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’IIS OITcN THUS.
BY W. H. S. ATKINSON.
“THEN. ”
' 'ncath tho summer starlight, by the
idly Hcwitig stream —
Ijing’ring, watching, longing, hoping, while the
minutes in:e» seem;
Inst iling for my dainty darling, for her footfall
■ soft and liifht.
’Til I wonder if niv lips Bhall kiss my fairy
queen to-night!
Ah! I see her in the distance, as she comes witfi
queenly grace;
I can note the rippling moonbeams playing o’er
her perfect face;
My atm is round -her slender w aist, her head
droops on my breast
My treasure rare, my sweetheart fair, the girl I
love tho be»t.
*******
“NOW.”
St 11 I wait beside the streamlet, ’neath the
moonlit summer skv;
Still I linger—watching, hoping—while the mo
ments hurry by;
But my love comes there no longer, in my arms
to be caressed,
For she’s got another fellow, and I»tliink I’ll
travel West I
LILLIE EDDLES;
OR,
ABDUCTED BY THE BUSH
WHACKED!!.
‘A Story of the War in
the Southwest.
BY A R VIDE 0. BALDWIN.
CHAPTER Yll —Continued.
Shot after shot was given the attaching
party, and as they were at a disadvantage
r they soon showed signs of weakening. John
noticed that some of the men turned about
and shot at the stable window, and during
the hill he could hear the crack of a rifle in
that direction. He had missed Jeff before
the tight, but he'now knew where he was.
That individual was doing warlike duties on
his own account.
No one could tell who was doing the exe
cution; whether it was Henry, who kept
his gun warm with continual firing; or John,
who tried to make his shots count among
the dodging enemy; or Jeff, from his posi
tion in the stable, from whence the slow
but regular crack of his gun could be
heard. '
The two elder ladies (for Amo’s mother
was also there) were sitting side by side
with their taces buried in their arms trying
to shut out the horrible rattle of the guns
and the breaking of the glass in the
windows.
Laura Arno was leaning over her mother
seeking sympathy, and trying to give it.
Lillie was going from one to the other of
their defenders, doing what little she could
to assist them in u their brave resistance.
Two bright spots of red appeared in her
otherwise pale face, and her eyes shone
with an unnatural tire as her stately figure
traversed the floor without any apparent
fear, although an occasional missile that
came through tho windows came unpleas
antly near. During the heat of the battle
Henry felt a stiug in his left arm, and by
the peculiar burning sensation knew he
must be hurt, but as the member yet con
tinued serviceable he paid no attention
to- it.
The fire gradually grew less on the part
of tile assailants, pnd in a short time half
of* their -number were incapacitated for
further active service—at least for the pres
ent. Two had retired to a safe distance,
and two more were unable to do so. At the
beginning of the fight they had dropped
from their horses and taken what refuge
they could behind fences and-shade trees.
Jeff's position gave him a decided advan
tage in the battle, for, although not directly
in theic rear, he was in a position to get a
. partially exposed, portion of the enemy to
shoot at.
AVhen the bushwhackers saw that it was,
useless to'’prolong the conflict they hastily
threw their wounded comrades across their
animals and made a hasty and ignominious
retreat, r but before they could get beyoud
, range another one of them had felt the
solid Meets of war, and had to be as
sisted, in order to keep his seat in the 1
saddle. * " .
Itnvus a sorry-looking lot of men that,
left the Eddies plantation that afternoon, 1
and straggled around the corner and down!
the AVire Road.. Henry wanted to follow
them and destroy the entire number, but!
John soon convinced him that it might lead
to bad results, for in all probability there
were others of the gang, and they would be
likely to run into a nest of them at any
point.
; CHAPTER YHL
A DISASTROUS PURSUIT.
As soon as the enemy had retired the vic
tors could not refrain from visiting the bat
die grounds. On the ground occupied by the
bushwhackers, two revolvers and one gun,
'almost worthless, were. found .and taken as
spoils of; war. .
Tw'T) or "three small pools of blood were*
idfecovcred.'a‘i3(d;the fence showed the piarksi
of iirefleeVuiri mjssjles. But when they
turned toward tile mansion the' effects .of
the battle" were more apparent. ' The blinds
and gasings were nearly fiddled .with bul
lets and, buckshqtj. and the glass mostly
broken in the lower windows.
*“1 like .ter know how Marse Woodsley
like ’im how,” -said Jeff, scratching his
wooly head in glee as he thought of how
discomfited that gentleman would be over
the defeat of his friends.
“I had forgotten him,” said John; “we
must see how the fellow feels since the
fight.”
They repaired to the house and climbed
the stairs.* The key grated in the lock"; and
they threw open the door of the room in
which Woodsley was confined.
Amazement was in their faces as they ;
looked within! Their prisoner was not in
sight! Whither had he gone? The door
was foiled locked, and there seemed no way
for escape.
As they entered Henry noticed that the
wirfetow in the back end of the gable was
open.
“There- was all ho said as he pointed to
the OTVMrnw,. • •
Sure enough.. There was where the dar
ing prisoner had made his escape, for tied
to an old-fashioned bedstead was the cord
that had been taken from it, and after draw
ing the befl close by the window he throw
the loose end out. and then easily slid to
the groan'd. . ,
As they lpciked out nothing but the rope
wrs seen and that was dangling loosoly
against the building. Beneath it the grasS
was trodden, and they knew that Woodßely
was in the forest to the north.
He had hunted for some means of escape,
it appeared, and when he saw the old bed
stead, that had been placed in the room
more as a keepsake, and from a dislike to
destroy it, than for its intrinsic worth, he
•had found a safe and easy moans of reach-,
ing the ground. AVtrile the tight was raging
in f out he was mil.ing Lurried invpa
rut ons to leave from th tear, and that h)
had succeeded was evident to those pres
ent.
I'pon examining Henry's wound it
found that it was only a slight flesh one.
and the little pain and inconvenience thas
it gave him was partia ly compensated when
the fair I illte insisted upon cleansing and'
bandaging it. Her deft fingers soon bad!
flic mood washed away and a bandage firm
ly fastened in place.
Henry praised the skill with which the
work was do e, and the young wairior must)
have shown by his looks the great love he)
had for the fair girl, for whenever theiij
eves met a crimson glow overspread her
|pen, ana so tney waited, vigilantly watch
ing. that they might not be taken una
wares.
When night set in a heavy, light-colored,
column of smoke rose in the southwest.
After a littie time a blaze shot up above the
trees, and in a few minutes more the heav
ens were red from the blaze of the fire.
“Yonder is their work," Henry said,
'pointing in the direction of the fire. “It
; may not be the gang that was here, but it
j js the work of some of the of
! villains.”
“This thing is terrible!” exclaimed the
j ladies. “God pity the helpless!”
John’s teeth were grinding together, but
j he said not a word.
In a few moments more another fire
j sprang up near the first, but not so large.;
: There was no need to he told that it was l
1 jthe work of the murderous bushwhackers; 1
; that they were firing their neighbors’
buildings was but too evident to our friends.
It made them tremble with apprehension,
for they did not know how soon their lovely
I home might be laid in ashes, and they left
! without a place to shelter themselves from
! the elements.
Jeff came in and passed through into the
kitchen. He earned his old gun swungj
under his arm, and his hat was placed on'
the back part of his woolv head. The ne
gro had an air of contentment and seemed
to be in his element.
When he returned he cariied in his hand
a small muslin sack, or “poke,” as they
call the article in Arkansas, and it was well
filled with edibles.
“Marse John!”
jii“e”aiia mamiea ner wnne Drow. infs
ladies were all becoming more brave byj
familiarity with danger. It was dreary at 1
the best, hut nothing but death could now
relieve them of war’s terrible horrors, andj
they determined to assist all they could in;
protecting themselves.
; They had been greatly favored thus far
Dy the knowledge of the bushwhackers’)
(plans in regard to themselves, but these)
[questions were continually before them:]
iWuen would the next attack be made'.i
jWhat other deviltry would Woodsley sug-i
gest for the destruction of the Edilleses?
They knew the spirit of that young man,
and had ho doubt but he would resort to
some plan for avenging the humiliation he
jhad been subjected to.
Time alone could tell what would hap
vveu, Jeff, what now?”
“I’s gwine ter lebe yer!” And he mo- |
tioned for John to give him another private
interview. .
That gentleman had now more confidence
fn, and respect for, the negro before him
than he had in the whole race before, and
jt was with alacrity that he stepped from the
group to hear what the colored man had to
tell him.
“Jeff, do you really intend to leave us?”
?ohn anxiously asked.
“Yes, but I wants ter tole yer ’bout it, so
■’st yer may know whar I’s gwine ter, an’
pf I don’t come back yer’l know ’case
why.” And he then proceeded to tell John
of his proposed trip. He was going to start
that night for the river. He had been raised)
in that part of the country fnd was familiar!
with it. He wanted to do a "little hunting!
there,” he said. He proposed to find their)
camp and see how the bushwhackers lived!
at home. He would try andjind out whatj
he could iu regard to their plans, and would!
pot relurn until he had accomplished some
thing. *■
John liked the plan well enough, but it
seemed too dangerous, and ha tried to per
suade the faithful man to abandon the proj
ect, but to no avail.
Sylva was peeping through the kitchen
door-way, and Jeff cast a tender glance in
that direction. In another moment he was ;
gone. A cloud settled over the fpco of John:
as he saw his dusky friend diqiart, for he j
had begun to appreciate his services, andj
the spirit, although under a dark covering,'
that impelled him to risk hifc life for his
friends. Vigilance was deemed necessary
now, and a continual watch was kept about
the premises.
Two nights and a day had passed away
and nothing of an exciting nature had oc
. burred, nor had Jeff returned from the
fiver. As daylight came on the second day
John began to be restless over thecontinued i
absence of the negro, and he and Henry, 1
after arming the more intelligent male
slaves and st'atjpuiug them in and around
the'house, concluded to take a short scout
in search of him.
Lillie and her young friend Laura had)
become quite proficient in the use of the
smaller arms, and the turbulent times were
begining to erase fear from their nature.
After making preparations the men took
their arms and started for the stables for
their horses.
Before they had left the porch and
reached the walk, they saw two strangers'
leaving the stable-vards. They commenced!
yelling and firing their pistols, and started!
away on a run.
John at onee recognized the horses. One
was his own favorite steed, and the other,
young AA’oodsley’s.
Both men filed simultaneously, but ap
parently Without effect, for the thieves
kept'on. “
Joljn and his companion hastened to the.
stables and khortlynad- two' other animals, 5
ready, when they mounted and eagerly
started in pursuit. ■
AVhen our two friends reached the AVira
Road they discovered the men of whom
they were in quest nearly a half mile dis
tant, traveling" leisurely alofig.
I'LL huloueis urged -heir animals for.
ward, asd away they wefit like the wind.
They appeared to be. unobserved until they
had arrived within almost hailing distance,
when, as if of a sudden, the two in front
saw the horsemen upon their track, and
they whippod their animals on.
The race was becoming exciting, and the
pursuers were glining on the pursued,
when the men in front turned qurnkly to
the right and dashed into the woods as if to
escape, but apparently changed their minds,
for a few rods further on they appeared
again in the road.
On they went, und on came the others.
They had nearly reached the locality where
the men had left the road when John, who
was in advance,'saw something that made
him put forth every effort to stop his
home, which was on a mad run. He yelled,
to his companion to stop, but the command
was unheeded, and in a moment more his
horse came to a sudden halt, and the rider
flew into the air and struck iu a heap ou
the dusty road.
John was more fortunate. His horse had
etruqk the obstruction, but so lightly that
he was merely thrown over, and by cling
ing to hi« animal's fore-top he saved himself
from a severe fall. As it was, he struck the
road in no gentle manner, and was some
what stunned by tho occurrence.
The wire had been cut from the poles
and a section of it stretched tightly across
(the h ghway, and fastened at either end to
i trees located near. It was placed so that i)
would reach to a horse’s breast in height,
laud the effect of animals running against itl
jat a rapid speed was what wo have nar
rated.
We have never heard of this wire trick
being played, during the war, except on the!
AVire lloud in Arkansas. There it was!
played, and that successfully. These two)
(bushwhackers were the originators of this!
devilish scheme, that wa,s so often prac
ticed successfuly afterward.
Although tho present occurrence hap
pened in broad day Ugh f,' the wire was gener
ally resorted to afterward in the dark of
pveuirg or in the night, as 'it was then im
possible for the victim to see in time to
avert a disaster. They improved on the
original method,,and would place the wire
so that it would strike somewhat above the
nacK of an ordinary Horse, and oonse-j
quently the rider, would strike the wire)
while the horse would go under untouched.!
AVhen the man struck the wire whilq
going at full speed death was probably the
Result. It was likely to almost cut a man)
E“n twain, and if death did not at once en
ue, the victim was in a crippled or stunned
condition and <*isiiy fell a prey to the wily)
jbushwhacker, who furnished, often, human)
Eood, and was as often himself fed, to the)
iuzzards that lived among the White Riveri
hills. i
AA'hen John gathered his seises he saw)
Harry’s horse lying upon the ground near
him in the last throes of death. He was a
Sow animal, and had seen the wire when al
most against it, aud threw up his head iu
itirne to receive the full effect of the impetus
against it on his neck. It had cut part way
jthrough, and the blood was nearly done
(rushing when John looked first.
Several feet beyond was Henry stretched
ion the road with au ugly wound in his Read,
(and unconscious. Back of him, trembling
lin every’limb, was his own animal, standing,
but not daring to move.
TO BE CONTINUED.
WOMEN IN A BREAD RIOT.
A. Scene in Richmond in the Early
Part of the War.
[From the Washington Post.]
It was in the early part of the late war
m, I think, tho second year. Our armies
(the Confederate) had been generally
successful, jpnd there was as yet little of
that great suffering to which the people
of the South were afterward to be re
duced. The dearth of men in Richmond
made it necessary to employ a large
force of women in the various depart
ments of the Government, a great many
of them refugees, and many from the
oldest and wealthiest of Southern aristo
cratic families.
The Treasury Department occupied
on Broad street, in Richmond, a large
store, and in that store a number of
ladies were occupied in numbering and
signing coupon bonds, and others in
signing and numbering the one and two
dollar notes with which the Confederacy
was flooded.
One afternoon there was a rumor in
Richmond that a body of disorderly
women aqd boys had assembled on the
Capital square, clamoring for bread. It
was asserted that Gov. Letcher and the
Mayor of the city had addressed them
in the interest of law and order, and
promised them relief.
But as yet little was known for certain,
and I gave the rumor little thought, as
I walked up Broad street the next morn
ing toward the department, now only a
few squares off.
“Bread! bread! give us bread!” amid
a pandemonium of yells, startled me.
As I turned in alarm, a scene met my
eyes that I will not soon forget.
Pouring out of a side street a motley
crowd of women and boys surged up in
my wake to the very building that was
my goal. It was a striding and unique
sight—not a man visible, but every
woman iu the city seemed to be there
yelling for bread.
. For me.to be thus the unwilling leader
of a mob was anything but a pleasant
sensation, and hastening my steps, I
reached the department just before it
was closed against the mob. Halting in
front of the building they vainly sought
to force an entrance. Fearing that they
might have firearms, our chief had given
orders that the ladies should keep • clear
of the windows. But Mother Eve’s vice
‘got the better of us aud we eagerly
watched the crowd as they battered the
doors, at the same time demanding that
money should be given up to them.
Foiled iu their attempt to obtain the
Government’s currency, they turned
their attention to other more accessible
plunder. A milliner’s shop and a shoe
store were quickly sacked and their con
tents appropriated. Decked with the
unlawful spoil, they next proceeded to
break in a bakery and appease tlieir
famished stomachs by emptying tlie
flour into the streets and trampling the
bread beneath tlieir feet. While em
ployed in this congenial occupation they
were interrupted by the arrival of a de
tachment of soldiers, sent by the Gover
nor to disperse the rioters. The troops
opened tire with blank cartridges, with
no other effect than causing a laugh and
jeers fi*om the mob, who seemed amused.
The plundering continued, and there
seemed no way ot' dispersing them with
out using bullets, which the soldiers
were unwilling to do. •
Finally, by charging with the bayo
nets, the military managed to stampede
the crowd without, however, wounding
any of them. They returned to their
homes and gave no further trouble. To
the credit of the women of the South it
should be said that the women who in
spired the riot, though in the South,
were not of it, but the wives principally
of foreigners who, when the war broke
out went North, leaving their wives to
carry on their market gardens and shops
in Richmond, and thereby save their
property. The leader of the riot, a
market gardener, was said to be worth
SIO,OOO in gold. Many of the partici
pants ’were known to be almost as rich,
but tlieir victims were reduced to pov
erty. The leader of the rioters was sen
tenced to the penitentiary. It was
thought in Richmond that it was con
cocted with a view of making the cause
of the Confederacy appear more desper
ate than jt then was, and thereby bring
it in discredit both at home and abroad.
With Malice Afortthought.
He —“Why doe 3 thlt Miss Jaundice
always wear lilies-of-the-valley?”
She—“l can’t imagine—as flowers of
the plain would 'be much more ap
propriate.”— Life.
Is a recent ."Convention of Christian
Endeavor” at Chicago, it vas stated that in
New York, Boston and Chicago there are
2,8»50,000 persons who do not attend churches,
and it was urged that in our own coumry is
the legitimate field of missionary work.
•
REV. DR. TALMAGE.
THE BROOKLYN DIVINE’S SUN
DAY SERMON.
Subject; “Sour Experiences.” Deliv
ered at Chicago, 111.
Text: “ When Jesus therefore had r«-
ceived the vinegar —John xix., 30.
The brigands of Jerusalem hail done their
work. It was aimost sundown, and Jesus
was dying. Persons in cruciflction often lin
gered on from day to day—crying, begging,
cursing; but Christ had been exhausted by
years of maltreatment. Pillowless, poorly fed
flogged—as bent over and tied to a low post—
His bare back was inflamed with the scourges
lntersticed with pieces of lead and bone—
and now for whole hours, the w fight
of his body hung on delicate
tendons, and, according to custom,
a violent stroke under the armpits had been
given by the executioner. Dizzy, swooning,
nauseated, feverish—a world of agony is
compressed in the two words: “I thirst!”
O skies of Judea, let a drop of rain strike on
His burning tongue. O world, with rolling
rivers, and sparkling lakes, and spraying
fountains, give Jesus something to drink. If
there be any pity in earth, or heaven, or hell,
let it now tie demonstrated in behalf of
this royal sufferer. The wealthy women of
Jerusalem used to have a fund of money with
which they provided wine for those people
who died in crucifixion—a powerful opiate
to deaden the pain: but Christ would not
take it. He wanted to die sober, and so He
refused the wine. But afterward they go to
a cup of vinegar and soak a sponge in it, and
put. it on a stick of hyssop, and then press it
against the hot lips of Christ. You say
the wine was an anaesthetic, and intended
to relievo or deaden the pain. But the vine
gar was an insult. I am disposed to adopt
the theory of the old English commentator,
who believed that instead of its being' an
opiate to soothe, it was vinegar to insult.
Malaga and Burgundy for grand dukes and
duchesses, aud costly wines from royal vats
for bloated imperials; but stinging acids for
a dying Christ. He took the vinegar.
In some Ryes the saccharine seems to pre
dominate. Life is sunshine on a bank of
flowers. A thousand hands to clap approval.
In December or in January, looking across
their tables, they see all their family present.
Health rubicund. Skies flamboyant. Days
resilient. But in a great many cases there
are not so many sugars as acids.
The annoyances, and the vexations,
and the disappointments of life
overpower the successes. There is •a.
gravel in almost every shoe. An Arabian
legend says that there was a worm in Solo
mon’s staff, gnawing its strength away; and
there is a weak spot in every earthly support
that a man leans on. King George, of Eng
land, forgot all the grandeurs of his throne
because, one day in au interview, Beau Bum
mell called him by his first name,
and addressed him as a servant,
crying: “George, ring the bell!”
Miss Langdon, honored all the world
over for her poetic genius, is so worried over
the evii reports set afloat regarding her,
that she is found dead, with an empty bottle
of prussic acid in her hand. Goldsmith said
that his lifp was a wretched being, and that
all that want and contempt could bring to it
had been brought, and cries out: “What,
then, is there formidable in a jail?” Correg
gio's fine painting is hung up for a tavern
sign. Hogarth cannot sll his best paintings
except through a raffle. Andrew Delsart
in a kps the great freseoe in the Church of the
Annunciate, at Florence, and gets for pay a
sack of corn; and there are annoyances and
vexations in high places as well as in low
places, showing that in a great many lives
the sours are greater than the Sweets. “When
Jesus therefore had received the vinegar.”
It is absurd t Auppose that a man who lias
always been well can sympathize with those
who are sick; or that one who has always
been honored can appreciate the sorrow of
those who are daspised; or that one who has
been bom.to a goeat fortune can understand
the distress and the straits of those who are
destitute. The fact that Christ Himself,
took the vinegar, makes Him able to sym
pathize to-day and forever with all those
whose cup is filled with sharp acfds of this
life. He took the vinegar.
In the first place, there is the sourness of
betrayal. The treachery of Judas hurt
Chrises feelings morethan all the friendship
of His disciples did®Lm good. You have
had many friends: there was one friend
upon whom you put especial stress. You
feasted him. You loaned him money. You
befriended him in the dark passes of life, when *
he especially needed a friend. Afterward,he
turned upon you, and he took advantage of
your former intimacies. He wrote against
you. He talked against you. He microsco
pized your faults. He flung contempt at you
when-you ought to have received nothing hut
gratitude. At first, j'ou could not sleep at
nights. Then you went about with a sense of
having been stung. That difficulty will
never be healed, for though mutual friends
may arbitrate in the matter until you shall
shake hands, the old cordiality will never
come back. Now, I commend to all such the
sympathy of a betrayed Christ. Why, they
sold Him for less then our twenty dollars!
They ad forsook Him, and fled. They cut
Him to the quick. He drank that cup of be
trayal to the dregs. He took the vinegar.
There is also the sourness of pain. There
are some of you who have not. seen a well
day for many years. By keeping out of
draughts,and by carefully .-study ing dietetics,
yod continue to this time; but, O, the head
aches, and the sideaches, and the backaches, ,
and the heartaches which have been your !
accompaniment all the way through! You j
have strugg e l under a heavy mort- 1
gage 'of physical disabilities, and in
stead of the" placidity that once char
acterized you, it is now' only with great
effort that you keep away from irritability
and sharp retort. Dificulties of respiration,
of digestion, of locomotion, make up the
great obstacle in your life, aud you tug and
sweat along the pathway, and wonder
when the exhaustion will end. My
friends, the brightest crowns in heaven will
not be given to those who, in stirrups,
dashed to the cavalry charge, while the
general applauded, and the sound of clashing
sabres rang through the land; but the
brightest crowns in heaven, I believe,
will be given to 'those who trudged on
anxid chronic- ailments .which unnerved
their strength, yet all the time main
taining their faith in God. It is ’
comparatively easy to fight in a regiment of
a thousand men, charging upon the parapets
to the sound of martial music; but it is not so (
easy to endure when no one but the nurse
and the doctor are the witnesses of the
Christian fortitude, Basides that you never
had any pains worse than Christ’s. The I
sharpnesses that stung through His brain,
through His hands, through His feet, through
His heart, were as great as yotirs certainly.
He was as sick and as weary. Not a nerve,
or muscle, or ligament escaped. All the
pangs of all the nations of all the ages com
pressed into one sour cup. He took the vine
gar!
There is also the sourness of poverty. Y‘our
income does not meet your outgoings, and
that always gives an honest man anxiety,
There is no sign of destitution about you—
pleasant appearance, and a cheerful home
for you; but God only knows what a time
you have had to manage your private
finances. Just as the bills run up,
the wages seem to run down. But
you are not "the only ono who has
not been paid for hard work. The great
AA r ilkie sold his celebrated piece, “The Blind
Fiddler,” for fifty guineas, although after
ward it brought its thousands. The world
hangs in admiration over the sketch of
Gainsborough, yet that very sketch huug for
years in the shop window because
there was. not any purchaser. Oliver
Goldsmith sold his “Vicar of AA'ake
fleld” lor a few pounds in order to
keep the bailiff out of the door; and ?he vast
majority of men in all occupations nd pro
fessions are not fully paid for tlieir work.
You may say notliing, Aul .life to you is a
hard push; and when y<B-g§it down with your
wife and talk over you botWirise
up discouraged You * abridge here, and'
you abridge there, and .you get things
snug for smooth sailings, aud lo! suddenly
mere is a large doctor’s "biTl to pay, or you
have lost your pocket-book, or some creditor
| has failed, and you are thrown a-beam end.
; Well, brother, you are in glorious company.
Christ owned not the house in which he
stopped, or the colt on which He rode, or the
j boat in which he sailed. Be lived in a
j borrowed house; He was buried in a bor
| rowed grave. Exposed to all kinds of
; weather, yet He had only one suit of clothes.
He breakfasted in the morning, and no one
j could possibiy tell where He could get any
thing to eat before night. He would
j have been pronounced a financial fail
| ure. Ho had to perform a miracle
ito get money to pay a tax-bill.
Not a dollar did He own. Privation of
domesticity; privation of nutritious food;
privation of a comfortable couch on which
to sleep; privation of all worldly resources.
The kings of the earth had chased chalices
out of which to drink; but Christ had noth
ing but a plain cup set before Him. and it
was very sharp, and it was very sour. He
took the vinegar.
There also is the sourness of bereavement.
There were years that passed along before
your family circle was invaded by death:
but the moment the charmed circle was
broken, everything seemed to dissolve. Hard
ly have j’ou put the black apparel in the
wardrobe, before you have again to take it
out. Great and rapid changes in youi
family record. You got the house
and rejoiced in it, but the charm
was gone as soon as the crape hung on the
door-bell. The one upon whom you’most de
pended was taken away from you. A cold
marble slab lies on your heart to-day. Once,
as the children romped through the house,
you put your hand over your aching head,
and said: “Oh. if I could only have it still.”
Oh, it is too still now. "You lost your
patience when the tops, and the strings, and
the shells were left amid floor; but oh, you
would be willing to have the trinkets scat
tered all over the floor again, if they were
scattered by the same hands. With what a
ruthless ploughshare bereavement rips up the
heart But .Jesus knows all about that. You
cannot tell him anything new in regard
to bereavement. He had only a few friends,
and when He lost one it brought tears to His
eyes. Lazarus had often entertained Him at
his house. Now Lazarus is dead and buried,
and Christ breaks down with emotion—the
convulsion of grief shuddering through all
the ages of bereavement. Christ knows what
. it is to go throughjthe house missing a familiar
inmate. Christ knows what itts to see an
unoccupied place at the table. AVere there
'not four of them—Maryland Martha, and
Christ and Lazarus? Lonely and afllicted
Christ, His great loving eyes filled with
tears, which drop from eye to cheek, and
from cheek to beard, and from beard to
robe, and from robe to floor. Oh, yes, yes,
He knows all about the loneliness and the
heartbreak. He took the vinegar!
Then there is the sourness of the death
hour. Whatever else we may escape, that
acid-sponge will be pressed to our lips. I
sometimes have a curiosity to know now I
will behave when I come to die. YA'hether I
will be calm or excited—whether I will be
filled with reminiscence or anticipation. I
cannot say. But come to the point, I
must and you must. In the six thousand
years that have passed, only two persons have
fot into the eternal world without death, and
do not suppose that God is going to send a
carriage for us with horses of flame, to draw
us up the steeps of heaven; but 1 suppose we
will have to go like the preceding genera
tions. An officer from the future world
will knock at the door of our heart and
serve on us the writ of ejectment, and we
will have to surrender. And we will wake
up arter these autumnal, and wintry, and
vernal, and summery glories have vanished
from our vision—we will wake up into a
realm which has only one season, and
that the season of everlasting love.
But you say: “I don’t want to break
out from my present associations. It is
so chilly and so damp to go down
the stairs of that vault. I don’t want any
thing drawn so tightly over my eyes. If
there were only some way of breaking
through the partition between worlds with
out?. tearing this body all to shreds. I
wonder if the surgeons and the doctors can
not compound a mixture by which this body
and soul can all the time be kept to
gether? Is there no escape from
separation?” . None; absolutely
ns». So I look over this audience to-day—
the vast majority of you seeming in good
health and spirits —and yet I realize that in a
short time all of us will be gone—gone from
earth, and gone for ever. A great many men
tumble through the gates of the future, as it
wAp, and we do not know where
tray have gone, and they only add
§lqom and mystery to the passage;
but Jesus Christ .so mightily stormed
■the gates of that future world, that they have
never since been closely shut. Christ knows
what it is to leave this world, of the beauty
or which He was more appreciative than we
ever could be. He knows the exquisiteness
of the phosphoresence of the sea; He trod it.
He knows the glories of the.midnight heav
ens: for they were the spangled canopy of
His wilderness pillow. He knows, about
the lilies. He twisted them into His sermon.
He knows about the'fowls of the air; they
whirred tiieir way through his discourse.-
He kno.ws about the sorrows'of leaving this
beautiful -world. Notoi tqper was kindled in
the darkness. He died physicianless. He
died in cold Sweat,- and dizziness,- and hemor
rhage, n«d agony that haye put Him
pathy with all tM flying. He goes .through
Christendom, and He gathers up the stings
out of'ail the death pillows, 'and He puts
tHem Under -liis own neck and head. He
gatjiers on His own tongue the burning
thirsfS of marty - gc»erations. . The sponge is
soaked in the sorrows of all those who per
ished in icy or fiery,martyrdom. W hile
heaven pitying, and earth was mocking,
and hell was dFriding; He took the vinegar!
To all those in this audience Jlo whom life
has lieon an acerbity—a dose.they could not
swallow, a draught that set their teeth on
edge and a-rasping—l preach the omnipo
tent sympathy of Jesus ■ Christ- The sister
of Herschel, the astronomer, use i to
help him in his work. He..got all the
credit; she got none. She used to
spend much of her time polishing the
telescopes through which he brought
the distant worlds nigh, and it is my am
bition now, this hour, to clear the lens of
your spiritual vision, so that looking .through
the dark night of your earthly troubles you
may behold the glorious constellation of a
Saviour's mercy and a Saviour’s love. O, my
friends, do not trv to carry,all your ills
alone. _Do not put your poor shoulder under
the Apennines when the Almighty Christ is
ready to lift up ail your burd :ns. AA'hen you
have a bur-leri of any kind, you rush this
way ami. that way: and you wonder what
tliis man will say about it, and what that*
man-will say afiout.it; and you try Jb'.s
ecription, and that prescription, and the
other prescription. O, why do you not go.
straight to the heart of Christ, knowing that’
tor our own sinning aud suffering ractf, He
took the vinegar. . <
There was a vessel that had been tossed on
the seas for a great many weeks, and been
disabled, and the supply of water gave out,
and the crew were dying of thirst. After
many days, they saw a sail against the sky.
They signaled it. AVhen the vessel came
nearer, the people on the suffering ship cried
to the captain of tho other vessel: “Send
us some water. We are dying for lack of
water.” And the captain on the vessel that
was hailed responded: “Dip your buckets
where vou are. You are in the mouth of the
Amazon, and there are scores of miles of fresh
water all around about you, and hundreds
of feet deep. ” And then they dropped their
buckets over the side of the vessel, and
brought up the clear, bright, fresh water,
aud put out the fire of their thirst. So I hail
you to-day, after a long and perilous voyage,
thirsting as you are for pardon,
and thirsting for comfort, and. thirsting
tor eternal life; apd I ask you what is the use
of your going iii that death-struck state,
while all around you is the deep, clear, wide,
sparkling flood of God’s sympathetic mercy..
U. drp your buckets, And drink, and live for
ever. “Whosoever will, let him come and
take of the-water of life freely.”
Yet my utterance is almost choked at the
thought that there are people here who will
refuse this divine sympathy: and they will
try re fight their own battles, and drink
their own vinegar, and carry their own
burdens; and their life, instead of being
a triumphal march from victory to victory
will be a hobbling-on from defeat to defeat,
until they make final surrender to retributive
disaster. O, I wish I could to-day' gather up
my arms all the woes of men and women—
all their heart-aches—all their disappoint
ments—all their chagrins—and just take
them right to the feet of a sympathizing
Jesus. He took the vinegar.
Nana Sahib, after he had lost his last bat
tle in India, fell back into the jungles of Iheri
—jungles so full of malaria that no mortal
can live there. -He carried with him also
a ruby of great lustre and of great
value. He died in those jungles;
his body was never found, and the, ruby
has never yet been recovered. And I fear
that to day there are some who will fall
back from this subject into the sickening,
killing jungles of their sin, carrying s gem of
infinite value—a priceless soul—te be lost
forever. O, that that ruby might flash
in the eternal coronation. But no.
There are some, I fear, in this andience who
turn away from this offered mercy, and com
fort, and Divine sympathy; notwithstanding
that Christ, for all who would accept His
grace, trudged the long way, and suffered
the lacerating thongs, and received in
face the expectorations of the _ filthy
mob, and for the guilty, and the discour
aged, and the discomforted of the race, took
the vinegar. May God Almighty break the
infatuation, and lead yon out into the strong
hope, and the good cheer, and the glorious
sunshine of this triumphant Gospel.
His Letter.
It is one of the postal laws that a let
ter or other mail matter dropped into a
letter-box passes from the ownership of
the sender the moment it goes into the
box, and must go through the regular
course of the mails and to the person
to whom it is addressed before it can be
recovered. Amusing results sometime*
come from this law. A letter-carrier
was taking the mail from the box one
afternooon when he was hastily ap
proached by a young man with an anx
ious face, who had evidently been run
ningfor some distance. ’
“Here! ' Stop!” cried the.youn'g man.
“There’s a letter there in the box that I
want. ”
“But you can’t have it.” said the post
man. » IST
-‘Why, its my Own; I wrote it my
self. It’s addressed to —”
“That makes no difference,’’interrupt
ed the carrier; “the letter must now go
to the person to whom it is addressed.”
“Why, I—l—the young man be
gan, in a frightened and bewildered
tone, “it must not. go to—to—her. I
made a mistake in addressing it. There,
that’s the letter—that one in the cream
tinted envelope with the red seal! Please
let me have it.”
“Can’t do it,” said the postman,
firmly.
“I wrote it. I can tell you every word
that’s in it. Great Scott, man! I would
not have that letter go for a thousand
dollars! I just must have it back,”
“You can’t get it back from me,” said
the postman, with increased firmness.
“You can go down to the office if you
want to, and see the postmaster or sup
erintendent of mails. If they’ll give it
up, all right.”
A fehv moments later the distressed
young man was closeted with the post
master, and stammering out that he
had written a most interesting and im
portant proposition in a letter to a young
lady named Helen Souther, and a note
accepting an invitation to another young
lady who also happened to. be named
Helen—Helen Wills. ”
He had not the slightest desire to mar
ry Miss Wills, but she would certainly
read, and perhaps accept, his proposal
if lie could not have it again and put it
in an envelope that was now lying at
home on his desk addressed to Mis*
Souther, but which contained the note
not intended for her.
The postmaster, having some discre
tionary powers in the case, aud under
standing how harrowing the young man’s
feelings must be, restored the letter to
the ‘writer, who went away, saved from
somethihg too dreadful to think about.
Youth's Companion.
Vampire Superstition iu Servia.
The Pester Lloyd reports from Belgrade
what narrowly escaped being a fatal case
of shameful' superstition. The police
found a few nights ago, lying in the
street, the body of a man apparently
frozen to delithi Efforts to revive him
failed, and his identity, having been as
certained he. -was handed over to liia
family for interifient. The. cemetery
was a considerable way distant, and as it
was being reached the driver of the
hearse told the priest, who attended for
, religious service, that he heard some
noise in the coffin. The clergyman and
others drawing near also heard the noise,
and all ran away lest a vampire should
issue from it and attack them. The
driver, terrified at finding himself alone,
turned about and drove the hearse to
the nearest police station. Bv this time
a knocking was distinctly audible. The
coffin was forced open, and the man was
f<ynd niive and in a very exhausted
state. He complained pathetically of
the attempt to bury him despite his re
monstrances. He was taken to the hos
pital and has nearly recovered. He had
been spending the evening with some
boon companions, and w’fcndering in a
state of intoxication felL>eiKr*became in
sensibte from the cold. Probably the
jolting of the hearse revived him. It is
a superstition in Servia and among many
Slav pimple that when a man dies sud
denly Iris spirit returns as a vampire,
and preys ou his near relatives and
friends. *
A Fighting Judge.
In Lexington, Ivy., at the old Broad
way one night many years ago,
the famous Thomas F. Marshall, wit
and orator, wa^''engaged at a game of
billiards . with Judge John Rowan, a
brilliant jurist, in Whose honor the
county dl Rowan, late become notorious
for outlawry, was named. The game
they were playing was on one o f the old
fashioned billiard tables which had
pockets at the corners. The strong
poinfin Judge Rowan’s game was his
remarkable capacity-for pocketing balls,
an evidence that he would, if he flour
ished 'now, be an-accomplished fifteen
ball pool jdaygr. .
During the progress of the game a
spectator said to Mr.- -Marshall :
“Judge Rowan is quite au adept at
putting in balls.”
“Yes,”' replied Tom, “and nobody
ought to know' that better than I, for
I’ve been carrying one, ever since, that
he put intome ten years ago.”
- Marshall aud Rowan, years before
that, had fought a duel in which tfle
bellicose judge had “caught his man.’*
—Artjnsdw Tretceler.