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Established July 1, 1859. "A Map of Busy Life; Its Fluctuations and Its Vast Concerns.'* Subscription. $1.00 a Year, in Advance. VOL. XXXIX. BENTON, LOUISIANA, THURSDAY, JULY 5, 1900. NO. 19. the mothers. COD mad e the mothers. Its made the mothers, and His projects Wbich*span futurity and all the past motherhood for stars from rim to Of destiny's horizon domed and dim. Swell arches o'er the ages and uprears It* mighty structures over countless spheres. for who may measure what the mother can Accomplish in the making of the man fpr powers and purposes which span all time WHb miracles unending and sublime— lodging the vast abyss 'tween Heaven and earth. Whining great triumphs over death and dearth, Unking with tireless trust and endless lov e__ ftSelnether worlds to radiant worlds Above. The mother shapes the little man or maid Into great souls in which by love inlaid Am possibilities of untold joys jBeeroming forth in other girls and boys. Whoso mission shall project thoughts wide and free Into the laps of centuries yet to be. ' Bo eareful, then, lest warping these they fall litt the vilest vice beyond recall. Wslgh well your mission, mothers of the race, Who doom your babes to grandeur or dis grace; Priestesses are ye, worshiping in deeds Ihr mightier than world-worn words and creeds; To are the arbiters of faiths and fates. Custodians of Heaven and hell's barred gates, Bakers of manhood, womanhood, and ways WHeh lead souls on through endless deeds tad days. I. EDGAR JONES. A Maniac's Freak 1 HAVE heard of persons whose ^ hair was whitened through ex cessive fear, but, as I never saw my self anyone so affected, I am disposed to be incredulous on the subject." Tbe above remark was made to Dr. Myiiard, as we saf on the piazza of Mi pretty villa, discussing the differ eat effects of terror on dissimilar tem peraments. Without replying to me, tbe doctor turned to his wife, and told: "Helen, will you please relate to my «Id friend the incident within your iwa experience? It is the most con ; viadng argument I can advance." I looked at Mrs. Maynard in sur Fbe. I had observed that her hair, whieh was luxuriant, and dressed very ; beamingly, was purely colorless; but, to «be was a young woman, and also * very pretty one, I surmised that it Vu powdered to heighten the bril i Haney of her fine dark eyes. Tbe doctor and I had been fellow f dtodents, but, after leaving college, ' •ihnd drifted apart; I to commence ; |metice in an eastern city, he to pur toibis profession in a growing town M the west. I was now on a visit to bta for the first time since his mar Ufa, Maynard, no doubt reading my P*WrMtion by my look of incredulity, ;«Btd as she shook her snowy tresses : to* her shoulders, and, seating her ; «H by her husband's side, related the [ Mining interesting episode: R was nearly two years ago since ! toj husband was called on one evening ...to visit a patient several miles away, domestics had all gone to a wake ■ Ibe vicinity, the dead man baing •relative of one of our serving worn to. Thus I was left alone. But I felt to fear, for we never had heard of totflera or any sort of desperadoes . ■ our quiet village, then consisting of mattered houses. The windows |"®*K out on the piazza were open 1 * tow, but I secured the blinds be £ »-V husband's departure, and [tothe d the inside doors, all except the ■it one, which I left for the doc te lock after going out, so that, should fall asleep before his re ,he would enter without arousing I heard the doctor's rapid foot ' fbe gravel, quickened by the tones of a messenger who pStojtod him; and, after the sharp ■ of the carriage wheels had be an echo, I seated myself parlor astral, and very soon Î"*** absorbed in the book' I had ^■^ytoding before being disturbed yto sommons, igtoaft«. a time my interest suc gtoM to drowsiness, and I thought g^ito tfuig. Then the clock in the . * tud / struck 12, so I deter v«. Wa * t a few moment's more, [that he would be home very 1 aJ c l°sed my book, donned a I Jr* Sombre, let down my hair, returned to my seat to pa and listen. Not the faint s'® disturbed the stillness *of /■*«. Not a breath of air stirred a* s *l ence was so pro «•t it became oppressive. I the sharp click of the gate R well ' known step on the ** lk - 1 did not dare to break . 7 * myself by moving or singing, '-^pressed with the deep still "«man mind is a strange .•* itself. I began to conjure fancies about ghostly vtsit J* 8 midst of which occurred •tones I had heard from ' people about the troubled toe who had died sudden ®*® whom my servants had gone to "wake," who had been killed by an accident at the sawmill. In the midst of these terrifying re flections, I , was startled by a stealthy footfall on the piazza. I listened be tween fear and hope. It might be the doctor. But no, he would not tread like that; the step was too soft and cautious for anything less wily than a cat. As I listened again, my eyes fixed on the window-blind, I saw the slats move slowly and cautious ly, and then the rays of the moon dis closed a thin, cadaverous face, and bright, glittering eyes, peering at me. Horror! Who was it? or what was it? I felt the cold perspiration start at every pore. I seemed to be frozen in my chair. I could not move; I could not cry out; my tongue seemed glued to the roof of my mouth, while the deathly white face pressed closer, and the great sunken eyes wandered in their gaze about the room. In a few moments the blind closed as noiselessly as it had been opened, and the cautious footsteps came toward the door. "Merciful heavens!" I cried in a horror-stricken whisper, as I heard the key turn in the lock, "the doctor, in his haste, must have for gotten to withdraw the key." I heard the front door open, the step in the hall, and, helpless as a statue, I sat riveted to my chair. The parlor door was open, and in it stood a tall, thin man, whom I never before beheld. He was dressed in a long, loose robe, a sort of gaberdine, and a black velvet skull-cap partially con cealed a broad forehead, under which gleamed black eyes, bright as living coals, and placed so near together that their gaze was preternatural in their distinctness; heavy, grizzled eyebrow's hung over them ljke the tangled mane of a lion; the nose was sharp and prominent; the chin was overgrown with white hair, which hung down in locks as weird as the Ancient Mariner's. He politely doffed his cap, bowed, replaced it, and then said, in a slightly foreign accent: "Madam, it is not necessary for me to stand on any further ceremony, as your husband, Dr. Maynard," here he again bowed profoundly, "has al ready acquainted you with the na ture of my business here to-night. I perceive," he added, glancing at my negligee robe, "that you were expect ing me." "No," I found voice to 6tammer; "the doctor has said nothing to me about a visitor at this hour of the night." "Ah! he wished to spare you, no doubt, a disagreeable apprehension," he returned, advancing and taking a seat on the sofa opposite me, where for a few moments he sat and eyed me from head to foot with a strange, glittering light in his eyes that mysteriously im pressed me. "You have a remarkably fine physique, madam," he observed, quietly; "one that might deceive the eyes of the most skilled and practiced physician. Do you suffer much pain?" Unable to speak, I shook my head. A terrible suspicion was creeping over me. I was alone, miles away from aid or rescue, with a madman. "Ah," he continued, reflectively, "your husband may have mistaken a tumor for a cancer. Allow me to feel your puise," he said, rising and bend ing over roe. I thought it best to humor him, re membering it w r as unwise for a help less woman to oppose the as yet harm less freak of a lunatic. He took out his watch, shook his head gravely, laid my hand down gently, and then went to ward the study, where on the table was an open case of surgical instruments. "Do not be alarmed, madam," he sajd to me, as I was about to rise and flee, and in another instant he was by my side with the case in his possession. Involuntarily I raised my head and cried: "Spare me 1 Oh, spare me, Ibe sec.h you!" "Madam," he said, aternly, clasping my wrist with hi« long, sinewy fingers with a grip of steel, "you behave like a child. I have no time to parley, for I have received a letter from the emper or of the French, stating that he is de sirous of my attendance. I must start for Europe immediately after perform ing the operation on your breast," and, before I could make the slightest re sistance, he had me in his arms, and was carrying me into the study, where was a long surgical table, covered with green baize. On this he laid me, and holding me down with one hand, with the strength of a maniac, he brought forth several long leather straps, which bore evidence of having recently been cut, with which he secured me to the table with the skill of an expert. It was but the work of a moment to un loose my robe and bare my bosom. Then, after carefully examining my left breast, he said: "Madam, your husband has made a mistake. I find no necessity for my intended^ operation." At this I gave a long-drawn sigh of relief, and prepared to rise. "But," he continued,"I have made the discovery that your heart is as large as that of an ox! I will remove it, so that you can see for yourself, reduce it to its natural size by a curious process of my own unknown to medical science, and of which I am sole discoverer, then re place it again." He began to examine the edge of the cruel knife, on which I closed my eyes, while every serve mi la perceptible tremor. "The mechanism of the heart Is like a watch," he resumed; "if it goes too fast, the great blood-vessel that sup plies the force must be stopped, like the lever of a watch, and the works must be cleaned, and repaired, and regulat ed. It may interest you to know' that 1 was present at the post-mortem ex amination held over the remains of the beautiful Louisa of Prussia. Had I been consulted before her death, I would have saved her by taking out her heart, and removing the polypi, be tween which it was wedged as in a vise, but I was called too late. The king and I had a little difference; he was Ger man, I am French. I trust that is suf ficient explanation." He now bent over me, his long, white beard brushing my face. I opened my eyes beseechingly, trying to think of some way to save myself. "Oh, sir, give me an anaesthetic, that I may not feel the pain." I pleaded. "Indeed, indeed, madam, I would comply with your wish were you not the wife of a physician—of a skillful surgeon. I wish you to note with what ease I perform this difficult operation, so that you may tell your husband of the great savant whose services he se cured, fortunately in season." As he said this he made the final test of the knife on his thumb. How pre cious were the moments now! They were fleeting all too fast, and yet an eternity seemed compressed in every one. I never fainted in my life, and I never felt less like swooning than now, as I summoned all my presence of mind to delay the fearful moment, fervently praying in the meantime for my hus band's return. "Doctor," said I, with assumed com posure, "I have the utmost confidence in your skill; I would not trust my life to another; but, doctor, you have for gotten to bring a napkin to stanch the blood. If you will have the goodness to ascend to my sleeping chamber, at the right of the hall, you will find everything you need for that purpose in the bureau." "Ah, madam," he said, shaking his head sagaciously, "I never draw blood during a surgical operation; that is another one of my secrets unknown to the faculty." Then, placing his hand on my bosom, he added, with horrible espieglerie: "I'll scarcely mark that skin whiter than snow, and smooth as monumental alabaster." "O God!" I cried, as I felt the cold steel touch my breast; but with the same breath came deliverance. Quick as thought a heavy woolen piano-cover was thrown over the head and person of the madman, and bound tightly around him. As quickly was 1 released, and the thongs that bound me soon held the maniac. My husband held me in his arms. He had noiseless ly approached, and, taking in the hor ror of my situation at a glance, had, by the only means at hand, secured the madman, who was the very patient he had been summoned to attend, but who had escaped the vigilance of his keeper soon after the departure of the messenger, who had now returned with the doctor in pursuit of him. As the poor wretch was being hurried away, he turned to me, and said; "Madam, this is a plot to rob me of my reputation. Your husband is envious of my great skill as a surgeon. Adieu ! " I afterward learned that the man was once an eminent surgeon in Europe, but much learning had made him mad. When* he bound me to the table, my hair was black as a raven; when I left it, it was as you see it now—white as full-blown cotton. — San Francisco Argonaut. Gen. Kitchener's Optimism. A few months before the Transvaal war broke out Gen. Kitchener was in Paris. A French journalist whom I know called on him and brought away a very definite impression, says a writer in the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post. Gen. Kitchener is a calm, self-centered, steely man, who has only one passion and one aiip in life—his business of being a soldier. His opinion of women is anything but flattering—probably because he is not married. In Egypt he used to assura his young officers that "falling in love ruins more good soldiers and spoils more promising careers than anything else." It is the old theory of the painter who "loved his art" and feared that, should he marry, hi« paint brush might be jealous of hi« wife. "W'hat do you think of the project of disarmament and universal peace?" Gen. Kitchener was asked. "I don't think of it," said the general. "Do you think there is any chance of a European war?" "Well," said the general, thoughtful ly, "this confounded peace has been so violent it can't possibly last much longer." Why Tommy Wai Retired. Sue (who has just been asked to play something on the piano)—I real ly can't play anything. Tommy—But, I say, Sue, why don't you play that piece you spoke to me about? Sue—What piece? Tommy—Why, that one you told ms to ask you to play when we had com pany, 'cause you knew it better'n any of the other«. I forget the namel Then Tommy was seat to bed.—21. Y. Herald FRUITS OF VICTORY. Dr. Talmage Discourses on the Re wards of Faithful Endeavor. Lesson of Christ In Overcoming Ob stacles Which Beset His Followers —Satisfaction In Completion of Good Work. [Copyright, 1900, by Louis Klopsch.] Washington, In this discourse Dr. Talmage shows in an unusual way the antagonisms that Christ overcame and finds »a bal sam for all wounded hearts; text, John 17: 4: "I have finished the work which Thou gavest Me to do." There is a profound satisfaction in the completion of anything we have undertaken. We lift the capstone with exultation, while, on the other hand, there is nothing more disap pointing than after having toiled in a certain direction to find that'our time is wasted and our investment profit less. Christ came to throw up a high way on which the whole world might, if it chose, mount into Heaven. He did it. The foul-mouthed crew who at tempted to tread on Him could not extinguish the sublime satisfaction which He expressed when He said: "I have finished the work which Thou gavest Me to do." Alexander the Great was wounded, and the doctors could not medicate his wounds, and he seemed to be dy ing, and in his dream the sick man saw a plant with a peculiar flower, and he dreamed that the plant was put upon his wound and that imme diately it was cured. And Alexander, waking from his dream, told this to the physician, and the physician wan dered out until he found just the kind of plant which the sick man had de scribed, brought it to him, and the wound was healed. Well, the human race has been hurt with the ghast liest çf all wounds—that of sin. It was the business of Christ to bring a balm for that wound—the balm of Di vine restoration. In carrying this business to a successful issue the dif ficulties were stupendous. In many of our plans we have our friends to help us; some to draw a sketch of the plan, others to help us in the execution. But Christ fought every inch of His way against bitter hostility and amid circumstances all calculated to depress and defeat. In the first place, His worldly oc cupation was against Him. I find that He earned His livélihood by the car penter's trade—an occupation always to be highly regarded and respected. But you know as well as I do that in order to succeed in any employment One must give his entire time to it, and I have to declare that the fa tigues of carpentry were unfavorable to the execution of a mission which required ail mental and physical fac ulties. Through high, hard, dry, husky, insensate Judaism to hew a way for a new and glorious dispensa tion was a stupendous undertaking that was enough to dfenand all the concentrated energies eVen of Christ. We have a great many romantic stor ies about what men w'ith physical toil have accomplished in intellectual de partments, but you know that after a man has been toiling all day with adz and saw and hammer, plane and ax, about all he can do is to rest. A weary body is an unfavorable ad junct to a toiling mind. You, whose life is purely mechanical, if you were called to the upbuilding of a king dom, or the proclamation of a new code of morals, or the starting of a revolution which should upturn all na tions, could get some idea of the in coherence of Christ's occupation with His heavenly mission. In His father's shop no more inter course was necessary than is ordi narily necessary in bargaining with men that have work to do; yet Christ, with hands hard from use of tools of trade, was called forth to be come a public speaker, to preach in the face of mobs, while some wept and some shook their fists and some gnashed upon Him with tneir teeth, and many wanted Him out of the way. To address orderly and respectful as semblages is not so easy as it may seem, but it requires more energy and more force and more concentra tion to address an exasperated mob. The village of Nazareth heard the pounding of His jammer, but all the wide reaches of eternity were to hear the stroke of His spiritual upbuilding. So also His habit of dress and diet were against Him. The mighty men of Christ's time did not appear in ap parel without trinkets and adorn ments. None of the Caesars would have appeared in citizen's apparel. Yet here was a man, here was a pro fessed king, who always wore the same coat. Indeed, it was far from shabby, for after He had worn it a long while the gamblers thought it worth rafifiing about, but still it was far from being an imperial robe. Neither was there any pretense in His diet. No cupbearer with golden chalice brought Him wine to drink. On the seashore He ate fish, first hav ing broiled it Himself. No one fetched Him water to drink; but, bending ovex the well in Samaria, be begged shrink. He sat at only one banquet find that not at all sumptu ous. for to relieve the awkwardness of the host one of the guests had to prepare wine for the company. Other kings code in a chariot; He walked. Other kings as they advance have heralds and applauding sub jects behind; Christ's retinue was made up of sunburned fishermen. Other kings sleep under embroidered canopy; this one on a shelterless hill. Biding but once, as far as I now re member, on a colt—and that bor rowed. His poverty was against Him. It requires money to build great enter prises. Men of means are afraid of a penniless projector, lest a loan be de manded. It requires money to print books, to build institutions, to pay in structors. No wonder the wise men of Christ's time laughed at this penni less Christ. "Why," they said, "who is to pay for this new religion? Who is to charter the ships to carry the missionaries? Who is to pay the sal aries of the teachers? Shall the wealthy, established religion be dis comfited by a penniless Cnrist?" The consequence was that most of the people that followed Christ had noth ing to lose. Affluent Joseph of Arima thea buried Christ, but he risked no social position in doing that. It is always safe to bury a dead man. Zac cheus risked no wealth or social posi tion in following Christ, but took a position in a tree to look down as He passed. Nicodemus, wealthy Nicode mus, risked nothing of social position in following Christ, for he skulked by night to find Him. All this was against Christ. So the fact that He was not regularly grad uated was against Him. If a man comes with the diplomas of colleges and schools and theological semina ries, and he has been through foreign travel, tue world is disposed to lis ten. But here was a man who had graduated at no college, had not in any academy by ordinary means learned the alphabet of the language He spoke, and yet He proposed to talk, to instruct in subjects which had con founded the mightiest intellects. John says: "The Jews marveled, saying: 'How hath this man letters, having never learned?' " We, in our day, have found out that a man without a di ploma may know as much as a man with one, and that a college cannot transform a sluggard into a philoso pher or a theological seminary teach a fool to preach. An empty head after the laying on of hands of the presbytery is empty still. But it shocked all existing prejudices in those olden times for a man with no scholastic pretensions and no gradu ation from a learned institution to set Himself up for a teacher. It was against Him. So also the brevity of His life was against him. He had not come to what we call midlife. But very few men do anything before 33 years of age, and yet that was the point at which Christ's life terminated. The first 15 years you take in nursery and school. Then it will take you six years to get into your occupation or profession. That will bring you to 21 years. Then it will take you ten years at least to get established in your life work, correcting the mis takes you have made. If any man at 33 years of age gets fully estab lished in his life work he is the ex ception. Yet that is the point at which Christ's life terminated. I imagine Christ one day standing in the streets of Jerusalem. A man descended from high lineage is stand ing beside Him and says: "My father was a merchant prince. He had a castle on the beach in Galilee. Who was your father?" Christ answers: "Joseph, the carpenter." A man from Athens is standing there unrolling his parchment of graduation and says to Christ: "Where did you go to schol?" Christ answers: "I never graduated." Aha, the idea of such an unheralded young man attempting to command the attention of the world! As well some little fishing village on Long Is land shore attempt to arraign New York. Yet no sooner does He set His foot in the towns or cities of Judea than everything is in commotion. The people go out on a picnic, taking only food enough for a day, yet are so fas cinated with Christ that at the risk of starving they follow Him out into the wilderness. A nobleman falls down flat before him and says: "My daugh ter is dead." A beggar tries to rub the dimness from his eyes, and says: "Lord, that my eyes may be opened." A poor, sick, panting woman presses through the crowd and says: "I must touch the hem of His gar ment." Children who love their mothers better than anyone else struggle to get into His arms, and to kiss His cheek, and to run their fingers through His hair, and for all time putting Jesus so in love with the little ones that there is hardly a nursery in Christendom from which He does not take one, saying: "I must have them. I will fill Heaven with these, for every cedar that I plant in Heaven I will have 50 white lilies. In the hour when I was a poor man in Judea they were not ashamed of Me, and now that I have come to a throne, I do not despise them. Hold it not back, O weeping mother! Lay it on my warm heart. Of such is the King dom of Heaven." All this was against Him. Did any one ever cndei take soch an enter* it a I a prise amid such infinite embarrass ments and by such modes? And yqt I am here to say it ended in a com plete triumph. Notwithstanding His worldly occupation, His poverty, His plain face, His unpretentious garb— the fact that He was schoolless, the fact that He was not accompanied by any visible organization—notwith standing all that, in an exhilaration which shall be prolonged in everlast ing chorals He declared: "I have fin ished the work which Thou gavest Me to do." See Him victorious over the forces of nature. The sea is a crystal sep ulcher. It swallowed the Central America, the president and the Span ish armada as easily as any fly that ever floated on it. The inland lakes are fully as terrible in their wrath. Some of us who have sailed on it know that Lake Galilee, when aroused in a storm, is overwhelming, and yet that sea crouched in His presence and licked His feet. He knew all the waves and the wind. When He beck oned, they came. When he frowned, they fled. The heel of His foot made no indentation on the solidified wa ter. Medical science has wrought great changes in rheumatic limbs and diseasefl blood, but when the mus cles are entirely withered no human power can restore them, and when a limb is once dead it is dead. But here is a paralytic—his hand lifeless. Christ says to him: "Stretch forth thy hand," and he stretches it forth. In the eye infirmary how many dis eases of that delicate organ have been cured? But Jesus says to one blind, "Be open!" and the light of heaven rushes through gates that have never before been opened. The frost or an ax may kill a tree, but Jesus smites one dead with a word. Chemistry may do many wonderful things, but what chemist at a wedding when the wine gave out could change a pail of water into a cask of wine? What human voice could command a school of fish? Yet here is a voice that marshals the scaly tribes, until in a place where they had let down the net and pulled it up with no fish in it they let it down again, and the disciples lay hold and began to pull, when by reason of the multitude of fish the net broke. Na ture is his servant. The flowers—he twisted them into his sermons; the winds—they were his lullaby when he slept in the boat; the rain—it hung glitteringly on the thick foliage of the parables; the star of Bethlehem—it sang a Christmas carol over his birth; the rocks—they beat a dirge at his death. Behold his victory over the grave! My subject also reassures us of the fact that in all our struggles we have a sympathizer. You cannot tell Christ anything new about hardship. I do not think that wide ages of eternity will take the scars from His punctured side and His lacerated temples and His sore hands. Yon will never have a burden weighing so many pounds as that burden Christ carried up the bloody hill. You will never have any suffering worse than He endured, when with tongue hot and cracked and inflamed and swollen he moaned: "I thirst." You will never be surrounded by worse hostility than that which stood around Christ's feet, foaming, reviling, livid with rage, howl ing down His prayers, and snuffing up the smell of blood. O ye faint hearted, O ye troubled, O ye persecuted one, here is a heart that can sympathize with you) Again, and lastly, I learn from all that has been said to-day that Christ was awfully in earnest. If it had not been a momentous mission He would have turned back from it disgusted and discouraged. He saw you in a cap tivity from which He was resolved to extricate you, though it cost Him all sweat, all tears, all blood. He came a great way to save you. He eama from Bethlehem here, through this place of skulls, through the charnel house, through banishment. Thera was not among all the ranks of celes tials one being who would do as much for you. I lay His crushed heart at your feet to-day. Let it not be told in Heaven that you deliberately put your foot on it. While it will take all the ages of eternity to celebrate Christ's triumph, I am here to make the startling announcement that be cause of the rejection of this mission on the part of some of you all that magnificent work of garden and cross and grave is, so far as you are con cerned, a failure. Helena, the empress, went to the Holy Land to find thecross of Christ. Getting to the Holy Land there were three crosses excavated, and the question was, which of tha crosses was Christ's cross. They took a dead body, tradition says, and put it upon one of the crosses, and there was no life, and they took the dead body and put it upon another cross, and there was no life. But, tradition says, when the dead body was put up against the third cross, it sprang into life. The dead man lived again. Ob, tnat the life giving power of the Son of God might dart yonr dead soul into an eternal life, beginning this day! "Awake, thou that sleepest, and rise from the dead, and Chi'ist shall give thee life!" Live now! And live forever! A London inventor has perfected an employe's checking clock which ia ad dition takes a picture of each w ploye or Us arrival sod departure.