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VOL. X. . PLYMOUTH, N. C, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1899. NO. 21.
MY AUNT
The greenest grass.the sweetest fiowers.grew
at Aunt Polly's door,
The finest apples,miles around, Aunt Tolly's
orchard bore;
Aunt Polly's cows were sleek and fat, her
chicks a wondrous size,
And Jabez Smith, the hired man, was witty,
great and wise.
I used to go with Jabe at nignt.wlth clinking
pails to milk;
Sometimes he'd let me feed the colts and
rub their coats of silk;
And the moon that rose in those days, just
behind the cattle bars,
Was twice a3 large as it is now with wlce
ad many stars.
Aunt Polly was a quaint old soul a busy
bee by day1
Hiving the honey up for all, "with never
thought of pay.
How many dawns we watched the sun, up
rising in the east.
Shake out its banners o'er the hills and drive
away the mist I
Edith
r
4
THE MAKESHIFT
By Annie Hamilton Donnell.
Clarissa Kemp late, very late
Clarissa Collins carried each pot to
the back door and inverted it briskly.
The little heap grew high and un
stable. There were a good many pots,
and it was quite a distance from the
sitting room window to the oacic aoor.
Clarissa was tired when the stained
green-painted shelves were emptied
and all the litter swept up.
"There!" she breathed with'a little
gasp of relief, sinking into a rocker,
"I'm thankful that job's done with!
It's been staring at me ever since I
came."
Clarissa invariably spoke of the day,
a few weeks ago, when she and Jonas
drove from the minister's into the
little trim side-yard, as "when I
came." Siuce that day there had been
a good ni'iuy reforms at the Kemp
place. The heap of discarded gerani
ums and fuchsias was only one of
them.
"I can't and I won't abide a mess
Df plauts round, littering! There's
enough, goodness knows, that's got
to litter without putting up with what
ain't got to. You've got to water 'em,
and you've got to putter with 'em
and coddle 'em, an' there's always a
mussy,wet place under 'em and sprigs
and dry leaves. 1 can t aouie em it
other folks can. Those that like 'em
&re perfectly welcome I don't."
i Clarissa rocked backward and for
ward in the capacious, calico-softened
ehair, communing aloud. Her come
ly, middle-aged face had a look of re
.lief upon it. Once only a slight shade
of remorse quivered across it and was
gone.
"He'd ought to know I'd do it,"
she muttered, "and he ought to have
got his mihd made up by this time.
I've given him time, enough ever
since I came. I told him, ten minutes
after, that I couldn't fellowship with
a mess of plants. I guess that was
good and fair warning!"
The rockers took to sudden creaking
as if pleading in Jonas' behalf. In
the sunny windows the green shelves
looked bare and lonesome. There
were little round circles, smaller and
larger, side by side along their lengths,
where the pots had stood. The big
gest circle of all spoke pathetically of
Jonas' pet cactus that bore the dainty
pink flowers among its spines that
"Alwildy" had set store by. Alwilda
was the wife that had driven from the
minister's into the trim yard first.
Even Jonas was hardly fonder of
plants than Alwilda had been.
"There's some sense to having
windows to sit by that yon can see out
of," mused Clarissa contentedly, gaz
ing out on the strip of meandering
roadway stretching bleakly away up
bill. "Now I can see the people
passing there's Deacon Pottle com
ing a'ready! I can tell it's the deacon
by the way the horse wags his head
aud meeches along down the hill.
Seems to me I'd have a creature with
some kind of spirit to him. Why.no;
it's Jonas as I live!"
With a sudden accession of nervous
ness, Clarissa Kemp snatched a rug
and hurried to the back door. Jonas
and the old horse were turning into
the lane. She could hear the pound,
pound of clumsy hoofs ou the hard
clay. She threw the rug over the
heap of broken plants and waited to
pull down one corner across the tiers
of interlocked earthen pots beside it.
I "I don't want it to come on him all in
a heap," she murmured. "Jonas has
to have time to get used to things. He
ain't a sudden man, Jonas ain't I've
found that out since I came."
Then she hurried back to the rock
ing chair by the window. Jonas was
just ploddiug past.
"Why, ain't you early, Jonas?"
Clarissa called, a little breathless with
hurrying. "It's only 3 o'clock. I
,wasn't looking for you back till sup
per time."
: "Yes, I am early whoa, back, Den
nis, wh-o-a! but the town meeting
lis' early. We got through our doings
soouer'n we expected to. They ap
pointed me moderator."
Tnnn.' rlra liofl n I'inir rif mnrlosf.
jpfiJe in it Clarissa laughed appre-
..Vi'ntivelr.
I "I should say you'd moderate splen-
.11 T '1 1 . .. . ' 1 T ,I,,J 7,,'l
.
POLLY.
Gold-winged arrows pierced the gloom of
valley, wood and nook,
Bright flecks of crimson rode the clouds and
tumbled in the brook,
Gave back with cheer the apple's hue, the
pumpkin's, and the squash,
Till dear Aunt Polly would exclaim, "What
a perfect day to wash!"
What steam of incense then would rise from
dear Aunt Polly's tub!
For sun and sky her heart gave praise with
each all-cleansing rub;
No skylark's note, no poet's song, more
praiseful than the tune
She hummed the while her linen white upon
the grass lay strewn.
Aunt Polly, faithful, gentle, entered long
since to reward;
Her kind old face has slept for years be
neath the churchyard sward;
For her has dawned another day, more per
fect, bright and glad
Than when she rubbed the snowy clothes,
while I stood by a lad.
Keeley Stokely, in Youth's Companion.
OF JONAS KEMP,
've supposed you'd 've moderated so
fast!"
The old horse started np and went
staidly ou toward the barn, with the
trail of Clarissa's laughter in his wake.
"Clarissy's a real humorous
woman," pondered Jonas; "she's got
all of it that Alwildy didn't have.
Whoa, back, Dennis!"
If JoDas noticed the unwieldy heap
under Clarissa's rug on his way back
to the house he said nothing about
it. It was not Jonas Kemp's way to
say things. Iu the trig little sitting
room the bared shelves and the un
wonted inflow of sunshine across them
appealed dumbly to him, and Jonas
answered as dumbly. His seamed
old face turned doggedly away from
the wiudows, aud the pain on it was
only risible to the faint, sweet face
of Alwilda looking out of the daguer
reotype on the wall. Clarissa's keen
eyes did not see it.
Twenty years divided Jonas and
Clarissa Kemp, and Clarissa was not
young. She had tailored and stitched
away all her young years in her small
village shop before she came. It had
been a seven days' wonder to Clarissa's
friends aud twice thrice that to
Clarissa herself, that she had locked
her shop door and gone to the minis
ter's with Jonas Kemp.
After supper that night Jonas did
his chores and took down his pipe.
Clarissa permitted no smoking in
doors pipes were even worse than a
mess o' littering plauts. You could
abide the smell of flowers, but tobacco
faugh! So Jonas had his evening
smoke under the stars, or, rainy
nights, sitting on the saw-horse in
the woodshed. Alwilda had "liked"
the smell of his pipe. Heaven forgive
the gentle little prevarication!
When Jonas went in again at early
bedtime the heap of pots and bruised
plants Avas cleared neatly away, and
Jonas had the rug, well shaken, under
his arm. He spread it with precise
painstaking in exactly its place on the
sitting room floor.
"I found it out by the back door,
Clarissy," he said gently.
"Um-m-m," mumbled Clarissa, a lit
tle taken aback. And that was all
that was ever said about the plants.
After that, if Clarissa had not been
occupied continually with keeping the
house "unlittered" and most spotless
ly prim, she would have taken notice
that Jonas stayed a good deal some
where out-of-doors. He spent rare
minutes only iu his old place beside
the sitting room window. And passers-by
if there had been any passers
by on the grassy cross road that ran
past the old, unpainted Kemp barn
would have looked curiously at the
big barn windows. There were two
of them, and both were a-bloom with
red geraniums and gay with purple
and crimson fuchsias. Rough deal
shelves stretched behind the cob
webbed paues, and every one was
brightly tenanted. ,
But passers-by were few, and Clarissa
never passed by. Her way, when she
went abroad, was by the wider main
road that ran uphill and down again
to town. Clarissa never went to the
barn. Jonas Kemp and the cows, the
great barn cat and Dennis were the
only ones that saw the red geraniums
blooming bravely in the barn win
dows unless, who can tell? unless
Alwilda saw them.
Another thing Clarissa might have
noticed was how long the old pipe lay
untouched on the kitchen mantel.
Jonas went out to his eveuing smoke
night after night without it! If it
had been his way to say things he
might have said that when one's plants
have been destroyed ruthlessly one
must replace them somehow even if
one must buy them with the tobacco
one misses filling the old pipe with.
And that would have explained the
times of late that Jonas had driven
alone to the little city down the river
and come back, past Clarissa'3 win
dow and Clarissa's curious eyes, with
a queer,humpy Joad "in behind."
"Humph! Now I wonder what
Jonas 's got all tucked up in behind,"
Clarissa would muse, eyeiug suspicious
ly the humps. " 'Tisn't grain an'
tisn't critters live ones auyway. And
i,r oiMiMn't 've crot 'em if thev were
alive, not without my knowing where
the money had gone to."
But Clarissa had not put her cu
rious thoughts into questions, and the
times of being curious and the knobby,
covered leads ,"iu behind" Jonas had
gone by together. She was very busy
all the late summer and early fall sew
ing rags for her gay new carpet that
was to transfigure the dull little cor
ner parlor where nobody went and
nobody wanted to go.
One afternoon, as she sewed, she
heard Jonas' plodding feet tap slowly
up the walk and Jonas' heavy breath
keeping time to the taps. What in
land of goodness was Jonas coming in
that time o' day for? It was so un
usual that Clarissa let the strip of red
and yellow rags slide out of her lap
and curl like a brilliant serpent at her
feet. Jonas "came in" so seldom,
lately, except to hi3 meals. She hard
ly saw his unsmiling old face from
morning to night, for she had formed
the habit of setting his dinner out on
the meal chest in the porch and let
ting him eat it alone. Her own dinner
she could "pickup" on the run, and
it saved such a pile of litter and mess
that way.
Jonas plodded ku He looked bent
and feeble.
"You aren't sick, are you, Jonas?"
Clarissa asked a little anxiously.
"Oh, no no, I guess I ain't sick,
Clarissy. I guess not," answered
Jonas, dully. He crossed to the
mantel and took down his pipe aud
blew the dust from it. A little glint
of eagerness crept into his eyes it
was so much like shaking hands with
an old friend again.
"Where are you going to?
"Jest for a little smoke, Clarissy
jest for a little smoke."
"Laud of goodness--at two o'clock in
the afternoon! Jonas Kemp, you aren't
losiug your faculties, I hope!"
Jonas peered up at the old clock
above him and then at the afternoon
sun riding across the heavens. He
looiced dazed. The pipe slipped
through his fingers unnoticed and lay
in two pieces on the bare floor.
"I guess I got mixed up, Clarissy;
I thought 'twas after supper," he ex
plained with an apologetic attempt at
laughing. "I guess I'll go out and
wait a spell, till 'tis."
But at supper time Jonas did not
appear. Half-past five, six, half-past
six still no Jonas. At quarter of
seven Clarissa was frightened. Dim
forebodings tugged at her heart-strings
till they vibrated dismally.
"I'll go hunt Jonas up," she said
briskly, shutting her ears to the sound.
"It's just as likely as not he's fallen
sound asleep somewhere. He's get
ting real old, Jonas is."
She went through the porch and
carriage house and then with quick
ened steps up to the barn. It was 'a
new trip, up over the stony path, for
Clarissa, aud the stones hurt her feet.
"For the land of goodness' sake!"
she cried shrilly at the barn door.
The flowers in the windows row on
row of them dauced dizzily before
her eyes. In Clarissa Kemp's and
Clarissa Collins' life she had never
been so astonished.
One of the windows was raised a
little, aud the breeze crept in and set
all the bright flowers nodding, friendly-wise,
at her.
Row on row, shelf on shelf for the
land of goodness' sake! But how cozy
aud homelike they looked! How
pleasant the weathered old barn
looked!
Then Clarissa went in. As long as
she lived and the Collinses came of
a long-lived race she never forgot
the things she saw that afternoon in
Jonas Kemp's barn. The strip of car
pet by one of the windows, the broken
chairs set about Alwildy's mother's
spinning wheel, the light of the sun
through the geranium leaves and, dim
ly, ou the haymows behind and on all
the cobwebs and cobwebs and Jonas
there, asleep. Clarissa saw them all.
She saw them over and over again till
she died.
-"Jonas!" she called softly, after a
minute or two.' "Jonas, it's supper
time Jonas!"
She went up to him and prodded his
shoulder with her thimbled finger
Clarissa nearly always wore her
thimble, to have it "handy."
"Jonas!"
She tilted his drooping old face
toward her and the light. It was
twisted aud white,
"Oh, he's got a stroke Jonas!
Jonas! he's got a stroke!" Clarissa
cried wildly.
Jonas opened his eyes and looked
at her in an unacquainted, troubled
way.
"It's pleasant out here," he mur
mured thickly. "The plauts don't
take 'em away!"
"Jonas, dear Jonas, you must get
right up aud come into the house with
me me, Clarissy, Jonas. Don t you
know Clarissy?"
"I know somebody Alwildy,"
murmured Jonas, trying to smile with
his twisted lips. One arm hung limp
beside him, and he touched it curious
ly with his other hand.
"It doesn't belong to me," he said.
After a little while his mind grew
quite clear again, and then he pleaded
to stay wit his flowers.
"Couldn't I lay in bed out here, Cla
rissy?" he asked timidly, "Jest till I
feel better? The plauts '11 miss me
an' I like it out hare I like it out
here like it oat bare."
Again and again ha mumbled it
wistfully.
The tune Clarissa's heart-strings
were wailing almost broke her heart.
She got help at a neighbor's, and
they took Jonas home. He was doz
ing all the way. It wa3 almost a day
later when Jonas fully awoke.
"Ain't it pleasant out here ia
the barn, Clarissy?" he whispered,
happily. "I like it out here don't
you?"
"Yes." Clarissa said brightly. "I
like it 'out here,' Jonas."
The green-painted shelves had back
their old tenants and new tenants,
row upon row. The windows opposite
Jonas' bed were full of geraniums and
gay purple aud red fuchsias, and the
cactus was there that Alwilda had
loved. Her mother's spinning wheel
stood on a strip of carpeting near
Jonas. How pleasant it looked "out
there!" How the sunshine filtered
through the geranium leaves and made
dancing traceries on the wall. A sprig
of the sun leaves lay across Clarissa's
face, aud Jonai smiled at it like a
pleased child.
"Clarissy," he whispered eagerly,
Vcan't we stay out here always? I
like it out here."
Clarissa's eyes fell on a tiny littei
of dry leaves under a window.
"Yes, Jonas," she smiled, "ye3,
we'll stay 'out here' always. I like it,
too." Country Gentleman,
MASCOT ATE THE SHIP'S PAINT.
Sailors of the Gloucester Make a Capture
and Kue It.
It was seven bells in the forenoon
watch of the blistering July day when
the auxiliary cruiser Gloucester sent
ashore a landing party at the quaint
Porto Eican seaport Guanica. The
party had landed three hours earlier
and had done its duty with the regu
lars of Miles' army in sending the
Dons skedaddling into the heavy
tropical forests which fringe the foot
hills of the Porto IUcan coast.
It was now an hour of relaxation.
In an unlucky moment a Spanish ban
tam cockerel emerged from under a
house and emitted a lusty crow. Then
it was that Lieutenant Norman gave
his historical order: "All hands chase
chickens!" The line of excited men-o'-warmen
scattered in untaetieal dis
order, pursuing the gallinaceous
enemy.
"It was more work to capture one
of those clipper-built. 25-knot chick
ens than to sink the Pluton," said Mr.
Chipman. "I thought I had the fowl
foul when she tacked ship, leaving me
in'stays. In a minute she was hull
down on the horizon. I ran across the
bows of a rooster by pure luck and
put him out of commission. Later I
grabbed another by his tail, aud wrung
his neck."
Paymaster Down had his sport also.
Proceediug on a private expedition,
he sighted a goat with progeny around
her to the number of four. He took
her in tow in triumph. Following
the iustiricts of good Mother Nature,
the four little goats, who "split . even,
two being Nannies and two Billies,
trailed aloug behind. One of the
Billies was drafted as a mascot for the
battleship Massachusetts and the
other Billie was retained as the
Gloucester's special mascot. The lat
ter immediately distinguished himself
by eating the saddle of the Colt's
automatic gun.
After he had got his sea legs on
things would disappear as completely
as if they had been thrown into the
lucky bag. One fine morning the
ship's painter was comiug on deck
with a pail of red lead.
"Lay aft, McGee!" sang out a
weather beaten bos'n's mate.
Dropping his rail, the painter
obeyed this order. Returning ia fif
teen minutes, he found that the con
tents of the pail had disappeared.
Billy had also disappeared. He was
found leaning against the armorer's
chest in a highly suspicious condi
tion. His whiskers were as crimson
as a Harvard football player's sweater.
Hospital Steward Cox gave him emetic
after, emetic. It was in vain. The
animal grew "dopier" and "dopier,"
and was put ashore finally. Undoubt
edly he would have made a satisfac
tory deep sea lead if he had been kept
on board a day longer.
Environment and Art.
Was there any connection between
Birmingham and the art of Burue
Jones? His biographers are generally
so unkind to the midland capital as to
suggest that the repulsiveness of the
actual surroundings in which Eurne
Jooes was born led him to the neces
sity of creating a beautiful world for
himself in the realms of imagination.
The inward eye counts for more iu
these matters than the outward. Kos
setti was born in a street off the Eustou
road. He was au Italian at heart, but
in the body he never set eyes on Italy.
Mr. Armstrong, ia his recently pub
lished work on Gainsbprough.calls at
tention to the fact that no great land
scape painter has been bora among
grandiose scenery. Turner saw the
light in Maiden lane, a few doors o3
the Strand. Loudon News.
The Quality of the Water.
Doctor Can you get pure water at
your boarding house?
, Patient Not always. I frequently
detect just a flavor of coffee in it.
Detroit Free Press.
DB, TALMAGFS SEEMON.
SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BYTHE NOTED
DIVINE'.
Subject: "The Power oC Perseverance'
The Successful Are Not the Most Bril
liant, But Those Who Everlastingly
Stick to One Line of Endeavor.
Text: "But when the children of Israel
:ried unto the Lord, the Lord raised them
p a deliverer, Ehud the son of Gera, a
Benjamite, a man left handed; and by him
the children of Israel sent a present unto
Eglon, the king of Moab." Judges ill.; 15.
Ehud was a ruler in Israel. He was left
handed, and what was peculiar about the
tribe of Benjamin, to which he belonged,
thore;were in it 700 left handed men, and yet
so dexterous had they all become in the use
ofthelett hand that the Bible says they
could sling stones at a hairbreadth and not
miss. Well, there was a king by the name
of Eglon, who was an oppressor of Israel.
He Imposed upon them a most outrageous
tax. Ehud, the man of whom I first spoke,
had a divine commission to destroy that
oppressor. He came pretending that he
was going to pay the tax and asked to see
Eglon. He was told that he was In the sum
mer house, the place to which the king re
tired when it was too hot to sit in the
palace. Tbis summer house was a", place
surrounded by flowers and trees and spring
ing fountains and warbling birds. Ehud
entered the summer house and said to
Eglon that he had a secret errand with him.
Immediately all the attendants were waived
out of the royal presence. King Eglon
rises ud to receive the messenger. Ehud,
the left handed man, puts his left hand to
his right side, pulls out a dagger and
thrusts Eglon through until the shaft went
in after the blade. Eglon falls. Ehud
comes forth to blow a trumpet of liberty
amid the mountains of Ephralm, and a
host is marshaled, ana proud Moab sub
mits to the conquerer and Israel is free.
So, O Lord, let till Thine enemies perishl
So, O Lord, let all Thy friends triumph!
I learn first from this subject the power
of left handed men. There are some men
who by physical organization have as
much strength in their left hand as in their
right hand, but there is something In the
writing of this text which implies that
Ehud had some defect in his right hand
which compellecUhlm to use his left. Oh,
the power oi left handed men! Genius i3
often self-observant, careful of itself, not
given to much toll, burning incense to its
own aggrandizement, while many a man
with no natural endowments, actually de
fective in physical and mental organiza
tion, has an earnestness for the right, pa
tient industry, all consuming persever
ance, which achieve marvels for the king
dom of Christ. Though left handed as
Ehud, they can strike down a sin as great
and imperial as Eglon.
I have seen men of wealth 'gather about
them all their treasures, snuffing ;at the
world lying in wickedness, roughly order
ing Lazarus off their doorstep, sending
their dogs, not to lick his sores, but to
hound him off their premises; catching all
the pure rain of God's blessing into the
stagnant, ropy, frog inhabited pool of
their own selflshness right handed men
worse than useless while many a man
with large heart and little purse has out
of his limited means made poverty leap for
joy and started an influencethat overspans
the grave and will swing round and round
the throne of God world without end.
Ab, me! It is high time that you left
handed men, who have been longing for
this gift and that eloquence and the other
man's wealth, should take your hands out
of your pockets. Who made all these rail
roads? Who set up all these cities? Who
started all these churches and schools and
asylums? Who has done the tugging and
running and pulling? Men of no wonder
ful endowments, thousands of them ac
knowledging themselves to be left handed,
and yet they were earnest, and yet they
were triumphant.
When Garibaldi was going out to battle
he told his troops what he wanted them to
do, and after he had described what he
wanted them to do they said, "Well, gen
eral, what are you going to give us for all
this?" "Well," he replied, "I don't know
what else you will get, but you will get
hunger, and cold, and wounds and death.
How do you like it?" His men stood be
fore him for a little while in silence and
then they threw up their hands and cried,
"We are the men! We are the men!" The
Lord Jesus Christ calls you to His service.
I do not promise you an easy time in this
world. You may have persecutions, and
afterwards there comes an eternal weight
of glory, and you can bear the wounds,
and the bruises, and the misrepresenta
tions, if you have the reward afterward.
Have vou not enough enthusiasm to cry
out, "We are the men! We are the men!"
We laugh at the children of Shlnar for
trying to build a-fower that could reach to
the heavens, but I think if our eyesight
were only good enough we could see a
Babel in many a dooryard. Oh, the strug
gle is flercel It is store against store,
house against house, street against street,
nation against nation. The goal for which
men are running is chairs aud chandeliers
and mirrors and houses and lands and
presidential equipments. If they get what
they anticipate, what have they? Men are
not safe from calumny whilethey live, and,
worse than that, thoy are not safe after
they are dead, for I have seen swine root
up graveyards. One day a man goes up
into publicity, and the world does him
honor, and people climb into sycamore
tre3 to watch him as ho passes, and as he
goes along on the shoulders of the people
there is a waving of hats and a wild huzza.
To-morrow the same man is caught be
tween the jaws of the printing press and
mangled and bruised, and the very same
persons who applauded him before cry,
"Down with the traitor! down with him!"
Belshazzar sits at the feast, the mighty
men of Babylon sitting all around him.
Wit sparkles like the wine and the wine
like the wit. Music rolls up among the
chandeliers; the chandeliers flash down
on the decanters. The breath of hanging
gardens floats in on the night air. The voice
of revelry floats out. Amid wreaths and
tapestry and foldod bauners a finger
writes. The march of a host is heard on
the stairs. Laughter catches iu the
throat. A thousand hearts stop beating.
The blow is struck. The blood on the
floor is richer hued than the wine on the
table. The kingdom has departed. Bol
shazzar was no worse perhaps than hun
dreds of people in Babylon, but his posi
tion slew him. Oh, be content with just
such a position as God has placed you in!
It may not be said of us, "He was a great
general," or "He was an honored chief
tain," or "He was mighty In worldly at
tainment," but this may be said of you and
mo. "He was a good citizen, a faithful
Chrlstain, a friend to Jesus." And that in
the last day will be the highest of all eulo
Giams. I loarn further from this subject that
death comes to the summer house. Eglon
did not expect to die in that fine place.
Amid all the flower leaves that driftodlike
summer snow into the windiw, in ths
tinkle and dash of fountains, ia the sound
of a thousand Jeavea fluting on one tree
brancht la the "cool breeze that came up
to shake the feverish trouble out of tho
king's locks there was nothing that spake
of death, but there he died! In the winter,
when the snow is a shrond, and when tbe
wind is a dirge, it Is easy to think of our
mortality, but when the weather is
pleasant and ail our surroundings are
agreeable, how difficult it is for us to
appreciate the truth that we are mortall
And yet my text teaches that death does
sometimes oome to the summer house. He
is blind and cannot see the leaves. He is
deaf and cannot hear the fountains. Oh,
If death would ask us for victims we
could point him to hundreds of people who
would rejoice to have him come. Push
back the door of that hovel. Look at the
little child cold, and sick, and hungry.
It has never heard the name of God but in
blasphemy. Parents intoxicated, stag
gering around its straw bed. Ob, death,
there is a mark for thee! Up with it into
the light! Before those little feet stumble
on life's pathway give them rest.
Here is an aged man. He has done his
work. He has done it gloriously. Tho
companions of his youth all gone, bis
children dead, helongs to be at rest, and
wearily the days and the nights pass. Ha
says. "Come, Lord, Jesus, come quickly!"
Oh, death, there is a mark for thee! Take
from him the staff and give him the apep
ter! Up with him into the light, where
eyes never grow dim, and the hair whitens
not through the long years of eternity.
Ah, Death will not do that. Death turns
back from the straw bed and from the aged
man ready for the skies and comes to the
summer house. What doest thou here,
thou bony, ghastly monster, amid this
waving grass and under this sun
light sifting through the tree
branches? Children are at play.e
How nulcklv thir feet iro and their
locks tos3 in the wind. Father and moth
er stand at the side of the room looking
on, enjoying their glee. It does not seem
possible that the wolf should ever break,
into that fold and carry off a lamb. Mean
while an old ar.cher stands looking
through the thicket. He points his arrow
at the brightest of the group he ia a sura
marksman the bow bends, the arrow
speeds! Hush now. The quick feet have
stopped and the locks toss no more in the
wind. Laughter has gone out of the hall.
Death in the summer house!
Here is a father in midlife. His coming
home at night 13 the signal for mirth. The
children rush to the door, and there are
books on the evening stand, and the hours
pass away on glad feet. There is nothing
wanting in that home. Religion is there
and sacrifices on the altar morning and
night. You look in that household and
say, "I cannot think of anything happier.
I do not really believe the world is so sad
a place as some people describe it to be."
Tho scene changes. Father is sick. The
doors must be kept shut. The deathwatch
chirps dolefully on the hearth. The chil
dren whisper and walk softly where once
they romped. Passing the house late at
night, you see the quick glancing of lights
from room to room. It Is ail overt Death,
in the summer house!
Here is an aged mother aged, but not
inurm. You think you will have the joy of
caring for her wants a good while yet. As
she goes from house to house, to children
and grandchildren, her coming is a drop
ping of sunlight in the dwelling. Your
children see her coming through the lane,
and they cry, "Grandmother's cornel"
Care for you has marked upon her face
with many a deep wrinkle, and her back
stoops with carrying your burdens. Some
day she is very quiet. She says she is not
s!ck, but something tells you you will not
much longer have a mother. She will sit
with you no more at the table nor at the
hearth. Her soul goes out so gently you
do not exactly know the moment of its go
ing. Fold the hands that have done so
many kindnesses for you right over the
heart that has beat with love toward you
since before you were born. Let the pil
grim rest. She is weary. Death, ia the
summer house!
Gather about ns what we will oi comfort
and luxury. When the pale messenger
comes, he does not stop to look at tho
architecture of the house before ne comes
in, nor, entering, does he wait to ex
amine the pictures we have gathered
on the wall, or, bending over your
pillow, he does not stop to sea
whether there is color in the cheek or
gentleness in the eye or intelligence In
the brow. But what of that? Must we
stand forever mourning among the
graves of our dead? No! No! The people
In Bengal bring cages of birds to the graves
of their dead, and then they open the cages
and the birds go singing heavenward. So
I would bring to the graves of your dead
all bright thoughts and congratulations
and bid them sing of victory and re
demption. I stamp on the bottom of
the grave, and It breaks through into
the light and the glory of heaven. The
ancients used to think that the straits
entering the Bed sea were very dan
gerous places, and they supposed that the
wrecked that have gone through those
straits would be destroyed, and they were
in the habit of putting on weeds of mourn
ing for those who had gone on that Toy
age, ns though they were actually dead.
Do you know what they .called those
t mi ii. j i i i . . v. . -
snaiis.' xuey cuueu luem. lae - uaie ol
Tears." ,,,
After the sharpest winter the spring dis
mounts from the shoulder of a southern
gale and puts its warm hand upon the
earth, and in its palm there comes the
Kmss, uuu mere comes me nowera, ana
God reads over the poetry of bird and brook
and bloom and pronounces it very good.
What, my friends, if every winter had not
its spring, and every night its day, and
every gloom its glow, and every bitter now
its sweet hereafter! If yoa have been on
the sea, you know, as the ship passes in the
night, there is a phosphorescent track left
behind it, and as the water rolls up they
toss with unimaginable splendor. Well,'
across this great ocean of human troubles
Jesus walks. Oh, that in the phospores
cent track of His feet we might all follow
and be illumined! .
There was a gentleman ia a rail ear who
saw In that same car three passengers of
very different circumstances. The first
was a maniac. Ho was carefully guarded
by bis Attendants. His mind like a ship
dismasted, was beating against a dark,
desolate coast, from which no help could
njiuc. iuo i mi a scoppeu aau iuo man was
taken out into the asylum to waste away
perhaps through y&ars of gloom. The sec
ond passenger was a culprit. The outraged
law had seized on him. As the car jolted
the chains rattled. On his face were crime,
depravity and despair. The train halted.and
he was taken out to the penitentiary, to
which he had been condemned. There was
the third passenger, under far different
circumstances. She was a bride. Every
hour was as gay as a marriage bell. Life
glittered and beckoned. Her companion
was taking her to her father's house. The
train halted. Tho old man was there to
welcome her to her now home, and his
white locks snowed down upon her as he
sealed his word with a father's kiss. Quick
ly we fly toward eternity. We will soon be
there. Some leave this life condemned cul
prits, and they refuse to pardon. Oh, may
it be with us that, leaving this fleeting llfo-
to greet us to our new home with Him for
ever! That will be a marriage banquet!,
Father's welcome! Father's bosom! FatHer'a'
klssi Heaven! Heav?.nl ,