Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.