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Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, September 19, 1884, Image 8

Image and text provided by South Dakota State Historical Society – State Archives

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn99067997/1884-09-19/ed-1/seq-8/

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Dnarn by a brooklet's mossy brink
Whose fair face mirrored a bit of iky
Hie thirsty leaves stooped low to drink.
As the singing waters went rippling by.
And idling near, in a quiet nook.
Where Kitty and I sat Asking for trout,
We watched the wooing of leaf and brook,
¥111 the light of a golden day went out.
Twas a beautiful picture of aweet content!)
Ike brook could do nothing but sing and
The indolent shadows came and went.
And the leaves kept whispering all the while.
80 we left them happily wooing there,
For we were so busy with—bait and hook,
And the slippery fish that we hoped to
Pray, how could we list to the leaves and
With ber beautiful face so close to mine,
And her dainty mouth with its tempting
What wonder that dropping hook and line,
I fished for Kitty instead of trout?
And how did it happen? perhaps she caught,
An inspiration from leaf and brook
But all in a moment e'er 1 thought,
I was captured for life by her pitiless hook.
Aad she held me her slave till the sunset'*
Had tinted her beautiful face and hair
Jbr the winds and the sunbeams love her eo,
They leave their tenderest kislies there
60 the light of the golden day went out,
Leaving love's blessing on brook and tree,
I bad fished for, and captured, a silver trout,
,While Kitty, poor Kitty, caught nothing but
—It. A. Foul, in DemoraA's Monthly.
Carious Promises and Pledge* Hade
and Oat lis Taken by Men and Ws
men—Startling Storlea Tbat Have
Originated in Vowa Made In Anger
ttr Haute.—The Queen Whoa* Vow
Hot to change Her Linen Cave Us the
Color Ecru.
It is a noticeable fact tbat the obliga
tion of a simple promise, unfortified ly
an oath, is nowhere recognized in scrip
ture. The vow was then the one form
of pledge, and included always the in
vocation of a curse, or conditional favor
of the Almighty. "So God do unto me
and more also, or "The Lord be wit
ness between me and thee,1' such forms
were necessary with primitive man,
even as they are now with barbarous
nations, to give even the semblance of
truth to any promise. So it would seem
to be an increased rather than a lessened
regard for truthfulness and good faith
which has rendered the vow nearly ob
solete in later times. Not wholly so,
for there is nothing so tenacious of life
as a mild superstition, and many of the
absurd instances showing the strong in
fluence which the vow has held over the
minds of men are of -surprisingly recent
date. In ancient times the vow was in
terpreted so literally that the mere rep
etition of its words was sufficient to
bind the speaker irrevocably, even
against his will or his knowledge.
When Cydippe unwittingly read the
words of a vow written upon an apple
handed her by Acontius at the foot of
Diana's altar, the priests of the goddess
declared the pledge irrevocable, the
maiden's will to the contrary notwith
The annals of chivalry abound in rec
ords of vows, more or less romantic or
absurd. For instance, Queen Joan of
Maples, at a grand least at her castle of
Garta, honored the Knight Galeaz/.o of
Mantua by opening the ball with him.
When the dance was finished the grate
ful knight kneeled down before his
royal partner, and to fitly express his
ackhowledgment of the honor he had
received, he took a solemn vow to wan
der through the world, visiting ever}'
country where feats of arms are per
formed, and not rest until he had sub
dued'two valiant knights, and presented
them as prisoners at his Queen's foot
stool, to be disposed of at her royal
pleasure. Sure enough, this doughty
warrior, after a year spent in wander
ing all over Europe, returned like a cat
with a mouse in her mouth, and laid his
two prisoners at the feet of Queen Joan.
The Queen took the gift very gracefully,
and, the admiring historian tells us,
"declined her right to impose rigorous
conditions on her captives, anT gave
them liberty without ransom." Wheth
er they properly puuished Sir Galeazzo
for his interference with their personal
rights we are not told.
Catherine de Medicis was quite given
to taking vows of altogether' needless
stringency—on others. For instance,
after succeeding in some enterprise in
which she was greatly interested, she
would send a pilgrim on foot to the
Hoty Land, who should, for every three
steps forward on his journey, take one
step backward. One would think that
the Queen ought to have waited long
before she could find any one. willing to
fulfill the difficult conditions of this vow
but a candidate quickly appeared—with
visions of many ducats to be thereby
•arned, no doubt, and set out upon the
journey. The Queen sent emissaries
behind him to see that lie minded his
backward and forward steps properly,
and when these returned with .the inde
fatigable gentleman, and rendered a
majority report in his favor, the Queen
gave him as a reward the rank of a no
ble and a princely sum on which to sup
port his new honors.
More personal and less agreeabl* to
the cnief person concerned was the vow
taken by Queen Isabella, daughter of
Phillip II, in the twelfth century, not to
change her linen until the city of Os
tend had been taken by her soldiers.
The difficulties that sometimes interfere
with military enterprises evidently did
not occur to the lady at the time she
made her vow, but unfortunately the
siege lasted three years, and so singu
larly truthful was her Majesty's charac
ter that she kept her oath to the last.
To testify their regard for her persisten
cy the ladies of the court adopted a din
gy yellow color for their ruffs and
stockings, which they christened 1' Ise
oeau. This was the origin of the tint
known as ecru, which comes up to the
top wave in fashions occasionally, and
perhaps would be less in favor were it
remembered that it was originally made
to resemble, as far as possible, very
dirty linen.
In medieval times religious vows of a
character similar to the above were so
very common that the sanctity of the
friars was gauged by their dirtiness, the
very dirtiest being supposed to have on
hand the very largest contract in the
•shape of a vow, and to be revered as
boly accordingly. In like manner,
vow£ never to cut the hair, beard or
In 1862, when Belgrade was bom
barded by the Turks, certain Servian
patriots vowed not to allow a razor to
touch their faces until they could shave
within the fortress itself. For five
years they had to forego the services of
all friendly barbers, but at last the tri
umphant hour came. One day in 1867
they all marched through the streets of
Belgrade, preceded by barbers, razors
in hand, their long, flowing beards ex
citing the amazement and delight of the
populace. They went into the fortress,
ana sometime afterward all came
marching out again with clean-shaven
faces, looking vastly the younger for
the operation. Ana only a few weeks
since Chicago was honored by a visit
from a long-haired gentleman, who
•owed forty years or so ago to follow
the custom of Samson, to-wit: to let no
razor come nigh his head until Henry
Clay should be elected. Obviously the
man was set free from his vow by the
death of his candidate, but such is the
respect accorded to vows that many re-
them as binding although the'eon
itions on which they were ouilt have
Others, on the contrary, regard a
vow as a restraining bond of a very
elastic character indeed, especially
when it interferes with their desires.
This gutta percha peculiarity pertains
to vows of reformation, New Year re
solves, pledges of total abstinence, etc.
Rip Van Winkle, though he had
"schwore off," yet compromised with
his vow by agreeing "not to count this
time." Benedick, when he found his
vow of celibacy too great a strain upon
him in the presence of his Beatrice's
charms, disposes of it fearlessly and
finally with the plea: "When I said 1
would die a bachelor, I did not think I
should live till I were married." Often
we have the letter of the vow evaded
with some specious reasoning, and the
spirit then broken with impunity. For
instance, a modern Rip, who might
have given Jefferson a point or two,
vowea that he would never drink anoth
er drop of liquor as long as he had a
hair on his head. A few hours later he
was met coming out of a barber's shop
with a poll as hairless as that of a babe,
typifying the condition of innocence in
which he returned to his cups again.
The vows of perpetual widowhood or
maidenhood are usually regarded as
meant to be broken as lightly as they
are made. Still some sophistry is occa
sionally brought into play to avoid the
too-merited imputation of fickleness.
As, for instance, in the case of a widow
who had pledged herself not to marry
again till the grass was green on her
husband's grave, and was found by the
sexton three months later planting some
grass seed on the mound and hastening
its germination with daily applications
from a watering-can, that no time
might be lost in freeing her from her
unlucky promise! Voltaire tells in one
of his romances of a widow who vowed
she would never marry again "as long
as the river flows by the side of the hill."
Finding, however, a few months later,
that she was not so inconsolable as she
thought, the lady begins to look about
for seme means of freeing herself from
her vow, and finds it in a clever en
gineer, who turns the river from its
channel so that it no longer "flows by
the sii'.e of the hill." The matter thus
happily compromised with the unseen
powers supposed to be looking after the
koeping of vows, the lady loses no time
in exchanging her weeds for a bridal
veil. But this story is probably pure
fiction, a romance through which Vol
taire bears 11 nwilling witness to the in
genuity of the sex that he was only too
ready to villify. Not less ingenious was
the damsel who, having made a pledge
that she would never marry a certain
lover "on the face of the earth," accom
panied him on the following day down
into the recesses of a cave, where a min
ister and a ring were in waiting, and
the two were wedded, not "on the face
of the earth," but under it.
In the life of Erasmus an instance is
given of a sailor who in a storm vowed
a life-sized effigy to St. Christopher if the
ship should get safely to land, whereat
the wise man was greatly amused. A
modern biographer of the great scholar
comments on this superstitious custom
as obselete, but it is by no means so.
The smaller shrines in Europe to-day
are supported almost wholly by votive
offerings—that is, gifts—brought in in
fulfillment of vows or pledges. And a
long chapter might be written concern
ing historical pilgrimages and benefices
caused in similar manner. As late as
1867 a lady of Madrid vowed when she
was ill that should her health be restored
she would walk from Madrid to Rome
on foot, a journey which she afterward
successfully performed with no apparent
harm to her physical condition. Some
of these vows made during illness are
naturally forgotten since
"When the devil was sick the devil a monk
would be.
But when the dovil got well the devil a monk
was he,"
and methods of evading the too painful
literal performance of the pledge are
usually within reach, as the lady found
who vowed to make a pilgrimage bare
foot to a certain shrine, and went there,
it is true, and without shoes and stock
ings, but riding comfortably in a sedan
chair the while.
A church, at Poole, England, was
built during the present century by Sir
Edward Doughty, as. he had vowed to
do, when his son lay apparently dying,
should the child be restored to health
again, The boy did recover to the
amazement of all, and the church was
accordingly built. When tbo Infanta
Eulalie, of Spain, lay very ill her moth
er, Queen Isabella, vowed not to build a
church, but to make a pilgrimage to
Barcelona, and there offer a gift to the
patron saint of the city. And this
Queen, albeit she was ra»her indifferent
concerning the minor morals, and cer
tain of the major ones also, fulfilled this
vow with the most praiseworthy punc
tiliousness possible.
Damsels disappointed in love often
deeired But morworfin*® strange vows. IMB remember
the case of pom SESB Harishaao,
Dickens' story, who was so overcome by
her lover's faihire to appear at the wed
ding that she ordered everything In the
house to be kept unchanged, as It had
been placed on that hapless day. Tears
yvtmt by, the wedding' feast remained
set out on the table, the rich cakes molded
and were eaten by mice, while the poor,
half-demented lady flitted in ana out
of the deserted rooms of the house like
a ghost, always wearing the white dres9
and veil which she had put on to wel
come the faithless lovet who never
came. A similar case to this was that
of a lady of high rank in England, who,
being jilted by ber lover, went to bed,
and vowed she would never get up
again and kept her word for twenty-six
years. A less excusable case than this
was that of a man in Pennsylvania, who,
finding that his wife was disposed to de
mand too much physical exertion from
him, took to his bed with the avowed
determination to stay there. And for
twenty-two years this worthless old
scamp stayed between the sheets, while
his wife waited upon him and fed him
with a persistent devotion that exasper
ated all her neighbors, who rightly
judged that the application of a large
birch rod would soon relieve the hus
band from keeping bis selfish and un
principled vow.
was carried
Aave always had a fascination
for certain minds. During the time of
Gtomwetl in England, certain devoted
followers of the crown vowed never to
trim their beards till the King had eome
to his own again. These were freed
from their
penance by the
Restoration, bat two noblemen who
made a similar vow in behalf of the
younger pretender were less fortunate,
but had to carry their patriarchal
beards to their graves.
Vows of perpetual siience are numer
our, the only trouble being that those
who need this vow most do not takc^t.
Probably Miss Caroline BrewerX of
Portland, Me., who in 1840 vowed/she
would never speak another word to /any
human being, because she had a quArrel
with her lover, did so with the idea that
she might thus do penance for her hasty
speech. Her penance was long and ef
fectual. For thirty-five years, till the
day of her death, she was never known
to utter a word. In New England
some years ago three sisters lived to
gether. Two of them quarreled and
vowed never to speak to each other
again. They did not speak for over
twenty years, when one of them died,
the other refusing to speak to her even
on her death bed. Very soon after the
quarrel the third sister had died. She
was a delicate, gentle woman, and it
was thought that her death was hastened
by her fruitless efforts to effect a rec
onciliation between her angry sisters,
and her unhappiness concerning their
wicked vow. There is a family in Ken
tucky, consisting of father, mother and
several children, who, it is said, have
not for years exchanged a syllable.
Any member will converse with outside
parties freely enough, but in the pres
ence of another of his family will not
speak a word.
One of the most remarkable instances
of the dumb spirit occurred in Glaston
bury, England, during the present gen
eration. This strange case was fully
attested by a physician, and reported to
the London Lancet, essentially as 'fol
Before the birth of Eli H., his father
made a vow that should his wife bring
him another girl—he had now had
three daughters in succession—he would
never speak to the child as long as he
lived. The expected infant proved to
be a boy, but this son manifested from
infancy the most pronounced antipathy
toward bis father. He never spoke to
him, nor as long as this parent lived
Would he utter a word to any one save
to his mother and sisters. When Eli
was thirty-five years old his father died,
and after that the young man's tongue
was loosed to every one, he becoming:
indeed, quite loquacious, as though to
make up for his long silence.—Chicago
Inter Occan.
A spotter from the East who has
worked hereabouts so much that his face
is familiar to the boys, was here not
long doing some work for the Laka
Shore Company. He was employed to
see if the way-freight men were living1
up to the rule prohibiting them from
allowing any one to ride without pur
chasing a ticket Way-freight conduc
tors are prohibited from collecting cash
fares, and yet cases arise where it seems
the height of cruelty to put a passenger
off. The ticket office may have been
closed, or his time too limited to buy a
ticket, and while it is a matter of life
and death with him to reach his destina
tion, and he is ready to pay his fare on
the train, the conductor cannot take
him. The spotter caught one or two
way freight conductors, but his term of
service was limited. "We usually pay
them so much a day," said a Lake Shore
Division Superintendent yesterday,
"and their expenses at some first-class
hotel, but we do not employ them to
any great extent. A spotter is liable to
be too anxious to make out a case, and
we hire only reputable men in the busi
ness. I know that a great deal of abuse
is being heaped on spotters just now,
but there are cases where they are nec
essary. To a certain extent the men
watch each other, and one man anxious
to get another out of the way to clear
the track for his own promotion will re
port him. Then, in the case of passen
ger conductors, we average tliem up at
the end of each month and mako a gen
eral average of the cash collections of
each man at the end of the year."
So saying, the official produced from
his desk a slip of paper bearing the
names of all the passenger conductors
on his division, the number of trips
made by each, the average cash collec
tions per trip, and the aggregate amount
of money collected by each man. Few
of the conductors took in more than one
hundred and seventy-live dollars in
June, and some as low as forty-eicht
dollars. The greatest number of trips
made by any conductor was fifty, and
the average cash collections did not ex
ceed five dollars and seventy-live cents
per trip. It is not so much "a question
of honesty as of the cold-blooded "busi
ness-is-business" principle that enables
one conductor to make a belter showing
than another. In other words, the man
whom tears or tales of woe will not
move and who has the knack of getting
money out of a person that a more sym
pathetic conductor would pass will
make, the best showing. "Some years
ago I did a little detective work myself,"
said the Superintendent above men
tioned, "And found that passengers who
used to take our traiifs from Borea were
waiting for Bee Line trains. It trans
pired that one or two Bee Line conduct
ors were oarryiug passengers at less
than tariff rates on their own hook. Mr.
Thomas made short- work of them."—
(Jlcvahnd Herald.
Warwick Castle has come down from
feudal times, five times it has reverted
to or been confiscated by the Crowa,:
and been given as a bribe to stay MM
loyalty of some powerful ally of the ex*
is ting sovereign. The famous Gay,
who died at Guy's Cliffe in 999, wat» the
first Earl of Warwick. William the
Conqueror kicked out the descendants
of Guy and gave the Castle to Henry
de Newburg, who was made Earl of
Warwick. The Castle was held by the
Newburgs and the Beauchamps, which
family they married into, for five hun
dred years. The last descendant of the
Beauchamps, Edward Plantagenet, w&i
accused of treason by Henry VIII,
who had been beheaded in London
Tower in 1499. The Castle remained
without an owner for forty-eight years.
It was now given by the King to John
Dudley. Queen Mary had Dudley be
headed for treason in 1553. The Cas
tle now reverted to the Crown again.
Cromwell now had the Castle given to
John Rich, whose grandson married
Cromwell's daughter. The Rich family
died out, and the Castle went to the
Crown again.
The present Lord Warwick is not a
Warwick at all. He is a Greville. Fulke
Greville, a schoolmate of Sir Philip
Sidney, found the Csistlc in ruins in
in* 1554. It was used as a com-*
mon jail. Greville bought up claims
against the Castle, and finally got pos
session of the Castle itself. The Gre
villes held Warwick Castle till 1853,
when the present Earl, George Guy
Greville (Lord Warwick), came in pos
session of it. The present Lord War
wick (so-called) has five sons and a
daughter, and as they are not stealing
castles any more in England, it wifl
probably stay in his family "till a revo
lution occurs, and he or his descend
ants are beheaded." Nine owners of
Warwick Castle have already had their
heads cut off.
The castle walls are six feet thick.
The servant who opens the door for two
shillings, ushers us through a long hall
of old iron armor into the great hall.
"That," she says, pointing down the
hall, "is the famous mammoth painting
of 'Charles I on horseback,' by Van
dyke, and this (picking up a long horn,
evidently the tooth of a mammoth) is
the horn of the famous dun cow slain
by Guy, Earl of Warwick. Here is the
punch bowl," she says, thumping a huge
iron kettle. "It holds one hundred and
two gallons. I saw it filled and emptied
three times when the present Earl came
of age. Out of the window there you
see the river Avon, thirty feet below,
and there is the old mill where they
ground wheat for the castle four hun
dred years. Look out there, and don't
slip, for the floor is waxed, you see."
So on we go, through great rooms
filled with more pictures and buhl furni
ture. "This," says tha old woman, as
we entered the state bedroom, "is the bed
which Queen Anne slep on, and which
George gave to Lord Warwick.
There's a picture of Henry VHI, by
Vandyke, landscape by Salvator Rosa,
the dead Christ bv Caracci. and —.'
And so we went on tor two hours.
The castle is cold and barn-like. There
is no way of heating it or lighting it.
Kerosene is unknown in this part of
England, though they are using it in
London. I had to use a tallow candle
in the Warwick Arms Hotel, and to
light the castle it would take a ton of
such penny dips. When I asked the
attendant for two candles he looked
amazed and said:
"We don't give candles, master, with
out ehargin' hit hon the bill."
They say an American found a piece
of rag in bis soup at the hotel the other
day, and holding it called the waiter's
attention to it.
"Wol, wot is it?" asked the waiter.
"A rag, sir—a common rag."
"Vel, vot if there is? You kant hex
pect velvet in a country hotel."—Cor.
Minneapolis Tribune.
Advance in American Engraving.
A few years ago the United States
could hardly engrave a wood block re
spectably to-day the Republic has
founded a school of engraving and two
of her illustrated magazines are not
only to be found in English homes, but
are welcomed in English art centers.
One of the most famous draughtsmen of
the age said to me a year ago two of
these magazines in his hands: "It would
be almost worth while drawing for noth
ing to be engraved as well as this."
,Mr. Hamerton, than whom no writer
stands higher in a knowledge of the
graphic arts, in his most recent work
does not hesitate to say that "whatever
may be the differences of opinion about
the desirableness of this imitative art,
there can be no question that the Amer
icans have far surpassed all other na
tions in delicacy of execution. The man
ual skill displayed in their wood cuts is
a continual marvel, and it is accom
panied by so much intelligence—I mean
by so much critical understanding of
different graphic arts—that a portfolio
of their best wood cuts is most interest
ing. Not only do they understand en
graving thoroughly, but they are the
best printers in the world, and they give
an amount of care and thought to their
printing which would be thought un
commercial elsewhere."—London Cor.
Philadelphia Inquirer.
A Mania, for Chateaux,
Arsene Houssaye has a mania for
building chateaux. He has now seven
at Beaujon, and is building an eighth.
The seven were named respectively the
houses of "Youth," "Love," "Knowl
edge," ^Family," "Renown," "Wealth"
and "Wisdom." They are appropriate
ly furnished. The first looks lilce a
museum of toys, the second is adorned
with paintfags and statues of Venus
and Cupid, the third is a mere library,
the fourth is the temple of his Lares
and Penates, the fifth contains the gifts
and written compliments of admirers,
the sixth is rich with treasures and
gems, and the seventh is dedicated
to Plato and Socrates. The eighth,
which lie is now building, is the "House
of Death, and will be the mausoleum
in which its author's dust will be placed.
—Philadelphia Bulletin.
—It is ti'Sicult to drown an insect, as
the water cannot enter the pores of the
skin, but if a drop of oil be applied to
the abdomen it falls dead at once,
beinr suffocated.
He loads us on
By Baths we did not kuo*.
Upward He leads us. though our steps be
Though ok -re taint and falter on the way,
iheuKh storms and darkness oft obscure the
Yet. when the clouds are gone
We know He leads us on.
He leads us on
Through all the unquiet yoars:
Past all our dreamland hopes, ana doubts, ana
He gJidc?our steps. Through all the tangled
Of alM, of sorrow, and erclouuea aftT,
We know His will is done,
And still He leads us on.
And He, at Inst,
After the weary strife.
Afier the restless fever we call life.
After the dreariness, the aching pain.
The wavward struggles which have proved in
After our toils are past,
Will give us rest at last.
—Golden Hour*.
St Paul, in his first epistle to the
Corinthians, utters a broad truth when
he tells us that there "are many kinds
of voices in the world, and none of them
is without signification." All nature
hits an intelligible significant voice to
him who has ears to hear it. It is not
to be supposed that the Infinite Creator
of man and nature has left Himself
without a voice of wisdom and of love
to His intelligent offspring. In many
cases nature itself is that voice. But
God has other voices, distinct, clear and
intelligible to him who will recognize
and heed them. Dr. Allan, an English
author, in a recent volume, has a fine
discourse on the "Vision of God," and
another on the "Voices of God," in
which he points out with much force the
several methods by which the Almighty
has manifested Himself to man, and
made His voice heard. "Our lives,"
he says, "are full of voices of God if we
would but listen to them. They come
in many ways, not now audibly ad
dressed to the ear of sense, but not,
therefore, the less distinct. Sometimes
it is an outward eall of circumstance,
sometimes it is an inward call of the
spirit. He who made man's ear made
al-o his reason, his conscience and his
heart, and to each He can appeal with
equal distinctness." "The responsibility
of life," he adds, with admirable dis
crimination, "lies in listening for Divine
voices, and in the responses to them that
we give. We may cultivate the spirit
ual faculty that hears God's call, or we
may make it obtuse. We may cherish
God's call, or we may silence it obey
it, or rebel against it. With spiritual
intelligence we may recognize it as
really God's voice, or, with unspiritual
repugnance, question it, explain it
away, reduce it to a mere suggestion of
human prudence."
Since the close of the age of miracles
and of the Scripture revelation, we are
no longer privileged to hear the voice
of God, as the holy men of old heard it
who wrote the inspired word of God.
God does not speak to men now as He
spoke to Moses on the mount of vision,
or to Samuel in the tabernacle. Never
theless He does still speak to intelligent
men, and to devout childhood, as really
and truly now as when the leader of
Israel said: "Show me Thy glory," and
the child Samuel in response to His call
6aid: "Speak, Lord, for Thy servant
heareth." Not in visions, not in dreams
of the night, not by audible voices from
Heaven, does He utter His call and re
veal His will. But there are four distinct
methods or channels of communication
•till open between Heaven and earth,
through which men may hear the voice
of God, and give back their responses
of approval or of disobedience. In these
and by these He is ever saying, even as
He did of old: "Unto you, O men, I
call, and My voice is to the sons of
men.'' These are the inward voicc of
conscience, the voice of His Divine
Spirit in our hearts, and the voice of
the sacred Scriptures. These all to
gether constitute God's abiding testi
mony and guide to His church on earth,
and to all the sons of men. In these
they can hear His voice, and in these
they can find, if they will, the rule of
all moral duty, the standing|of all re
ligious truth, the clear, certain and in
fallible o^uide to eternal life. In each of
these God has spoken, and He still
Our spiritual nature, with its death
less yearnings after immortality and its
ineffaceable sense of right and wrong,
is but the voice of God within us, ever
exhorting us to that which is good, ever
warning us against that which ie
wrong. How could it be otherwise
when we know that this spiritual moral
nature was originally created in God's
own image? Though in apostate ruin
now, all sadly marred by sin—its gold
become dim and its fine gold changed
—yet this moral nature is God's own
testimony in the soul—God's voice to
the soul of every man, calling him up
ward to immortality and onward to
duty. Conscience, at times misleading,
and seared as with a hot iron, has still
a voice even in wicked men, and that
voice often speaks for God to the last.
Even in death, when heart and flesh are
failing, and all other monitors are gone,
conscience will reassert its functions
and cry out for the living God. "Out of
the very constitution of our nature,"
says Dr. Allan, "a still small voice of
God testifies to our spiritual and im
aortal being. This voice of God with
tells us that we are mare than the
brutes that perish, that wo are more
Mian mere intellectual machines."
And there is another voice of God
lbove us night and day, and if we would
jut heed it,which is perpetually calling
.o us, directing our paths, opening our
'ay, shaping our ends, and ever bring
ng good out of evil_ in our lives. It is
lie voice of His wise, superintending
rovidence, saying to us at times: "This
the way walk ye in it and at oth
'^Thiis far shalt thougo, and no far
mer." For is it not written in the sa
red book, and illustrated in the
lvesof thousands of the saints, "that
JO good thing will He withhold from
•hem that walk upright." "The steps
ti a good man are ordered by the Lord
hough he fall ho shall not De utterly
1st down." "Surely, goodness and
aercy shall follow mc all the days of
.ay life, and I will dwell in the house of
he Lord forever." "I will instruct
Jiee and teach thee in the way whieh
hou shalt go. I will guide thee with
•me eye." "Nevertheless I am con
anually with Thee Thou hast holden
hy "L^ght band. Thou sha
with Thy counsel, and after*'8
ceive me to glory."
Again, God's voice of love and
comes to us in all the saving ''let
ing influences of the Divine M*1"
will not leave you comfortles,
our blessed Lord. "I
w|n 8pn
vs s:
Comforter, the Spirit of all tr.,H°Uth^
shall teach you all things and hn
things to your remembrance ju?
shall abide with you forever''
guide, this Divine instructor, this
voice of God, have all thev who 1 I
in Jesus and obey His commands
Holy Ghost is the divinely aiw
teacher of the church, and His
tion is the sure and unerring voi
God to every soul that will accem
guidance. "Hereby we know"
the beloved apostle John "that
dwell in Him ana He in us, beeaul
hath given us of His Spirit, it
Spirit that beareth witness, bcean!
Spirit is truth." "^auset,
Once more, we have God's
clear and unmistakable in all the «i
ances of His written, inspired
The sacred Scriptures contain G^r
great voices of truth and wisdom
grace and salvation, of life and oW
come. Next to Christ and the ti
Ghost, the Bible is God's greatest"
to man. As such all Protestant C'iri
tians accept and glory in it, as the
lible criterion of truth, the stanUardi
duty, the rule of faith, the end of
troversy. In the Scriptures thev reco»
nize God's voice, God's supreme, ultf
mate and authoritative testimony, g,
that testimony they are willing to
or fall. They acknowleege no hj]
and safer authority on earth. They
sire nothing better. Through all tl
ages they have found nothing truer a
safer than this voice of God soumli
out from the sacred book, telling
Christ's infinite love, saving help a
coming glory. These inspired mon
all testify of Christ. In them we ha
the matchless words of Christ. Wj,
Christ speaks it is God who speal
Christ is His voice from Heaven. Tn
Bible is to us the true and inTallib]
voice of God, because it reveals Clm
and, in revealing Him, reveals Go
"God." says the apostolic author off
Epistle to the Hebrews, "who in su
dry parts and in divers manners, spa
in time past unto the fathers by
prophets, liath in these last days si
ken unto us by His Son." In Him 1
voice of God reaches its highest«
summation and its divinest power,
Chicago Interior.
The Patience of Hope.
There is such a thing as patienJ
without hope—the patience of the of
for whom no better lot is possible, a3
of human staves out of whom years
oppression have crushed all 'hope 1
freedom. It is the patience of thousanl
of nominal freemen who are actual
slaves of circumstances which shuttliel
in to lives of toil for a bare subsisti nel
with constant fear that they will fail!
even that. They have no prospect
better condition, and for that rea
are patient. If they had any lingcriJ
hope of improving their lot, they woil
be impatient to realize it. Theirs ist|
patience of despair, the end of aspia
tion, of noble endeavor, and the /rtu'tr
mental and moral paralysis. The
dest spectacle on earth is the lusl
whom hope is dead. We waste syml
thy upon those who force themsela
upon our notice by their impatienj
with misfortune, and forget the th«
sands whose hopeless patience ks
.them quiet. The more shame to
that suflering must be demonstnti(|
and importunate before we will pity!
relieve. It would be a wiser anil
viner philanthropy to leave noisy 1
plicants to earn tneir bread and sed
for those in whom sympathy and a
would give birth to hope.
Hopeless patience frustrates GoJl
plans. Listless submission to what
inevitable because we can not help oil
selves, is not a Christian grace, ail
tends to make men worse rather thsj
better. We are called to a patient 0
tinuance in well-doing, which seeks:
glory and honor, ana is rewarded I
eternal life. This is the patience
hope, whose "perfect work" rnaij
men "perfect and entire, wanting nol
ing." It is a fruit of the Spirit, anil
always supported by hope, which
strong anchor that holds sufferinc sod
to patient, cheerful endurance of tj|
storms of life. The hope of eternal li
is the refuge from despair, the inspiry
tion to effort which fires the luster.e
eye and strengthens the nerveless li
They "have strong consolation
have fled for refuge to lay hold up1
the hope se^before us which hope"
have as an anchor of the soul both .-m
and steadfast, and which entereth int|
that within the veil."
God knows that we all have
need 1
the patience of hope. We are made t|
suffer and to hope. A
bearing reverses and failures awaij
every one of us in the world. We
fer and must hope and be patient, or»
broken on our cross. God has
to school under hard masters, SOITO^J
disaster, frustration of
hopes, that their rough disciptae
drive us to lay hold of the hope set
fore us in the gospel. The walls t»|
lie across our path—" the
this present time "—are all
ship, the hardiness that
a Pjirt'
the divine plan to develop in us the pi
tience of hope that will make us
feet. We gain capacity for
soldiers, and fleetness for the
Olympic, through schooling in tueP|
tience of hope.
Faith in the goodness, love ami
of God is the ground of hopefu
tience. We must know that the tn
which arc hard to bear are
,e ,1
infinite love, and are the means tlu'
which our Father is working o"
reatest good to His children.
our case in hand we can surei.
mit with patience to His
•k till
wait hopefully for His finished
Does the night seem long and dai
.& "Hope'110!
precedes the mornisg? ""i'r ii,,
God," and thou shalt yet praise
Has patience long toil and does
fruition seem far distant? ""c ^1
Lord and wait patiently for
"Commit thy way unto the
also in Him, and He shall bi
pass." "Wait on the Lord be
courage, and He shall streng ..
heart wait, I say, on the L®1
shall you have patience to en
the end the patience of a sure.
ful hope. —N. W. Christian Mt°-

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