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The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, July 05, 1900, Image 1

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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.

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