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MTHTNCS.
BY .-RED LUCCA sqciehs.
T\'!.oi> tin* stars— mvatic lights ! — from the keav
tlr;B look down,
Ai <1 tli>' mi 0,1 fills the soul with its pain—
Eliall w. long—but to lung!—shall fruition ne'er
crown V
Can the embers bum low but in vain?
Wl -u tli' asbr., of matter unite with the soul,
When t ; e f:u itive, Hope, turns to fly—
rkuli tv.- eeaso then to care‘.’—shall we burn the
scroll V
Let our a rrows, unheodod, pass by?
Ehall w o care, when we’rs old, that our life’s
early dream
Chased a phant'sy alone but of thought?
Shall we cure that our love, though our love it
mi lit poem.
Proved, ::: time, not the love that wo sought!
Kay, I guess that our guerdons sometime come
Whin’ - , p in or the bliss is first felt;
Whether woe or its no is the best, ’tis oft thus
That a saint in a martyr hath knelt?
I if i ip jjjjm FS
iilUUlJj li Dili! DU,
OR,
ABBIIOTED BY THE BUSH
WHACKERS.
A Story of the War in
the Southwest
BY ARVIDE 0. BALDWIN.
CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued.
“The house, the house! Quick or they’re
lost!” said John, springing over the brush
and flying to the dwelling. The others fol
lowed, and arrived just in time to see John
grasp the sizzling fuse, tear it from its
fastening and throw it from him. In an
other moment the house would have been
blown to pieces, for the villains had pried
from the foundation a stone and placed in
the cavity a keg of powder, and when John
reached the burning fuse it was almost be
yond his reach.
Our hero had but little time to think, after
he had disposed of this great danger, when
two guns appeared around the corner of
building, and two determined men were
backing them up.
John, at a glance, saw here another dan
ger that he and his companions were in.
They were likely to be mistaken for ene
mies and shot by their friends. The muz
zles of the guns were not ten feet away,
and pointed directly at him. Up went his
bands as he commanded them not to shoot
“We are friends, Henry! Don’t shoot!’*
he cried.
A dark figure shot past him in the dim
light, and stopped between him and the
deadly guns. At that instant the crash
came, one of the guns had vomited
forth its deadly charge, and the dark form
sank, with a groan, to the ground between
them.
“My God! What have you done! What
have you done!” cried John, forgetful of
everything but that a terrible tragedy had
been enacted there.
CHAPTER XIV.
A HERO’S death
He bent over the prostrate form before
him, and there, in the dikkness that should
envelope such a scene, he beheld the form
of Ms faithful slave and friend, Jeff, the
negro. As he recognized the fast friend
who had been so faithful to him and hid
family, and knew that he had deliberately
stepped between him and mortal danger,
and was now to lose his life for the act, hid
form shook with emotion, and the sobs of
the strong man broke mournfully over the
scene.
“My God, what an affliction!” he moaned.
“Poor Jeff! Poor Jell!”
“Is yer safe, Marse John?” came the ques
tion faintly from the poor negro.
“Yes, yes, Jeff. But I would rather bd
dead than have life at such a cost, ” was thd
answer.
“I’s a happy niggar, den! I kin die in
peace. ”
John felt his pulse, and at once sat#
that the last hours of the noble negro wera
at hand.
“Marse John?-”
“Yes. Jeff. What is it?”
“Please took me ter Sylva.'
“Can you bear to be moved?” asked donn.
“I kin stand it ter see her,” was tb.d
answer.
They tenderly raised him from the ground
and carried the limp form in and laid it
quietly on the Ded.
The entire household was stricken with
grief at this terrible afHiction, for there wad
none about the mansion who was loved
more than was this poor negro, who cheer
fully laid down his life for his master.
Sylva’s grief was heartrending. She
could not believe that her dusky lover, to
whom she had given her best affections,
could be so near death’s door.
John led her to the bedside, and there
she stood quaking and shivering with un
bounded grief.
“Jeff, I have brought Sylva.”
A dusky hand reached out and wa#
clasped in the two hands of the weeping
negress.
“God bress yer, honey!” came slowly and
painfully from the dying man.
The people went away for a few minutes
and left the two alone with their grief.
"What passed between the negro lovers at
that last painful interview no one but those
directly interested ever knew, but when
the family returned both were calm and re
signed.
“Margo John, has I been a good nigger?”
Jeff asked.
“Jeff, a better heart than yours no man
has got.” And John took his hand.
“Is I good, Marse John, good
“Of course vou are, Jeff. We all know
that. ” v
“Is I good enough Her git ter hehbin?”
“I believe you are. If any one goes ta
heaven, I believe yon will, Jeff, for you hava
always been a church member, and tried to j
be a consistent one. ”
“Could yer read for me a little in d#
Bible. Marse John?”
John opened the family Bible, and some)
how it happened that it was at the Epistle
of John, fifteenth chapter.
John commenced to read. The lines from
the
stricken people. When John reached th#
passage where it says: “Greater love hath nd
man than this, that a man lay down his life
for his friends,” a look of great happines#
overspread the face of the dying negro.
“I’s gitin’ col’, Marse John, but I’s ready
ter go. ”
He then called each of the family up and
took an affectionate farewell. While the
friends abont were weeping, a calm, re
signed look overspread his countenance. ]
“Miss Lillie,” he said, as the two fait
hands clasped his cold, clammy one, “you’#
alters bin a good chile, and dis ole niggei
Would hev done died fer yer any time, but
A* nearly gone now. Please sometime#
remember yer 010 nigger frien’, Jeff."
Tears and sobs came in spite of all her
eh oris to control her feelings, and she could
only exclaim:
“God bless you. Jeff! God bless you!”
Near by sat Sylva, calm and quiet, but it
was the calmness of despair.
“Marse John. ’’
“What, Jett?”
“Is yer darkenin’ the winder?”
“No, Jett - , no one is in the light.”
“Den I’s nearly gone! I can’t see no
mo’.”
After a moment he asked for Lillie.
“What can I do for you, Jeff?” she,asked.
“Sing, ‘Jesus, lubber ob my soul,’
please.”
For nr instant the words trembled on
the fair girl's lips, and f then the melody
broke on the air, and the rich voice of the
girl, and the peculiar circumstances, gave it
an effect that was never again experienced
by the people there on that sad occasion.
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
As the last word sank away, Jeff partly
raised himself up, and reaching out his
hands, looked rapturously up:
“I’s er cummin’, blessed Lawd! I’s ei
cummin’.”
These were the last words that the lips
of the noble colored man ever uttered. He
fell back upon the bed; his eyes closed;
his hands rested calmly on his breast; he
was dead!
The loss of such a friend, and at such a
time, our friends knew was a great calam
ity, and it was truly a mourning people
that watched at the bedside of the dead that
night.
The next day the household assembled
in the little family burving-ground, to pay
the last sad tribute to the memory of the
noble Jeff, and deposited the remains in
the ground.
John read the burial service, and a fer
vent prayer was offered. Then there was
nothing left above the earth of the negro
that was faithful unto death but the mem
ory of him in the hearts of his friends,
which was as irrevocable as the stars of
heaven.
The men in the mansion now knew that
they had the advantage of the bushwhack
ers, and they determined to follow it up.
They made preparations to go to the river,
and on the following morning early they
started. They took an untraveled route,
and reached the river again below the camp.
Everything was still except the chirping
of the squirrels in the branches of the
trees.
Sqon they reached a point from where
they could look into the camp. The lire
was out, and not a being in sight. They
went closer and soon saw that the camp was
deserted.
In looking about they soo i found a
large, freshly built mound. Our friends
knew why it had been built, and what it
contained. Ilocks had been piled on top to
keep out wild animate, for there were
Beveral now inoffensive bushwhackers
buried beneath.
Our friends could not tell how many of
their foes were lying there, but the number
appeared quite respectable.
The meu continued on up the river,
thinking that the remaining men might
have established their camp at the place
where Lillie had been held a prisoner, but
when they arrived there they found noth
ing but a smoldering ruin. The prison
had been fired when the men vacated the
camp.
John and his friends were confident that
the bushwhackers had left the locality, they
hoped never to return.
Who of them had been killed in the late
encounter none could tell, but that there
was only a small number left no one could
doubt, for at least half the attacking band
had been buried by the plantation hands,
back of the Eddies mansion, the next day
after the fight.
They now had some hopes of a short
peace, and felt relieved as they retraced
their steps homeward. Of course they
feared that they were likely to again be
bothered by these brush-thieves, who were
robbing others of their property to enrich
themselves.
The Eddies people were the only ones in
this whole region who had successfully re
sisted the robbers; and they had either
gone for assistance to try and destroy them
or had become dispirited at their many
repulses and great Joss of life, and given
them up as invincible.
Time passed monotonously by at the
mansion. There then began to be rumors
of the approach of soldiers. It seemed now
that this part of Arkansas was to see some
of the severe effects of war.
CHARTER XV.
CONCLUSION.
The news reached our friends at the
Eddies mansion that a battle between the
Confederate and Union troops had been
fought at Wilson’s Creek, near Springfield,
in Missouri, and that the Confederates had
won, and slain the Union General, Lyon.
In the following month they learned that
Price had captured Lexington, in the same
State. After that straggling bands of sol
diers began to pour into Northwestern Ar
kansas, and the people at the plantation
then learned that the Union forces had
driven the entire Confederate force out of
Missouri. #
Horses and cattle were driven away from
the plantation by soldiers, or gangs
thieves who followed in the wake of the
army.
Nothing had ever been seen of Edom
Woodsley since the fatal fight back of the
mansion. Whether he was wounded then,
and died of his wounds, or whether he was
one of the small band who left the river
camp so suddenly, immediately after,
none could tell; but that his hateful pres
ence was never seen again by our hero and
frieuds was a fact that had great consola
tion in it.
One day Henry Arno surprised his
friends by telling them that he had madq
up his mind to east his fortunes with the
Confederate army.
This was a severe blow to all, especially
to Lillie, but she said not a word.
“I had almost made my mind up to do
the same thing on the Union side, as soon
a» they gtee me a chance,” said John; “hut
I will send the ladies through the lines
first ”
Not a word had been said in regard to the
matter, for each knew the feelings of
the other, and so one day when Henry
told the folks ihat he had joined the forces
of Van Dorn, the Confederate General, it
was taken as a natural consequence.
There were enough soldiers in the vicin
ity to protect life, so there was no excuse
for not going.
As spring was approaching Henry was al
lowed a short furlough. Of course he
passed it at the mansion. His manner was
restrained, and he did not seem natural.
After a little John and he took an arm-in
arm walk around tho premises.
“John, it is necessary, absolutely neces
sary. ” said Heury.
“Well, if you believe so, I must act at
once. ”
“It is true,” said Henry, “and I would
suffer the loss of my right arm sooner than
betray a friend, and such a friend!”
“But where shall we go?” asked John.
“You and Gunn and his friend can go
into the cave on Prairie Creek. I think wo
are the only ones who know where it is, so
you will be safe. I will see that no harm
comes to the ladies. ”
John told the ladies the circumstances,
and, when they saw how matters stood,
they were resigned, and it was decided that
when evening came they should take suffi
cient food, baskets, etc., and repair to the
cave.
John could not fight against bis prin
ciples, and when Henry informed him that
he would certainly be conscripted into the
Confederate army, and compelled to fight
or die, he did what he never could have
been persuaded to do under any other cir
cumstances, hide away.
As his two frieuds were of his opinion
and ihclination, they shared his cave hos
pitality with thankfulness.
The seventh day of March came, and
early in the day our friends began to hear
the roar of artillery, and as thunders rever
berated from hill’to hill, our friends, in
their retreat, knew that a terrible battle was
racing.
’ When night came the noise ceased, but
at the break of day it once more began, but
with redoubled fury. The ground trembled
and small particles of stone rattled from
the sides of the cave in which were our
friends.
The battle of Pea llidge was being fought.
In the evening two lithe female figures
entered the cave.
John?”
"Lillie! Laura!” he exclaimed, “howdoes
it come that you are here and at this iaie
hour?”
| “ Como, we can go now, ” was all she said,
and they prepared to depart. As they went
toward the plantation the ladies told of the
battle and its disastrous consequences to
the Confederate forces.
“They are retreating toward Fayetteville, ”
! 3aid Laura, “and Henry only had time to
3fop and say good-by. He remembered
you with his regards.”
Little did they then think that it would
be three long, weary years before they
would again see the face of their loved
: friend and brother.
John and his friends held a consultation
In tho mansion that night. It almost broke
the hearts of the fond mothers to be separ
ated from their two faithful sous, but men
I “fight and women weep” in war.
John told the ladies that here was a chance
j to safely pass through the lines North, and
that it would not do to longer remain,
unprotected, in such a turbulent country,
and that he would, on the morrow, get
passes for them.
“After you are once through, go to Uncle
Norton’s, in < ihio,” John suggested, “and
fie will assist you in buying such a home as
you may desire. Ihere you will be quiet
and unmolested.”
"I am so grateful to get away from these
exciting scenes, but it is terrible to leave
my son here!” the poor mother said as the
tears trickled down her sorrowing face.
Two days later the Eddies and Arno
ladies left the State of Arkansas forever.
1 John accompanied them safely through tho
lines, and returning joined Ips regiment at
Fayetteville.
It is now a little more Jwn three yenrs
since we have seen our fn \(Js. May, the
month of flowers, has come. AVe now find
ourselves in a thriving little c-ity ia the
State of Ohio. We go up one of time
lovely shaded aveuues, where some of the
nicest cottages in the city are fo incl, and
we come to one of the most spacious and
elegant ones ou the street. Here we stop.
Hark! That sounds like music! We will
Step in. Thus it is that we find ourselves
once more in the presence of our friends.
“What God hath joined together let no
man put asunder. ”
We are just in time to see John Eddies
and Laura Arno step from under the mas
sive, flowery marriage bell and receive the
congratulations of th-ir friends. Henry
Arno and the lovely Lillie now step forward,
and we again behold two more of our friends
‘•bound by the fetters of love,” and, as the
pastor slowly and solemnly asks the bless
ings of heaven on their heads, we heartily
say, “Amen.”
| It is with unspeakable pleasure that we
see the smiles of joy on the faces of the
mothers of the happy couples as they lov
ingly kiss the quartette.
This happy day has made all recollections
of former trouble fade away, and they do
not look a day older than when we last saw
them.
There is Sylva. looking with unfeigned
joy upon the great happiness of the young
people before her, but occasionally a look
of pain flits across the dark face.
It may be that she is thinking of the past
—of a noble-minded, brave negro, who was
buried on the Eddies plantation, down in
Arkansas, during the eventful times of ’6l.
Yes, there in a corner are our friends,
companions in trouble, William Gunn and
Sim Dorn. Their faces are wreathed in
smiles, and they aro so finely dressed they
seem disguised
Perhaps that is why we did not reegmze
them sooner.
While they are all so happy and content
ed let us leave them.
We have now only one more place to
visit, and then we are done.
A few years since we were passing
through Northwestern Arkansas, and we
stopped at a private cemetery, a few rods
from the Wire Road. Near one of the
graves was a massive tablet, and carved on
its face was this simple inscription:
To the Memory o
JEI-F
This Stone Is Sacred.
***
Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man will lay down his
life for his friends. ”
Ithe end.]
Married While Dying.
Miss Mary Stauffer, an attractive
young woman, 18 years of age, was mar
ried, at Schuykill Haven, to Luke
Fisher. In less than five minutes after
the ceremony had been performed the
bride died, sm - rouuded by her weeping
husband and family. An hour or two
previous she had been walking ia a field
near the house, and her dress caught
tire from a heap of burning brush. She
ran screaming, andjier cries brought to
her aid «. party of farm laborers, among
them Luke Fisher, to whom she was to
have been married the next week. There
was nothing at hand with which to put
out the tire, and Fisher picked her up
and carried her to a hogshead of water
and plunged her into it. He was him
self scorched, and the young woman
sustained frightful injuries.
Miss Stauffer was carried into the
house, and though suffering the most
excruciating pain, she expressed a wish
to be married before she died. The
Rev. Mr. Feger was called in, and had
hardly pronounced the words that made
her Mr. Fisher's wife when she became
unconscious and soon expired.
Where the Fault Rested.
Tic—“l was r-o mortified that you
should see me fall from my hicyle. Miss
Ma.idie, but I can assure you that the
r au’t rested entirely on the bicycle.”
“Yes, fora moment, Mr. Geelip, and
the i the bicycle rested entirely on the
fauli.” Xeic York Sn.
A man in Akron, Ohio, asks $75,000
damages for the loss of a finger. Esti
mating a finger at $75,000, what is a full
hand worth?
REV. Dlt. TALMAGE.
THE BROOKLYN DIVINE’S SUN
DAY SERMON.
Subject: “Queer Christ lans”—Deliv
ered at the Piedmont (Ga.)
Chautauqua.
Text; “And he teas angry and would
not go in. —Luke xv., 28.
Is the elder son of the parable so un
sympathetic and so cold that he is not
worthy of recognition? The fact is, that we
ministers pursue.the younger son. You can
hear the (lapping of his rags in many a
sermonic breeze, and the crunching of the
pods for which he was an unsuccessful con
testant. I confess that fora long tune I was
unable to train the camera obscura upon tho
elder son of the parable. I never could get
a negative for a photograph. There
was not enough light in the gallery,
or the chemicals were poor, or the
sitter moved m the picture. But now I
think 1 have him. Mot a side-lace, or a
three-quarters, or the mere bust, but a full
length portrait as lie appears to me. The
father in the parable of the prodigal had
nothing to brag of in his two sons. The one
was a rake and the other a churl. 1 find
nothing admirable in the dissoluteness of the
one, and I find nothing attractive in the
acrid sobriety of the other. The one goes
down over the larboard side, and the other
goes down over the starboard side; but they
both go down.
From the window of the old homestead
bursts the minstrelsy. The floor quakes with
the feet of the rustics, whose dance is always
vigorous and resounding. Tho neighbors
have heard of the i eturn of the younger son
from his wanderings, and they have gath
ered together. The house is full of congrat
ulators. 1 suppose the tables are loaded |
with luxuries. Not only ihe one kind ofi
meat mentioned, but its concomitants.
“Clap!” go the cymbals, “thrum!” go the
harps, “click!” go tho chalices, up and down
go the feet inside, while outside is a most
sorry spectacle.
The senior son stands at the corner of the
house, a frigid phlegmatic. He has just
come in from the fields in very substantial
apparel. Seeing some wild exhilarations
around tho old mansion, he asks of a servant
passing by with a goatskin of wane on his
shoulder, what all tho fuss is about. One
would have thought that on hearing that his
younger brother had got back he would have
gone into the house and rejoiced, and
if he were not conscientiously op
posed to dancing, that he would
have joined in the Oriental schottische.
No. There he stands. His brow lowers.
His lips curl with contempt. He stamp.s
the ground with indignation. He sees
nr thing at all to attract. The odors of the
feast coming out on the air do not sharpen
his appetite. The lively music dots not put
any spring into his step. He is in a terrible
pout. He criticises the expense, tho in
justice, and the moral of the entertainment.
The father rushes out bareheaded, and
coaxes him to come in. He will not go in.
He scolds tho father. He goes into,
a pasquinade against the younger
brother, and he makes the most un
comely scene. He says: “Father, you
put a premium on vagabondism. I stayed
at home and worked on the farm. You never
made a party for me; you didn’t so much as
kill a kid, that wouldn’t have cost half so
much as a calf; but the scapegrace went off
in fine clott es, and he comes back not fit to
be seen, and what a time you make over
him! He breaks your heart, and you pay
him for it. That calf to which we have been
giving extra feed during all these weeks
wouldn't be so fat and sleek if I had known
to what use you were going to put it! That
vagabond deserves to be cowhided instead of
banqueted. Veal is too good for him!”
That evening, while the younger son sat tell
ing his father about his adventures, and ask
ing about what had occurred on the place
since his departure, the senior brother goes
to bed digusted, and slams the door after him.
That senior brother still lives. Vou can see
him any Sunday, any day of the week. At
a meeting of ministers in Germany some one
asked the question: “Who is that elder
son:” and Krummacher answered, “I know
him; I saw him yesterday.” And when they
insisted upon knowing whom he meant, ho
said: “Myself; when I saw the account of
the'eonversion of a most abnoxious man, I
was irritated.”
First, this senior brother of the text stands
for the self-congratulatory, seif satisfied,
self-worshipful man. the same breath
in which he vituperates a’Winst his younger
brother he utters a panegyric for himself.
The self-righteous man of my text, like every
other self-righteous man, was full of faults.
He was an ingrate, for he did not appreciate
the home blessings which he had all those
years. He was disobedient, for when
the father told him to come in, he
stayed out. He was a liar, for
he said that the recreant son had devoured
his father’s living. when tho father, so far
from being reduced to penury, had a home
stead left, had instruments of music, had
a mansion, and instead of being a pauper,
was a prince. This senior brother, with so
many faults of his own, was merciless in his
criticism of the younger brother. The only
perfect people that I have ever known were
utterly obnoxious. I was never so badly
cheated in all my life as by
a perfect man. He got so far
up in his devotions that he vvas clear up
above all the rules of common honesty.
These men that go about prowling among
prayer meetings, and in places of business,
telling how good they are. look out for them;
keep your hand on your poeketbook! I have
noticed that just in proportion as a man gets
good he gets humble. The ddep Mississippi
does not make as much noise as the brawling
mountain rivulet. There lias teen many a
Btore that had more goods in the show win
dow than inside on the shelves.
This self-righteous man of the text stood at
the corner of the house hugging himself in
admiration. We hear a great deal in our
day about the higher life. Now, there aro
two kinds of higher-life men. The one aro
admirable, and the other are most repulsive.
The one kind of higher-life man is very
lenient in his criticism of others, does not
bore prayer-meetings to death with long har
rangues, does not ta.k a great doql about him
self but much about Christ and heaven, gets
kindlier, and more gentle and more useful
until one day his soul spreads a wing and he
flies away to eternal rest, and everybody
mourns his departure. The other higher life
man goes around with a Bible conspicuously
under his arm, goes from church to church,a
sort of general evangelist: is a nuisance to his
own pastor when heisat home,and a nuisance
toother pastors when he is away from home;
runs up to some man who is counting out a
roll of bank bills, or running up a difficult
line of figures, and asks him how his soul
is: makes religion a dose of ipecacuanha;
standing in a religious meeting making n .n
address, he has a patronizing way, as though
ordinary Christians were elear away down
below him, so he had to talk at the top of his
voice in order to make them hear, but at the
same time encouraging them to hope on; that
by climbing many veal’s they may after
awhile come up within sight of the place
where he now stands! I tell you plainly that
a roaring, roystering, bouncing sinner is not
so repulsive to me as that higher-life malfor
mation. The former may repent;
the latter never gets " over his
Pharisaism. The younger brother of
the parable came back, but the senior
brother stands outside entirely oblivious of
his own delinquencies and deficits, pronounc
ing his own eulogium. Oh, how much easier
it is to blame others than to blame ourselves!
Adam blamed Eve, Eve blamed the serpent,
the serpent blamed the devil.the senior broth
er blamed the younger brother, and none of
them blamed themselves.
Again, the senior brother of my text stands
for all those who are faithless about the re
formation of the dissipated and the dissolute.
In the very tones of his voice you can hear
the fact that he has no faith that the reform
ation of the younger son is genuine. His
entire manner seems to say: “That
boy has come back for more money.
He got a third of the property; now
he has come back for another third. He
will never be contented to stay on the farm.
He vvfiTTalT away. T woul lgo in too and re
joice with the others if I thought this thing
was genuine; but is is a sham. That boy is
a confirmed inebriate and debauchee.” Alas!
my friends, for the incredulity in the Church
of Christ in regard to tho reclama
tion of tho recreant. You say a man has
been a strong drinker. Isay: “Yes, but he
has reformed.” “Oh,” you say, with a lugu
brious face, “I hope you are not mistaken, I
hope you are not mistaken.” You say:
“Don't rejoice too much over his conversion,
for soon he will be unconverted, I fear.
Don’t make too big a party for that returned
prodigal, or strike the timbrel too loud; and
if you kill a calf, kill the one that is
on the commons, and not the one
that has been luxuriating in the
paddock.” That is the reason why more
prodigals do not come home to their father’s
house). It is the rank infidelity in the Church
of God on this subject. There is not a house
cn the streets of heaven that has not in it a
prodigal that has returned and strayed
home. There could be unrolled before you
a scroll of a hundred thousand names —the
names of prodigals who came back forever
reformed. Who was John Bunyan? A re
turned prodigal. Who was Richard Baxter?
A returned prodigal. Who was George
Whitefield, the thunderer? A returned
prodigal. And I could go out in all direc
tions in this audience and find on either side
those who, once far astray for many years,
have been faithful, and their eternal salva
tion is as sure as though they had been ten
years in heaven. And yet some of you have
not enough faith in their return.
Yon do not know how to shake hands with
a prodigal. You do not know how to pray
for him. You do not know how to greet
him. He wants to sail in the gulf stream of
Christian sympathy. You are the iceberg
against which he strikes and shivers. You
say he has been a prodigal. I know it. But
you are the sour, unresponsive, censorious,
saturnine, cranky, elder brother, and if
you are going to heaven one wouid think
some people would be tempted to go to per
dition to get away from you. The hunters
say that if a deer be shot the other deer
shove him out of their company, and the
general rule is, away with the man that has
been wounded with sin. Now, I say,
the more bones a man has broken,
the more need he has of a hos
pital, and that the more a man has been
bruised and cut with sin the more need lie
has to be carried into human and divine
sympathy. But for such men there is not
much room in this world—the men who want
to come back after wandering. Plenty of
room for elegant sinners, sinners in velvet
and satin and lace, for sinners high salaried,
for kid-gloved anti patent leather sinners,
for sinners fixed up by a hair-dresser, poma
tumed and lavendered and cologned and
frizzled and crimped and “banged” sinners—
plenty of room! Such we meet elegantly at
the door of our churches, and we invite them
into the best seats with Chesterfieldian gal
lantries : we usher them into the house of God,
and put soft ottomans under their feet,
and put a gilt-edged prayer-book in their
hand, and pass the contribution before them
with an air of apology, while they, the
generous souls! take out the exquisite
portemonnaie, and opien it, and with
diamonded-finger push down beyond
the ten-dollar gold pieces and deli
cately pick out as an expression of !
gratitude their offering to the Lord, of ;
one cent. For such sinners, plenty of room,
plenty of room. But for the man who has
been drinking until his coat is threadbare
and his fa'e is erysipelased, and his wife’s
wedding-dress is in the pawnbroker’s shop,
and his children, instead of being in school,
are out begging broken bread at tho base
ment doors of the city—the man, body, mind
and soul on fire with the flames that have
leaped from the scathing, scorching,blasting,
consuming cup which the drunkard takes,
trembling and agonized, and affrighted, anil
presses to his parched lip, and his cracked
tongue, and his shrieking yet immortal spirit
—no room.
Oh, if this younger son of the had
not gone so far off', if he had not droppe 1 so
low in wassail, the protest would not have
been so severe; but going clear over the
precipice as the younger son did, the elder
son is angry and will not go in.
Oh, be not so hard in your criticism of the
fallen, lest thou thyself also be tempted. A
stranger one Sunday straggered up ami
down the aisles of my church, disturbing
the until the service had to stop until
he taken from the room. He
was a minister of the Gospel of
Jesus Christ of a sister denomination!
That man had preached the Gospel,
that man had broken the bread of the Holy
Communion for the people. From what a
heigh what a depth! Oh, I was glad there
was in the room when that man
was taken out, his poor wife following him
with his hat in her hand, and his coat on her
arm. It was as solemn to me as two funerals
—the funeral of the body and the funeral of
the soul. Beware lest thou also be tempted.
An invalid went to South America for his
health, and one day sat sunning himself on
the beach, when he saw something crawling
up the beach, wriggling toward him, and he
was affrighted. He thought it vvas a wild
beast, or a reptile, and he took his pistol
from his pocket. Then he saw it was
not a wild beast. Jt was a man, an immortal
raan/a man made in God’s own image; and
the poor wretch crawled up to the feet of Che
invalid and asked for strong drink, and the
invalid took his wine flask from his pocket
and gave the poor wretch something to
drink, and then under the stimulus he rose
up and gave his history. He had been a
merchant in Glasgow, Scotland. He had gone
down under the power of strong drink until
he was so reduced in poverty that he was ly
ing in a boat just off the beach. “Why,” said
the invalid, “1 knew a merchant in Glasgow
once,” a merchant by such and such a name,
and the poor wretch straightened himself
and said: “I am that man.” “Let him timt
thinketh he st mdeth take heed lest he fall."
Again, I remark that the senior brother of
my text stands for the spirit of envy and
jealousy. The senior brother thought that
all the honor they did to the returned brothel
was a wrong to him. He said: “I have
stayed at home, and I ought to have had the
ring, and I ought to have had the banquet, and
I ought to have had the garlands.” Alas foi
this spirit of envy and jealousy coming
down through the ages! Cain and Abel.
Esau and Jacob, Saul and David, Hainan
and Mordecal, Othello and lago, Orlande
and Angelica, Caligula and Torquatus,
Caesar and IPompey, Columbus and the
Spanish courtiers, Cnmbyses and the
brother he slew because he was a bettei
marksman. Dionysius and Philoxenius
whom he slew because he was a better singer.
Jealousy among painters. Closterman and
Geoffrey, Kneiler, Hudson and Reynolds.
Francis, anxious to see a picture of Raphael,
Raphael sends him a picture. Francis, see
nzit, lails in a tit of jealousy from which
he dies. Jealousy among authors. How
seldom contenqiorariesi speak of each other.
Xenophon and Blato living at the same time,
but from their writings you never would
suppose they heard of each other. Religious
jealousies. * The Mahominednns praying foi
rain during a drought, .no rain coming.
Then the Christians begin to praj
for run, and the rain comos. Then
the Mahommedans met together to ac
count for this, and they resolved that Goc
was so well pleased with their prayer.-
He kept the drought on so as to keep them
praying; but that the Christ aos began tc
pray, and the Lord was so disgusted with
their prayers that He sent rain right away so
He would not hear any more of their suppli
cations. Oh, this accursed spirit of envy and
jealousy! Let us stamp it out from all *xu
hearts.
A wrestler was so envious of Theogenes,
the prince of wrestlers, that he could not be
consoled in any way, and after Theogenea
died, and a statue was lifted to him in a pub
lic place, his envious antagonist went out
every night and wrestled with the statue
until one night he threw it, and it fell on him
and crushed him 1 1 death. So jealousy isn t
only absurd, but it is killing to the body
and it >s killing to the soul. How seldom it
is you find one merchant speaking well of a
merchant in the same line of business. How
seldom it is you hear of a physician speaking
well of a physician on the same block. Oh.
my friends, the world is large enough for all
of us. Let us rejoice at the success of
others. The next best thing to owning a
garden ourselves is to look over the fence
and admire the flowers. The next best thine
to riding in tine equipage is to stand on the
street and admire the prancing span. Tho
next test thing to having a banquet given to
ourselves is having a banquet given to our
| prodigal brother that has coine home to his
I father's house.
Besides that, it' we do not get as much
honor and as much attention as others, wo
j ought to congratulate ourselves on what we
! escape in the. way of assault. The French
| General, riding on horseback at the head of
: his troops, heard a soldier complain anff
I say: “It is very easy for tho General
i to command us forward while he rides
and we walk.” Then the General dismounted?
and compelled the complaining soldier to get
on the horse. Coming through a ravine, a
bullet from a sharpshooter struck the rider,,
and he fell dead. Then the General said:
“How much safer it is to walk than to ride!”
Once more I have to tell you. that this
senior brother of my text stands for the
! pouting Christian. While there is so much
congratulation within doors, the hero of my
text stands outside, the corners of his mouth
: drawn down, looking as he felt—-
miserable. 1 am glad his iugu
-1 brious physiognomy did not spoil the fes
tivity within. How many pouting Christiana
there are in our day—Christians who do nob
like the music of our churches, Christians
who do not like the hilarities of the young
pouting, pouting at society, pouting at the
fashions, pouting at the newspapers, pout-;
ing at the church, pouting at the govern
ment, pouting at the high heaven. Their j
spleen is too large, their liver does not work,
their digestion is broken down. There are
two cruets in their castor always sure to be
well supplied—vinegar and red pepper! Oh,!
come away from that mood. Stir a little
saccharine into yonr disposition. While you
avoid the dissoluteness of the younger son,,
avoid also the irascibility and the petulani'e
and the pouting spirit of the elder son, andj
! imitate the father, who had embraces for the
returning prodigal and coaxing words for
| splenetic malcontent.
Ah! the face of this pouting elder son is pub
before us in order that we might better see
the radiant and forgiving face of the fathor.
j Contrasts are mighty. The artist in sketch-
I ing the field of Waterloo, years after the
battle, pnt a dove in the mouth of the
cannon. Raphael, in one of his ear
! toons, beside the face of the wretch
put the face of a happy and innocent child.
And so the sour face of this irascible and
disgusted elder brother is brought out in or
der that in the contrast we may better under
stand the forgiving and the radiant face of
God That is the meaning of it—that God is
ready to take back anybody that is sorry, to
take him clear back, to take him back
forever, and forever, and forever, to take
him back with a loving hug, to put a kiss on
his parched lip, a ring on his bloated hand,
an easy shoe on his chafed foot, a garland on
his bleeding temples, and heaven in his soul.
Oh, I fall flat on that mercy! Come, my
brother, and let us get down into the dust,
resolved never to rise until the Father’s for
giving hand shall lift us.
Ob, what a God we have! Bring your dox
ologies. Come, earth and heaven, and join
in the worship. Cry aloud. Lift the palm
branches! Do you not feel the Father’s arm
around your neck? Do you not feel the warm
breath of your Father against your cheek?
Surrender, younger son! Surrender,
elder son' Surrender, all! Oh, go in-to
day and sit down at the banquet.
Take a slice of ’ the fatted calf, and
afterward when you are seated, with one
hand in the hand of the returned brother,
and the other hand in the hand of the rejoic
ing father, let your heart teat time to the
clapping of the cymbal and the mellow voice
of the flute. “It is meet that we should
make merry and be glad; for this thy brother
was dead and is alive again; and was lost
and is 1 ound.”
Choosing a Trade.
First of all, make sure of what you
will be best fitted for in the long run.
Remember that some kind of work may
be in demand now, and in a few years
the demand may die out. Don’t choose
a trade of this sort if you can help it.
spqnd years learning to make
something by hand, and as soon as you
have learned, a machine mav be invent
ed that can make it better, and thus
throw you out of employment, unless
you have learned a great deal about the
whole business connected with your
work.
Again, think of where you want to be
gin. Don’t learn a trade that is overrun
with workmen in your own state unless
you are willing to go to another state to
work. In New York state there is a
machinist to every 300 of the popula
tion; while in Texas, Georgia and Ala
bama there is only one machinist to over
2,000 people. lowa has 11,000 carpen
ters and joiners, while Georgia has less
than 5,000.
Choose what you can do and what you
have a taste for. If you are a weakling
don’t try to be a blacksmith; and don’t
try to be a painter if you are color-blind.
If you are fond of reading, that is a good
reason to become a printer, provided
there is no other good reason against it.
If you have a natural meoianical turn
and inventive genius you may make a
good machinist. Resolve to make your
self a thorough master of your trade,
and all the machinery and tools used in
and about it. Then don’t be afraid of
learning too much. You will be a better
painter for being able to handle the saw;
a better joiner for knowing how to use a
brush; a better machinist by acquiring
the use of the pencil.
Be willing to plod and work hard for
a time, for the sake of learning your
business thoroughly. If you start as a
carpenter, have in mind to become a
builder; if you start as a machinist ex
pect tcjbecome a manufacturer; if you
begin as a type-setter aim to become a
printei and publisher. Or, if you are
willing to be always a workman employ
ed by someone else, make up your miud
to become so very expert in your lines
as to command a high price.
Start with tho idea of getting to the
top. Be ambitious; nil American boys
ought to be. Don’t be contented, but
aim to be better and better, improving
yourself and your position every year.—•
Treasure Trove.
Understood Baseball.
Young lady in grand stand to her es
coit, just as the pit'her has knocked
over a Batter with a swift inshoot— “Oh,
yes. I remember this game now I
thought 1 had neVer seen baseball before,
but 1 have, Papa used to take me when
I was a little girl. Papa used to play
himself, but he used a much larger ball
—a wooden ball, you know, and instead
of having a man to knock over with it
he used to have wooden pegs about foot
high. Oh, yes, 1 understand the game
thoroughly, now.” Escort falls off the
bench and dies.— ‘St. Louis liepublic.
Before beginning his sermon on a
recent Sunday evening, the Rev. Dr.
Harcourt, of San Francisco, carefully
placed on his pulpit desk seven bottles
containing fluids. Then li6 preached a
temperance sermon, during which he
gave his hearers the results of a chemical
analysis of the fluids, which he said were
samples of liquor that he had procured
from seven different saloons. He made
out a pretty stroug case agaiust Saa
Francisco whisky.