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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.