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The Banner-Democrat. (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, October 26, 1895, Image 1

Image and text provided by Louisiana State University; Baton Rouge, LA

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88064237/1895-10-26/ed-1/seq-1/

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.. . .. . .M M il M M HM 11 I m agg agggmm a MS(MEM Ig g~ gh a IMBlillM MI A .. ..
Phller what shirks an' is lazy
Ain't no use llvin', I vow; t
But I tell yer who Is the daisy- a
The teller thet does things nsosw
He's never preorastinattn' n
An' telln' ye "why" sa' "Bw.," a
When the dolen' on 'a what ho's hatln';
He Jest goes and does it now. d
El the cordwood calls for a tussle C
Thet'll bring the sweat to his brow, o
Be lsts out his saw with a hustle,
Tn' tack:es the Job right snow.
The chap that talks of ter-morret a
Is crooked somewherea, I 'ow; d
In Dayla' what he may horrer.
He sever gits reuad ter now.
But the feller thet starts on the minute-
The erows don't roost on his plow
Ef 't rains he ain't workin' out In it, s
S'Onue he glit his hay in now. I
Ef rer lookln' fer wbat'll suit yer, b
Yer kin take off yer hat an' bow e
Ter the chap thet's short on the future V
An' ekerly long on now.
-Frank Hoe Batchelder. in Life. r
IHEN Violet Lin
gard announced
she was going in
for literature °
thene were those
tiono tS who
oteodot. Violet I
/ . was so alarming- f
ly pretty, one
would never sus- c
pect her of pos a
messing brains. She was one of those
girls with alluring faces-the sort of
"beaute-d-diable of which Ouida is al
ways writing, eyes of most unholy t
blue and lips which could smile a man's
soul away. A fascinating minx with n
the most graceful and winning man
nett, a being of moods, tender, repel- I
larI , kindly and icy by turns, she had °
<teatrd havoc and strewn devastation
wvli'rever hr dainty feet had trod.
I Suddenly she wearied of the endless
round of gayety and fashion to which
from her teens she had been accus
tomed and amazed her coterie by de
claring her intention of writing real
istic novels. Of course eve-yone said "
It was merely a fad and would soon n
blow over. But it didn't, that was the
Iastounding part of it.
Her first novel attracted more than
passing notice. She was commended a
for her original and audacious style,
her clever plot and a certain dainty a
feminine touch. She was written c
about, ,nterviewed, her beauty and
'talent were praised by the paragraph
ers and all the details of her luxurious
life were brandished about the coun
try. From being merely a typical so
ciety girl, a young woman of elegance
and fashion, she suddenly became a
somebody to be pointed out and stared
at and raved about.
I This spasmodic adulation pleased
Violet. She had always feasted upon
flattery but now she reveled in it. She
threw herself into a life of feverish
emotion, bocame cynical, disdainful,
and thought of nothing but her miser
able ambition.
Locnl coloring came to be an abso
lute mania with her. She was al
ways prating of "atmosphere" and
"realism." One can stand a lot of in
fernal nonsense from a pretty woman,
but really poor Violet often grew ac
tuall' tiresome with her endless rhap
sojsa about "the divinity of realism."
I It was just after publishing her sec
ond novel, a combination of ingenuity
and wickedness, a smartish, brackish h
story you wouldn't have liked your p
sister to write, that the girl decided to u
go to the far west in search of "local p
color" for the next attempt h
"Yes," she drawled, with the fine ti
lady air of disdain she had assumed
since her success, "yes, I am going in
search of local color and a hero. I li
may take a cowboy for the latter- d
who knows? They tell me those fel- e
lows are delightfully original and as o
breezy as the winds from the Rockies." t
She made up her mind she had not a
been misinformed when, a month 1
later, she met Jack Wceatherby.
Westherby was a child of the plains. a
Me had never been east of the Mi~sis
sippi and had an influite contempt for h
the land of the rising sun. HIe had j
hunted for a living; he had been a
cowboy and raised as much of a rum
plau in mining camps as the next fel
-ow. Now he owned his own ranch l
vra Usao or THE NEXT fOVIEL
and herds; had settled down some
what and had begun to think he would ,
like • wife and home
lse was a handsome fellow, as fiery ,
.as the eastang he rode and as tender
hearted as a woman---some women.
Eler~nch lay in the shadow of the
Seagrade Christo range, neat to that i
ofte 1he:rta ons, where the New York a
-ir| Wt*as tepplig. Its acrs stretched a
to the shadowy toot hills and over ,
then roond the sleek, well-tedwcea- 4
•t gea wlskih he was so proud. I
It rws two days after her arrival i
th ~le ew her Arat Be had sddep ,
oesp to se 'oam Atherton, fhe- al i
ggagahr jaglEshman, who -was hi
pylcthr crony, and ha4 eas down
4 .bagsas neIqiiip
i ·a
Esai letting out a yell which could hea
been heard in Denver. And there by
the side of pretty Mrs. Atherton, sat a
strangef, a vision, an angel The as- Ohr
tonished ranchman blushed and stam
mered like a school boy as he bowed
awkwardly an. apologised for his
Apache-like descent. Who was thi 'the
divinity in palest pink. this tfdiant
creature with hair like gold and eyes
of heaven's own blue? "My friend,
Miss Lingard, from New York," Mrs,
Atherton had said. Pshaw! She was Re
a celestial being straight from Para- tion
dise. tveel
I have always pitied Weatherby. tain,
Never for one moment eoutld I blame rTh
e him. Ile was a primitive man with v.. t.
savage instincts lurking in his breast. TI
Brave, loyal, straightforward himself; histe
how could he dream of the treedhetous The
eruel blows bne little soft white hand ligh
* wa.s eapable bf dealing? Beti
Violet found this sturdy, brawny tion
ranchero a delightful study, and de- finge
cided he should be the hero of her next chro
novel. His quaint wit and poetic fan- five
cies born of the tnas and the moun- Chri
tains, his fofcible and often ungram- time
matical speech were faithfully noted; mus
n. his emotions were played upon, his scut
:ed heart was probed. And he never of li
n dreamed he was being experimented the
on. lte lovcd this exquisite creature, all c
o this dainty, soft, purring beauty, as he orat
ho loved his life. lie coveted her and Tl
let longed to shut her close to his big, twel
faithful, honest heart. coln]
ne At last came the night when Violet and
us- carried her passion for "atmosphere" Ome
al and "local coloring" to its climax, the
,se They had gone for their customary even- eith<
of ing stroll, and had climbed up a lofty letts
al- butte to a broad ledge of rocks. At Alpl
oly their feet yawned the canyon, tre- and
n's menuous, awful, black, save where the W
ith moonlight touched the opposite wall whi,
an- with ghostly finders. Back of them eth
el- loomed the range like the battlements after
Lad of a phantom city. Through the pines Him
ion in the canyon the wind came sighing Chri
in mournful cadence. While far, far and
ess below sounded the faint rushing of touc
ich water-the river tumbling and foam- mon
us- ing along over its rocky bed. mon
de- "What a weird place," cried Violet mon
al- with. a pretty little shudder, "and the
aid what a ghost-like night. Why did we they
Lon never come up here before, Jack? and
he What a scene!" scab
Weatherby was lying at her feet not
an where he had thrown himself to rest con;
Led after their climb. Ile turned his face, gian
le white in the moonlight, toward her, apos
ty and fixing his dusky, unfathomable Ang
en eyes upon her, said: "I kept this place sera
nd for this hour. I meant to bring you gian
of Cl
O ' 0unit
I- Solo
Lo- Clhii
Mý F' apres
ed on 1
on '" - . coup
he / 't9j~ clerl
ih l wha
ul, on
t r could y th poinis n
a- n don
ad shrou
n few
i hrn ythin
m ,'* / 'cour
3C ( !justi
of ~
sh here when I got my courage to the d
ur point where I could say all that is in Not
to my heart. Many a time down there,"
al pointing to the ranch lying below, " opli
ne time I would bring you to tell you how the
ed I love you." igh
in For one instant Violet felt a queer ighe
I little thrill The simple dignity of his ao
r- declaration almost moved the worldly,
el- cold-blooded girL Then she thought ofa
as of her local coloring. "What a situa- the
t." tion for my novel," she said to her. our
lot self; then aloud, gently: "So you real- our
ith ly love me, Jack?" oint
"Love you?" he echoed, passionely. ,
ns. as he rose and sat down beside her. d
s- "Violet, look," taking her hand, "my th
for heart lies here in this dear little hand."
ad Then throwing all reserve to thes
a winds, he seized her and kissed her, Po
m- madly, tempestuously. n
el- She struggled to free herself and at an
ch length succeeded. "How dare you?" wr
she demanded; "how dar--" v
"lHow dare I?" he cried. "Why, Ch
dearest, I love you-I love you, do you ti
hear? And you, you love me a little, n
do you not?" HIe was approaching her Of
again, when she said, contemptuously:
"No; not a bit. I have simply been won
studying you."
He stool as if turned to stone.
"Studying me," he said, in a queer che
voice, "studying-why-wh-why?" be sav- tuti
agely demanded, as he caught her larg
wrist and held it in an iron grip.
"You were so different," she fal- se
tered, a bit frightened at his sudden he
ferocity. "I wanted a new type for Sha
my book, you know. I suppose Tom san
told you I write books--"
An absolutely murderous look swept
over Weatherby's face. "No," he Rnt
said, "no one told me that. So you thoe
write books? And you wanted to put
me in it-was that it? Answer me,
answer me."
"Yes," she murmured, faintly.
ne- "And that was all? You never loved
d me-never meant to marry me?"
"Why, no, how could I? I am to be
ry married in the fall to a man in New
Cr York-"
A snarl like that of an infuriated
thebeast interrupted her. Livid with rage, P
a he sprang toward her. Once again he qO:
ak cruashed her, shrinking and trembling,
to his breast, then dragged her to the
r very ed' o of the canyon, gapig like
the bottomless pit to receive them. il
And as her sq'onised screams piareed
Vi the soft summer night, Wesnherbyeat
Sstill holding her against his outraged
#heart, stepped off
his -*
wu They found them next day in the il
k* bottom of the canyon. Vlolet'a lovely let
the tees wee rest reecgPltloa, bat oe *We
mdA WIesthbev)4" I .ge'red a amile ot es* ,mis
'4~ ~i 1rupuobtr,'
a Ohrist "Chiefeet Amoun Ton Thou
a1"rho iulbt t'on pleela s thbaracter of i e.
it ory-The Pardon of All Wia snd
the Correclon of All Evil
-Chief In Heaven.
w Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage made selee
i* tion of a sermon for publication this
week on the subject of "The Chief
. tain," basing it upon the text:
i The chiefest among ten thousanf--Chattcles 1
h v 10.
I. The most Conspicuotus character of
fi history steps out upon the platform. I
is The finger which, diamonded with
d light, pointed down to him from the
Bethlehem sky, was only a ratifica
y tion of the nger of prophecy, the
s^ finger of genealogy, the finger of
t chronology, the finger of events-all 1
1- five fingers pointing in one direction. I
1 Christ is the overtopping figure of all
1 time. He is the "vox humans" in all 1
1; music, the gracefulest line il all
is sculpture, the most e.squlstte mingling
1' of lights and shades in all paintings,
d the acme of all climaxes, the dome of
5, all cathedraled grandeur, and the per
e oration of all language.
.d The Greek alphabet is made up of
f, twenty-four letters, and when Christ
compared himself to the first letter
t and the last letter, the Alpha and the
I" Omega, he appropriated to himself all
G the splendors that you can spell out
n- either with those two letters or all the
7 letters between them: "I am tile
Lt Alpha and the Omega, the beginning
e- and the end."
1e What does that Scripture mean
11 which says of Christ: "He that com
m eth from Above is above all?" It means
ts after you have piled up all Alpine and
s Iimalayan altitudes, the glory of
g Christ would have to spread its wings
ir and descend a thousand leagues to
f touch those summits. Pelion, a high
t- mountain of Thessaly; Ossa, a high
mountain, and Olympus, a high
et mountain; but mythology tells when
d the giants warred against the gods
c they piled up these three mountains,
c? and from the top of them proposed to.
scale the heavens; but the height was
,t not great enough, and there was a
it complete failure. And after all the
e, giants-Isaiah and Paul, prophetic and
r, apostolic giants; Raphael and Michael
le Angelo, artistic giants; cherubim and
to seraphim and archangel, celestial
u giants-have failed to climb to the top
of Christ's glory, they might all well
unite in the words of Paul and cry
out: "Above all!" "Above all:" But
Solomon in my text prefers to call
Christ "The Chieftain," and so to-day
I hail Ilim.
First Christ must be chief in our
preaching. There are so many books
on homiletics scattered through the
country that all laymen, as well as all
clergymen, have made up their minds
what sermons ought to be. That ser
mon is the most effectual which most
pointedly puts fort h Christ as the par
don of all sin and the correction of all
evil-individual, social, political, na
tional. There is no reason why we
should ring the endless changes on a
few phrases. There are those who
think that if an exhortation or a dis
course have frequent mention of
justlfication, sanctification, covenant
of works and covenant of grace,
therefore it must be profoundly evan
gelical, while they are suspicious of a
discourse which presents the same
n truth, but under different phraseology.
INow, I say there is nothing in all the
opulent realm of anglo-Saxonism, of
all the word treasures that we inher
ited from the Latin and the Greek and
the Indo-European, but we have a
right to marshal it in religious discus
sion. Christ sets the example. His
illustrations were from the grass, the
it flowers, the barnyard fowl, the crystals
of salt, as well as from the seas and
Sthe stars; hnd we do not propose in
our Sunday-school teaching and in
our pulpit address to be put on the
' I know that there is a great deal
Ssaid in our day against words, as
Sthough they were nothing. They may
be misused, but they have an imperial
Spower. They are the bridge between
soul and soul, between Almighty God
and the human race. What did God
.,, write upon the tables of stone? Words.
What did Christ utter oal Mount
Olivet? Words. Out of what did
SChrist strike the spark for the illumi
nation of the universe? Out of words.
" Let there be light," and light was.
Of course, thought is the cargo, and
words are only the ship; but how fast
would your cargo get on without the
4. ship? What you need, my friends,
r in all your work, in your Sabbath
Sschool class, in your reformatory insti
tutions, and what we all need is to en
large our vocabulary when we come to
speak about God and Christ and Heav
en. We ride a few old words to death,
when there is such illimitable resource.
Shakespeare employed fifteen thou
sand different words for dramatic pur
poses; Milton employed eight thousand
Sdifferent words for poetic purposes;
Rufus Choate employed over eleven
thousand different words for legal par
poses: but the most of us have less
Sthan a thousand words that we can
managre, and that makes usoa so stupid.
d When we come to set forth the love
of Christ we are going to take the
tenderest phraseology wherever we
fad it, and if it has never been used in
that direction before all the more
ashall we use it When we come to
speak of the glory of Christ the Con
e queror we are going to draw our
similes from triumphal arch and ora
torio nd everything grand and stu
penadoes. The French navy have
eighteen lag by which they give
adAnall, brt those eighteen lags they
dsn p1t into sixtybix thomand dii~ter
eat ecombinations And I hve to tell
you that these standards of the eros.
Say be lifted into eembinations in
m hsit. and varieties .vertiag. And
y Jt -me say to these yoyaag een Who
ai etOla t th okeogal seuiarsie
ri a.to,,v icew'a amsd"ptf'trawisUle.
.- L.,, ".
limited resource. You only have to I
present Christ in your own way. 1
Brighter thatn the light, fresher than 1
the fountains, deeper than the seas, jI
sa-n all these (tspel themes Song h1g I
ho melody, fldwets ho sweetness, stan
set sky no color olmnpared With these I
glorious themes. These harvests of
grace spring ilp quicker than 2e can I
sickle them. Kindling pulpits with 1
their fire, and producing revolutions
with their glory, they are the sweet
est thought for the poet, and they are
is the most thrilling illustration for the 4
f- orator, and they offer the most intense
scene for the artist, and they are to
es the ethbassador of the sky all en- i
thusiasm. Complete pardon for
of direst guilt. Sweetest comfort 2
m. for ghastliest agony. Bright- I
th est hope for grimmest death.I
he Grandest resurrection for darkest
:a- sepulcher. Oh. what a Gospel to
he preach! Christ the Chief. His birth,
of His suffering, His miracles, His para- 1
ill bles, His sweat, His tears, His blood,
gn. His atonement, Ilis intercession-what I
ill glorious themncsl Do we exercise
111 faith? Christ is its object. Do we
ill have love? It fastens on Jesus. Have
ag we a fondness for the church? It is
,s, because Christ died for it. Have we a
of hope of Heaven? It is because Jesus I
:r- went there, the herald and the fore
runner. The royal robe of Demetrius
of was so costly, so beautiful, that after
1st he had put it off no one ever dared to
er put it on; but the robe of Christ,
he richer than that, the poorest and the
all weakest and the worst may wear.
ut "Where sin abounded, grace may much
le more abound."
he "*Oh, my sins, my sins;" said Martin
ng Luther to Staupitz, "my sins, my sins!"
The fact is that the brawny German
an student had found a Latin Bible that
m- made him quake; and when he found
1s how, through Christ, he was pardoned
md and saved, he wrote to a friend, say
of ing: "Come over and join us great and
gs awful sinners saved by the grace of
to God. You seem to be only a slender 1
gh sinner, and you don't much extol the I
Kh mercy of God; but we that have been
gh such very awful sinners praise HIls
en grace the more now that you are so
ls desperately egostistical that you feel
is, yourself in first-rate spiritual trim,
to. and that from the root of
as the hair to the tip of the toe
a you are scarless and immaculate?
he What you need is a looking-glass, and
nd here it is in the Bible. Poor and
bel wretched and miserable and blind and
ad naked from the crown of the head to
ial the sole of the foot, full of wounds
oP and putrifying sores. No health in us.
Ill And then take the fact that Christ
ry gathered up all the notes against us
ut and paid them, and then offered us the
all receipt! And how much we need Him
ay in our sorrows! We are independent
of circumstances if we have His
ur grace. Why, lie made Paul sing in the
ks dungeon, and under that grace St.
he John from desolate Patmos heard the
all blast of the apocalytic trumpets. Af
ds ter all other candles have been snuffed
er- out, this is the light that gets brighter
)st and brighter unto the perfect day; and
ar- after, under the hard hoofs of ca
all lamity, all the pools of worldly enjoy
la- ment have been trampled into deep
ive mire, at the foot of the eternal rock
Sa the Christian, from cups of granite
ho lily-rimmed, puts out the thirst of his
Is- soul.
of Again I remark, that Christ is chief
*nt in dying alleviations. I have not any
x, sympathy with the morbidity abroad
ºn- about our demise. The emperor of
fa Constanstinople arranged that on the
me day of his coronation the stonemason
, should come and consult him about
he the tombstone that after awhile he
of would need. And there are men who
er- are monomaniacal on the subject of
nd departure from this life by death, and
a the more they think of it the less they
is- are prepared to go. This i an un
lis manliness not worthy of you, not
he worthy of me.
ls Saladin, the greatest conqueror of
ad his day, while dying, ordered that the
in tunic he had on him be carried after
in his death on his spear at the head of
he his army, and that then the soldier,
ever and anon, should stop and say:
"al "Behold all that is left of Saladin, the
as emperor and conqueror! Of all the
ay states he conquered, of all the wealth
ial he accumulated, nothing did he retain
en but this shroud." I have no sympathy
od with such behavior, or such absurd
od demonstration, or with much that we
ds. hear uttered in regard to departure
mt from this life to the next. There is
ida commonsensleal idea on this sub
ni- ject that you need to consider
cs. there are only two styles of de
as parture. A thousand feet under
gd ground, by light of torch, toiling in a
st miner's shaft, a ledge of rock may fall
he upon us, and we may die a miner's
da, death. Far out at sea, falling from
th- the slippery ratlines and broken on
ti- the halliards, we may die a sailor's
in- death. On mission of mercy in hos
to pital, amid broken bones and reeking
lR- leprosies and burning fevers, we may
th, die a philanthropist's deatlh. On the
ce. field of battle, serving God and our
ou- country, slugs through the heart, the
ur- gun cartridge may roll over us, and
nd we may die a patriot's death. But,
es; after all, there are only two styles of
'en departure-the death of the righteous
or- and the death of the wicked-and we
as all want to die the former.
an God grant that when that hour
Id. comes you may be at home- You want
ve the hand of your kindred in your
Lhe hand. You want your children to sur
we round you. You want the light on
in your pillow from eyes that have long
ore re8flected ybur love. You want your
to room still You do not want any cur
on- ons strangers standing around watch
inr ing you. You want your kindred from
ra- afar to hear your last prayer. I think
to- that is the wish of all of us. But is
ve that all? Can earthly friends hold us
lye up when the billows of death come
aey up to the girdle? Can human vote
r- charm open Hverea's gate? Can
lU human hand pilot ms through
us the narrows of death into
tIB-eaven's hrbor? Can any earthly
ad friensdhlp shield as from the arrows
rho of death and ha the hour when Satan
ies shall pemties tpe e his ilaferaM l
11*, sthet No, a ae lo Alaul poor
it 1it it -1. Ailettoe dli. h the
p' ige w , sohna eesrn se'wa4
o from fountain, alone, vuttures *erellg
through the air waiting for our body.
, unknown to men, and to have no
1, burial, if only Christ could say through
* the solitudes: "I will never leave thee,
- I will deter forsake thee." From that
;e pillow of stone a ladder would soar
,f Heavenward, angels coming and go
n ing; and across the solitude and the
h barrenness would come the sweet notes
a of heavenly minstrelsy.
t- What did the dying Janeway say?
e "I can as easily die as close my eyes
e or turn my head in sleep. Before a
e few hours have passed I shall stand on
o Mount Zion with the one hundred and
:. forty and four thousand, and with the
or just men made perfect, and we shall
"t ascribe riches, and honor, and glory,
t- and majesty, and dominion unto God
i. and the Lamb." Dr. Taylor, con
it demned to burn at the state, on his
,o way thither broke away from the
1, guardsmen, and went bounding,
s. and leaping, and jumping toward
I, the fire, glad to go to Jesus,
,t and to die for lipl. Sir Charles Hare,
e in his last moments, had such raptur
e ous vision that he cried: "Upward,
e upward, upwardl" And so great was
La the peace of one of Christ's disciples,
a that he put his finger upon the pulse
is in his wrist and counted it and ob
e. served it; and so great was his placid
Is tty that after awhile he said:
sr "Stoppedl" and his life had ended here
;o to begin in Heaven. But grander than
t, that was the testimony of the wornout
, first missionary,when,in the Mamertine
r. dungeon, he cried: "I am now ready to
h be offered, and the time of my depar
ture is at hand; I have fought the good
n fight, I have finished my eourse, Ihave
"* kept the faith; henceforth there is laid
n up for me a crown of righteousness,
,t which the Lord, the righteous Judge,
d will give me in that day, and not to me
d only, but to them that love Hisappear
.. ing!" Do you not: ase that Christ is
d Chief in dying alleviations?
)f Toward the last hour of our earthly
r residence we are speeding. When I
0 see the sunset, I say: "One day less to
n live." When I see the spring blossoms
is scattered I say: "Another season gone
,o forever." When I close the Bible on
!l Sabbath night, I say: "Another Sab
i, bath departed." When I bury a friend
of I say: "Another earthly attraction
)e gone forever." What nimble feet the
:? years have! The roebucks and the
id lightnings run not so fast From de
(d cade to decade, from sky to sky, they go
Id at a bound. There is a place for us,
towhether marked or not, where you
is and I will sleep the last sleep, and the
a men are now living who will, with
st solemn tread, carry us to our resting
is place. Aye, it is known in Heaven
1e whether our departure will be a cor
in onation or a banishment. Brighter
at than a banqueting hall through which
is the light feet of the dancers go up and
re down to the sound of trumpeters will
t. be the Eepulchere through which rifts
:e the holy light of Heaven streameth.
f- God will watch you. lie will send His
sd angels to guard your slumbering dust,
er until, at Christ's behest, they shall
id roll away the stone.
a- So, aoso, Christ 'a chief in Heaven.
y- The Bible distinctly says that Christ
ýp is the chief theme of the celestial
Ik ascription, all the thrones facing His
to throne, all the palms waved before His
is face, all the crowns down at His feet
Cherubim to cherubim, seraphim to
ef seraphim, redeemed spirit to redeemed
by spirit, shall recite the Saviour's earth
id ly sacrifice.
of Stand on some high hill of Heaven,
he and in all the radiant sweep the most
>n glorious object will be Jesus. Myriads
at gazing on the scars of His suffering, in
ie silence first, afterward breaking fcrth
io into acclamation. The martys, all the
of purer for the flame through which
id they passed, will say: "This is the
:y Jesus for whom we died." The apos
n- ties, all the happier for the shipwreek
ot and scourging through which they
went, will say: 'This is the
of Jesus whom we preached at Corinth,
lIe and at Cappadocia, and at Antioch,
er and at Jerusalem. Little children
of clad in white will say: "This is the
, Jesus who took us in His arms and
: blessed us, and when the storms of
he tihe world were too cold and loud,
h brought us into this beautiful place."
th The multitude of the bereft will say:
in "This is the Jesus who comforted as
ly when our heart broke." Many
rd who wandered clear of from
Ge God and plunged into vaga
re bondism, but were saved by
is grace, will say: This is the Jesus
b- who pardoned us. Wewerelostonthe
Smountains, and He brought us home.
e. We were guilty, and He has made us
r- white as snow." Mercy boundless,
a grace unparalleled. And then, 'after
1 each one has recited his peculiar delia
.'s erances and peculiar mercies, recited
m them as by solo, all the voices will
, come together into a greal choruas,
r's which will make the arches echo and
,- re-echo with the eternal reverbration
Sof triumnph.
sy Edward I. was so anxious to go to
be the Holy Land that when he was about
ur to expire he bequeathed one hundred
ie and sixty thousand dollars to have his
ad heart, after his decease, taken to the
it, Holy Land, in Asia Minor, and his re
of quest was complied with. But there
us are hundreds to-day whose hearts
ye are already in the holy land of
Heaven. Where your treasures are.
ur there are your hearts al so. Quaiont
at John Bunyan caught a glimpse of
ur that place, and in his quaint way
ar- he said: "And I heard in my dea.m,
on and, lo! the bells of the city rang
ag again for joy; and as they opened the
ur gates to let in the men I lOoked in
ri- after them, and, lo! the city shone like
h- the asun, and there were streste of
im gold, and men walked on them, harps
ak in their hands, to rlng praises withal;
is and after that they shut up the gates,
as which when I had seen I wished my
no self among them!"
ph There are many fumes of lyingl
to There s the open, held,' evgar ife, the
ly buslnesma's lhi, the Ie bylamSidua
s tion-the meet dngerooi-reta i
an the hypoeritiesi tls. wbem a ass ps
at feeue to as-re God whit the lpe,
n ie Nserty Lea Her  b h en
so whaeo ou s a a Ive d e
h New Jersey is proud of aspoet who: i
e has a house in that statesand p'ablabd
at iNew York, and the pout himneit -t t
ar proud of a gin of a servant. Heeasme
near losingi her the other day. This i
he particular girl came from an old wlal
us ing town in Maine three years aO,
and she has been in the poet's baue
hold ever sip.e. She made no aequain
es tance among the neighbors' girls, san
she had no steady omipany. In other
a respects she was worthy of the pot'$
rd commendations. Daring the thtesvears
he that she has worked for Mr. Poet she
il has never asked for a vacation to visit
7' her old home.
"I never think of the place," said
n- Mary, "for if I did I am afraid that I
it would get homesick."
he It was through the poet's own care
g, lessness last week that he nearly lost
rd Mary. There is a thrifty bed of oess
in front of the poet's house thtdis his i
'e' fad and pride. Destructive bugs and
ir worms, whichever they might have a
' been, swooped down on that bed a
as week ago and threatened to destroy it .
' The poet took advice and, as a eonss
,se quence, invested in whale oil that was
b- warranted to kill bugs at long range.
id' As he sprinkled the bushes with the
Ids whale oil a light breeze carried the
re odor of it back to the kitchen, where
an Mary was working. Both Mr. and
ut Mrs. Poet noticed that Mary's mind
no seemed to be wool gathering while she
was serving them at luncheon. She
"" mixed the orders that were given to
ld er, and she made Mrs. Poet unhappy.
ve Before dinner was served Mary rapped t
Lid at Mrs. Poet's door.
'a "Come in. Mary," said her mistrss t
re, "Are you illT'?" t
ne "No, marm," said Mary, ill at ease, t
ar- "and I don't know why it is, bat--bt I
is -but-"
"Well, but what?"
7Y "Why, warm. I-I'm homesiek. I've
I been thinking of Maine all day. There 1
to seemed to be something in the air that I
ms suggested home. If I don't get over it <
ue to-morrow I shall have to go home.
on It's in the air to-day."
Ltb Mrs. Poet summoned her husband
nd from his study and told him of the
on calamity that threatened the house- I
he hold.
he "Dear, dear: that's too. bad. How
can we spare Mary? Homesick, eh, ;
go poor girl? Strange, too, for she has
us, been here contentedly for three years.
on Said it was in the air? Wait a minute.
he By Jovel I have it. She was right. I
ith It was in the air. It's that whale oil
ag on the rose bushes."
en Mr. Poet played the garden hose on
or- the rose bushes for an hour after din
ter ner, and Mrs. Poet scattered lime near
ich the kitchen. Mary's homesicknesawas
jid gone the next day.
Pill "It was just something in the air,"
s she said, and I'm sorry, marm, that I
th. troubled you."
His Half of the Poet's rose bushes are
a stripped of leaves, but Mary remained.
all -N. Y. Sun.
bial =very Boy Can Become a Runner If Eo
Hisa Trfe.
His Every American boy should learn to
let. run. In Greece, in the days when men
to and women took better care of their
led bodies than they ever have since, every
'th- boy, and girl too, was taught to run,
just as the American girl is taught to
en, read. And as far as we can judge by
ost the statues they have left behind
ads them, there were very few hollow
,in chested, spindle-legged boys among
rth the Greeks. The Persian boy- was
the taught to speak the truth, run, ride
ich and shoot the bows.
the The English boy is encouraged to
me- run. In fact, at some of the great
eck English public schools, boys of thir
eev teen and fourteen years of age, like
the Tom Brown and East at Rugby, can
,th, cover six and eight miles cross-oun
eh, try in the great hare-and-hound runs.
ran Every boy is turned out twice a week.
the out of doors, and made to rn, and fll
and himself full of pure freshb air and sun-a
of shine, and gain more strength an, life
ad, than any amount of weight-pulling or
:e" dumb bell work in stufaty gymnasiums
ay: would give him. See the result-the
us English boys, as a whole, are a
my strbnger set than we American boys.,
cm Erery English school-boy is to soese ex
ga- tent an athlete. And that is what
by American boys should be. Not be
sas cause football, baseball and tennis arme
the valuable in themselves, but for the
mu good they do in strengthening boys'
us bodies.
Cs By playing ball every day for hours
'ter in the open air; by exercising klarms.
Liv- back and leg muscles in throwing, bat
td ting, runing and alidinag; by going to
sill bed early and giving up all bad habits
us lin preparation for the games, a boy
nd stores up strength, which he can draw
ion on all his life long-fAtc is why every'
boy should be an athlete But not
to every boy can play football or baser*
out balL He may not be heavy or strong
red enough; he may never be able to ac
his quire the knack of catching or batting
the the ball. Erery boy ean become a run
eaner.--. Scoville, Jr., in St., Nicholas.
s Wasted Dead to Se, Tea
of "Father says that if I am a goodboy
are. he will take me to ee the eirces," said
int Johnny.
of 'That is what he told me,"replied his
ray mother.
am, "Well, you can keep your eye on me
aug and see if I ain't the pride of the neigh
the borhood. Father's Iea ms a good
in many favors, he has, and I'd bate tsr
ike ribly to be the menas eo making blyn
Smis that show."-P-ttsbsrgh 3uletnta
nal;w the TreMe ssm
i "I wouldn't wear blesemss foar ny
y thingl," said the thin gid
"Neiter would I I wlor yer " ie
plied the plaump gir
And that's why they doaep
, aow.-Clsago Pst.
'na* -Mlr. Whbte-"AAa4 .d
t be. weas he' out g4 a
la k4.4 etu9#pttag qt 1
-Richard La Gailastne, t :'u "
eat of the. Loadak poctsu lnti
visit this country neat w fint
Conan Doyle is cemogi"i "':
tie during the ynr fee'r g- i
Colorado, rot, heweverb to ; ,'
he found teetering hesut
-Deseires' works haey to be p -*
lished ti- a omplete aIitit fLe the
first rtime'am of theearh, m. "
nshoatrsc aided It r .he:. Ito
Printing wilt beit amex]rt ye" d
is hoped, will the oishd 0T l tit
committee asks f nora aslp p:
'opies of letters ta iud mriUe5 * v '°- A
served in p hlc-lir re st and . :" -IwA
-Among the trteahres in Ord Bo.t
bery's house are a m ynalnpelSo wh ol.
Rubes' boels, the tesaielisrs ** '
the Doges' palaee san tapestslee a
belonged to Cardinal Msuma., fThhe.
were Rothschild trseaur r, sed aen
death of olare Mayer do RthitMMs
in 1874, they Came into the rpopqe i
of Hanash de BothschIld, Lord Bkes0
bery''s wife. . '
-The expression in the prs  r t bts
"kindly fruits of the earth." uhas lI
most persons no denalit meantieg
aecowntof the difereuseein isgal~Se
now artached to the word kindly  ke
that used when the expresads was
first written. The word kindly 1athe "
connection meant as nearly as possib
"of its kind," and the exprerIdo
"kindly fruits of the earth" meant "the
fruits of the earth each after Ifs kind .
-Mmae. Poisi, whose stage old
women were beloved by all who awe
them, has oncluded her life in Mew
York by the gift of all her atage o
tarmes to "Abat Louisa" REldtidge. In
the forty-five years she has been on
the stage in this country she has
played many roles, and the contests of
her wardrobe ranged from the robe of
the grande dame to the cheap frodk o 'f
the village matron. When Mae.
Ponisi began her career she oewnt tlie
ty-8+e miles on foot to seee her -s5t
engagement This ups in Eagiand,
and it was nothing unusual in tohose
days for her to walk from towh to
'own to keep her ensgegaen.ts In
ime she won fame, an she has sup
ported Macready, Forrest, Charlotte
Cushman, Lester Wallack, and others.
She expects to end her days in Wasi
Ington, at the home of a step-daugh
-All Cromwell's descendants t "
direct male line are extinct, but ihat i
the lineal ancestor thoragh feass te
of a numerous progeny. Aaog the -
peers who descend from Croawell are
ILords Ripon, Chichester, Clarstedis,
Cowper, Morley, 7Jtt@a, Was tSlght4
and Ampthill; and among the eest.
sons of peers who so deseead a"hn --rd
Courtaenay (heisr to the " 4eti .
Devon), Lord Stanley (heir t4 the eitI
dom of Derby) and Lord Ci ifon (heir
to the earldom of Dariley)ý Lady
Devon, Lady Derby, Lady Dartn'ty,
Lady athurst, Lady Raselln, Lady
Lytton. Lead Lathon, Lady laabiia
Whitbread, Lady Andphill sad Lady.
Borthwiok are likewise his dessd
ants. So are Sir John Labbock sad
half a dozen other burom-et,4 r . Chs. -
Villiers, the father of the 'bo lit of
comaons, and Mr. Montage VPillers,
t the vicar of St. Paul's Xnightsbridge.
-"Hi Jimmy, wot's de-n aUttr?
"Back's blistered." "Swimsia' r
i lickin'?" "Both."--Chicago Record.
-'-"They say- lamsby is gener s to
a fault." "Yes,'he is, it thappes to
be one of his own fseLta. "-M~-i - .
-In a Bad Bot.--So De Lanad a a
taken to navigaioa" "Ihaveu'theard.
of it." "Yes; he's baeen sires for
sailing under w falus oerPe*l .
Free Press.
--Jack-"I think my lnotier is a*
awful cross fellow." .Mther--"Do-'t
you think you're a little to blames4 t
times, Jack?" Jaek-"No; beCs-s he.
cas't help it-it's the W in his "am-e
makes the ill WiIL"-Hrger'sr ]Be-
- oelleSfold-"I W nderetefa that
Mrs. poiins claI se to bs a adit-ed
woman." ByoomSold-"ICt fiaon'Sf i
true.a My wifhe h seen lear e-i t
fianishring touch-pout bowli eroam
L plexion."-Plttebnirgh Chremt i"7jhe
rwas the hbest man alt Miss Pamppe
weddingt" Giggles-"We al thoeg..t
that her father was ntil twe f a,on - e
that his wedding gfteod a se-h
dred-theossnaddollsr ehee wen sip a
-, -"What excnse have you to Oisr
s for your behavior, JSckI Cosue-speas
~ up." "I haven't, taybtiug to smy unt
I see my mother," asid the boy. "We
have a rule i. our school that sen
cases are good vlesse written lby oa
. of a boy's parents, and I aln't a-golt
to break it"-Harper's Basa.
-Mother-"Where have you ben,
i Johnny? Your hair is dripping wet
. and your stockings are full of sand.
B Surely you haven't bee in betha i ba
when I told yos you mstn't?" eboasy
"That'. just lik e a womasn always
y trying to Lnd out how a msn spends
d his time when sway from th besent"
-Boston Traseippt
is -The stout nse wiped of his l'Pa
heas. "Yes, I was a good deal rub
ue down before I got a biepele," bhekd;
x- "but now," he added. datmratfedty
d gripping the handles quit takitg aM
r- at as old lady creaslg the staet "ItS.
a I the other seop1l who are tbsL way."
u.The old lady was piled isdp lthenb' g
ter.-N. T. Reordir. .
-irtrdtous Isertion.-"hea'ath
rightl" The advertsin
lesepd org ther*ostatt
' boaster dhomin ha h;
n sid~ebel

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