Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.