burrowing rodent,
or occasionally by the little sand-martin.
The food of this species is almost en
tirely fi3h —minnows and sticklebacks
forming the principal parts. Water
beetles, leeches, larvae, and small trout,
as well as the young of coarse fish are,
however, all taken at times, and during
the rigor and frosts of winter the king
fishers betake themselves to the es
tuaries of tidal rivers, where their food
of molluscs and shore-haunting crea
tures is daily replenished. Old natural
ists aver that the bird brings up its
prey in its feet, but this is never so; all
its food is taken with the beak. —[Lon-
don Globe.
Gobelins Tapestry.
The most remaikable artistic produc
tion of the Gobelins Tapestry Manufac
tory of France, during the reigns of
Charles X. and Louis Philippe, was the
reproduction of tne ‘Life of Marie de
Medici,” the originals of which, painted
by Rubens, are in the Museum of the
L iuvrc. This hanging, which decora
ted the palace of St. Cloud, was for*
tunately preseived when Paris was be
seiged in 1870. Since that time the
looms of the Gobelins manufactory hare
been almost entirely emp’oyed ia repro
ductions of the great Ita'ian masters.—'
[Dry Goods Chronicle.