Newspapers / The Weekly Record (Beaufort, … / Aug. 11, 1887, edition 1 / Page 2
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A SUMMER SONO. O! spirit of the summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells, The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the sun, The gilded evenings calm and late, When merry children homeward run, And peeping stars bid lovers wait. Bring back the singing and the scent. Of meadow lands at dewy prime; O I bring again my heart's content. . Thou spirit of the summertime. Irish Times, HOW AMASA SNOW GOT ON HIS FEET. Amasa Snow sat in his little law office, his feet on the top rim of his. stove, tand his stove full of wood and red hot. . His office was about a rod from his house, and quite near the high wooden gate leading into the village street. Over the door read, "Prothonotary and Attorney-at-law." It was a huge, faded sign in black letters ; one could: not go by Amasa Snow's office and not know of the busi ness of its occupant. The trouble with the. sign was it was not alluring enough. Squire Slayton, down the street, with a very small sign and over a grocery store, and without a big white hou.e, and a family name and connec tion Squire Slayton somehow got all the business there was going on in East Chesterville. Amasa Snow sat tilted back in his wooden arm-chair, pulling his long chin teard, scratching the few gray hairs in his sloping gray head, and trying to conjure up some new scheme by which he could beat Slayton again, and defer the foreclosure sale. He had deferred it five times on one excuse and another; but Slayton had him this time ; there was no help for it. The old place would have to be Fold the old place where his boyhood had been passed until he went to college, nnd where he had lived ever since, and seen his six girls grow up about him. His six motherless girls! He reached down and broke a splinter off a bit of pine-wood by the stove, and began to chew hard on it. What would become of the girls? Every one a beauty in his eyes ; very one worthy of marrying the Governor of the State. How could he tell them that the sale ,6f their old home could be postponed no longer; that every devise and trick, and every legal quibble, had been tried and tried again? lie dared not tell the girls. lie looked out of the window ; it was raining. An April shower, to be sure, with the prospect of a golden sunset later on, but making everything outside under the trees look very muddy and dismal. Amasa Snow felt very much depressed. Fate appeared to be against him. There were his law books a couple of thousand dingy calf volumes, not kept up to date the inheritance from the judge, his father, but even the law books were 'chatteled,' as they said, ?". e., mort gaged, quite beyond their value. Every thing he had, in fact, was mortgaged. He had come this wet April" day to the end of things. Next "week came the sale. He felt like saying the deluge. He had not enough money to take him and his family out West. That was his plan to go West. He fcardly felt his fifty years. He felt young and energetic when he thought of the, West. By-the-by, there was his brother, Elisha his brother who in his youth was so like him. He was West in Cali fornia. He had not seen him for twenty '. years. The last he had heard from him ! was a request to send on a hundred dol-! lars. That was five years ago. He had sent himfifty, and nothing had been heard from Elisha since, except his name endorsed across the back- of the check, showing that he had received the monev. jo, 11 was ciear mat jiisna couia never help him. Elisha had caused him to loose several thousand dollars once in a mine. Elisha's name was always a great bugbear in his family since. Xo, Elisha could not be expected to help ; him. Stay ! An idea. Amasa Snow be- gan to poke the red-hot fire vigorously. ; It was a bleak raw day, but the, fire was hot enough in that little office if left : alone. An idea. Elisha should be made to help him. It was a last hope, but it fired him with enthusiasm. He reached up into a dusty book-case and got down a file of letters. He was looking for Elisha's address. Just then there came a tap at the office door. Amasa turned round. "By George !" he cried, nearly carried off hfs feet with astonishment. "It's Elisha in propria persona!"'' "I have come home," said Elisha, meekly. "I have come home to neighbor round." "And just in the nick of time, Elisha. Mighty glad I am to see you I" Then a thought occurred to him, as he shook his brother's hand, with that feeble wave in the air so common in Southern Connecti cut, he would not tell Elisha of his finan cial condition. He might not help him if he did. No, he would keep his own counsel. The two brothers sat. down by the stove, and Amasa threw another stick "of soft pine on the fire. It was frightfully hot. "See here, Elisha," he said, after a pause. "How's the Grand American Eagle a-doin'?" "She isn't a-doin'." "Nothin' at all ?" "No; hasn't been for ten years." "It teas a splendid mine once, Elisha. You used to say so." " So it was. But we struck hard pan you remember about it. What's the use of rakin' over old personalities at this time, when I ought to be received with open arms, and a bonfire lighted, and fire-works touched off?" "I know, I know," replied Amasa. apologetically. "I ought to ask how you have happened on East this way." "Why, yes ; you ought to show some brotherly feeling. It's natural." "Well, Elisha, have j-ou got any rcadv money in vour pocket?" " A thousand" dollars. " Amasa walked over to his old rusty tafe. "Better put the money in here ?" he asked, casually. Elisha handed him a roll of bills, "Don't feel like payin' back any of that two thousand?" asked Amasa, facetiously, referring to the loan he had made him jn the mining scheme. "No," said Elisha, "I don't." After a pause, while his brother locked the safe, he said: "That thousand is the last cent I've got in the world." ' ., ' "Glad you've come home. Glad you've come to live with me," said Amasa, rub bing his hands. "The girls will be so happy to see you. Come, let's go in the house." He slipped an old, well-worn overcoat over his shoulders without buttoning it, and they went out into the rain. Elisha was very well dressed. Any one would have taken him for a well-to-do Western bank president. He looked sleek and well fed. There wasn't a trace of anxiety Vwn4- Vila far a rtittsmA 4-1... 1 wwwmw w vllivi n low LUC U1U Hi CIS looked very much alike. As they were crossing the threshold of $h house, Amasa whispered: "Just tell the girls you're a millionaire ; for a joke, you know." . Elisha winked. "Yes, ".he said, "for a joke wish I was, though," and they entered the parlor. There were the six girls; six good-looking, hearty, frank, healthy country girls. They all rose and gave a veritable shout of welcome. They usually gave a united shout when ever anything pleased them. They fairly screamed when Elisha opened the door. They flew at him. They kissed him. They took his hat for him; they took away his overcoat and umbrella. And how they were impressed when their, father said, proudly, "And then to think that your uncle has returned to us a millionaire!" "A millionaire! really?" chorussed the girls. Elisha began to feel his old boastful spirit, for which he had long been noted, coming over hinvagain. . "Why," he said, "out in California we don't reckon a million much money. My five million dollars don't connt very much out there." ' 'Elisha says he is going to build a pub lic library building for East Chesterville," put in Amasa, without a grimace. "A public library, chorussed the girls. "He says he don't mind paying off the debt on the church either," added their .prevaricator ol.a lather. j "How perfectly splendid !" "No one would have thought the Grand American Spread-eagle Mine would have panned out so,.-well," said Amasa. 4 By this time the six girls were dancing around 'the rbomiin their excitement. They had never been so excited since John Mawley, the son of Mawley, the mill-owner at the other end of the village, had become engaged to Bessie Snow, their eldest sister said Mawley having con cluded, on the consent and advice of his father, to break off said engagement, after knowledge of Lawyer Snow's financial condition came out and became common gossip. "Elisha says the Sundaj'-sehool shall have a new organ if it takes his last cent," said their father, laughing heartily. He could not hold himself in. r "Well," said Elisha, "not quite as bad as that. But they shall have a new melo deon yes." i This capped the climax. The Sunday school had been . holding picnics, straw berry festivals, lectures, busy bees, and I don't know what besides in which the six girls had taken a lively interest to raise money enough for an organ; but, do their best, they could raise only about fifty dollars. They threw themselves upon their uncle, and as there was not quite enough of him to go around," tthey threw themselves upon their father. It was a touching scene. Two of the girls were in tears, and one of them was heard to say: "Our deliverer!" a " Suddenly Bessie looked up. "It's late," she said "it's dreadfullly late for the sewing society !" When they were alone, Elisha said : "You've done it! you've gone and done it! In five minutes every word of what we've said will be all over this village. -Yes, and all over the State of Connecti cut. I say, Amasa, this isn't right !" "Why? Don't you have any fears. Suppose they do tell of your millions; it will give you credit." "Ah, yes. yes! but they will all be after me for my, money." Elisha straight ened himself up" very stiffly, and but toned his coat over his chest very firmly, as if to impress on his brother the fact that he wouldn't let them have a cent not one cent if. they did. "Well, don't say it isn't so, anyway," whispered Amasa, and led Elisha to his room, where that great and good philan thropist and millionaire lay down upon a sofa and took a comfortable nap. For a week East Chesterville was in a condition of ferment. The resurrrection of Elisha Snow in the form of a million aire, after having departed twenty years before with a reputation for unconquera ble laziness, and an ability remarka ble only for imbibing hard cider, was enough to shake the entire county to its centre. Then his magnificent bequests the town library building, : the new organ, raising the minister's salary, pro posing to establish a Home for Incurable Idiots for poor Elisha found he could not stop promising when he had once begun, and his plan to build a new gym nasium, skating rink, winter bath, all combined, for the young people, made him at once the idol of the town. Mawley, the ; mill-owner met Amasa one day in the street. " See here," he said, " I've told Slayton to let up on you. You and I were always old friends. Pay up the interest on that mortgage any time you please. Bythe-way, I'm tired of Slayton. He's hounded you, when .you were down, ia a mean way. I'm sick of Slavton. V send you a re tainer to-morrow of five hundred dollars in a case I've got against some Providence ; people. liig ease big money in it. : How's your brother ? pretty well, I hope. Those California magnates are all coming East, j I hear. Think your ', brother would like to put any money in ; my mill ? A big chance now. I don't need the money, but it don't pay to i keep all your eggs in one basket. How's Bessie ? Good-morning." j "Mr. Mawley, one moment. You 1 don't let up on me and send me this law suit because Elisha is a millionaire, do 1 vou ? " " j "Oh, no, no, ho ! My dear fellow, no, j no ! Why, what an idea ! By-the-wav, I never favored .the breaking off of that match- my son and Bessie.- Good-day." Amasa Snow got round behind the fence, and laughed and shook until the entire fence laughed and shook with him. His little scheme was working well. One needs very little capital in this world if one can only obtain its substitute credit. That week and the next he had retainers sent him from several wealthy proprietors in a neighboring manufacturing town. They had heard of his brother's -millions. He had the foreclosure suit discontinued, paid Mawley hk interest,, got his mort gage extended indefinitely. What is more, his business picked up so that he paid a large sum on account all around among his creditors. They all said: "Elisha is doing it for him." He painted and refurbished the old Snow house. He ran slightly into debt in doing it, but his girls had some" new clothes sent them from New York. He donned a new suit of broad-cloth, and he was happy. He was on his feet. Slayton was utterly nonplussed. In vain the wily practitioner went about spreading doubts as to Elisha's nawngany money wnatever. Why aon t he buy that organ V he kept saying, until people began to .wonder why indeed. As soon as the rumor spread about that Elisha was childless, and that he intended leaving his money in equal shares to his six nieces, they went off literally like hot cakes'. Mawley-junior, who really loved the girl, married Bessie, and then they were all married off in: batches of . two, until the youngest refused to many at all, saying, with her finger at her lip, "she preferred to stay with her father." In one year all this happened. Amasa Snow was now a successful man his debts paid and practice increasing. One day the rumor, reached him why had not Elisha paid for that organ? He went to Elisha. "It is time," he said, ''for you, to disappear, Tm very contented here," protested Elisha, "reading the newspapers and sit ting: in the hotel. It agrees with me. I don't want to disappear." He liked the adulation extended to him on the ground that he was a million aire. He played the easy, well-fed, rich plutocrat revisiting his New England home to perfection. His acting was con summate, because it was nature itself, without a mirror being held up 'to it. He had just that amount of narrowness, of close-fistedness, of sagacious doubt as to the motives of men who approached him with schemes for investment; he acted the millionaire to perfection, and ue never overdid it. "Amasa, I can't go," he said. "They think I'm such a good man to make money. They have actually brought money to me to make more for them. Yes, I've received over fifty thousand dollars for investment within the last month." "Great Scott!" exclaimed Amasa. "This is dreadful! I see State-prison yawning before us !" "It's just what the Grand American Spread-eagle Mine needs," said Elisha, swelling himself out "a little money." "Well, take the money and go, then go! ; I will have nothing to do with this nothing 1" Amasa was very angry. He resolved to be responsible for his brother no long er. He went to his daughters, all but one now well married and in happy, well-to-do homes. "Your uncle and I have had a row," he said. "He is going back to California." And the organ, the new library, the gymnasium? "Well, he is mad about something. He says the town has slighted him. But one thing must be understood, whatever he does I wash my hands of him for ever!" Elisha did leave a few days after. He' took away about a hundred thousand dollars of widows' and orphans' funds, went to San Francisco) put his money into various enterprises, paid the beneficiaries eight per cent, interest, was honest as the day, and died a few years ago worth a great deal . of money, which he left, share and share alike, to his brother's six girls, and he left a thousand dollars for the new organ. I Amasa still lives a fairjy well-to-do old country lawyer slightly in debt still, in East Chesterville. But he is the adored grandpapa of twelve of the dear est little grandchildren, and he often says to them, benignly: "Children, I have put all and myself on our feet. Yes, but I had to tell your" mother an awful lie?" "What was the lie, grandpopper?" "I had to say the laziest man alive your granduncle, children I had to say the penniless old rascal your grand father's brother, my dears, who had robbed me of all I had in one of his mines, the Great American Spread-eagle Gold and Silver I had to say, and stan' to it, that he was one of the biggest millionaires on the Pacific coast ! But that lie has put us all on our feet. " Richard II. Roe, in Harpers Weekly. HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS. Receives. Toxgue Toast. Make some slices of toast, not very thick, browned evenly ali over on both sides, ana minus crust. Butter it slightly. Grate with a large grater a liberal sufficiency of cold tongue and spread it thickly over the toast. Lay the slices side by side on a large dish.' Serve'at breakfast, luncheon or supper. Lemon Cream. Boil the thin peel of two lemons in one pint of cream, strain, and thicken with the well-beaten yolks of three and the whites of four eggs, into which half a teacupful of white sugar has been beaten. Add half a salt spoonful of salt, stir vapidly with the egg-beater until nearly cold, and pour it into glasses or cups. This quantity will fill six good-sized cups. Stewed Apples With Rice. Scoop out the cores and peel some fine russet apples, and stew them in clarified sugar. Boil some rice in milk with a pinch of salt, and sugar enough to sweeten it. Leave on the fire until the rice is quite soft and has absorbed nearly all the milk; place in a dish; arrange the stewed apples on the rice and put in the oven to remain until they are of a golden color. Cheese Fritters. Put about a pint of water into a saucepan with a piece of butter the size of an egg, the least bit of cayenne and plenty of black pepper. When the water boils throw gradually into it sufficient flour to form a thick paste, then take it off the "fire and work it into a quarter of a pound of Parme sian cheese, and then the yolks of -three or fonr eggs and the whites of two beat en up to a froth. Let the paste remain for a couple of hours, and then fry it the size of a walnut into plenty of hot lard. Serve sprinkled with veryrine salt. Rhubarb Jam. To six pounds of rhubarb add six pounds of lump sugar and six large lemons ; cut the rhubarb jnto small pieces about the size of a wal nut ; then the lemons should be sliced and the peel cut very fine. Put the fruit (taking out the pips from the lemons) all into a large bowl; then cover it with the sugar, broken small ; let it stand twenty- four hours, after which boil it slowly foR -1 i ii a r t ... uuout mree-quaners oi an nour, taKing care it does not stick to the pan, also not to stir much so as to break the pieces of rhubarb, as the beauty of it is in being whole. ' .; Vegetable akd Family Soups. Two pounds of lean beef, half an onion, one large carrot, one turnip, quarter of a cab bage heart, two fair-sized potatoes, one tablespoonful of minced parsely, two stalks of celery, pepper and salt, three quarts of cold water, browned flour. Put. the beef over the fire in the cold water, and cook slowly three hours. An hour before taking it from the fire pre pare the vegetables. Shred the cabbage, cut turnips, celery, carrots and potatoes into dice, and slice the onion. Cook them half an hour in boiling, salted wa ter. Drain this off and throw it away. By this time the meat should be lender, but not in shreds. Add the parboiled vegetables to it and the broth, put in the parsely, pepper and salt to. taste. Cook all" for fifteen minutes; stir in a. great spoonful of browned flour wet with cold water; boil up and tour out. Useful Hints. A few oyster shells, mixed with the coal used for a furnace or large stove, will effectually prevent the accumulation of clinkers. To clean satin that has become greasy, sponge lengthwise, never across the wid th, with benzine, alcohol or borax water. Press on the wrong side. It is said that white spots can be re moved from furniture by rubbing with essence of camphor or peppermint, and afterward with furniture polish oil. The human system consists of fifteen j elements, all of which are found in com ! mon "wheat. But the flour of commerce j is deprived in a large degree of twelve of I these elements. An improvement in making flour ia evidently needed ' L "" ' " ' "" ' , i -.- i,, i 4 xHii errn to irate" REV. M. TALMAGE. THE BROOltLYft MVINE'S SUN DA X SERMON. Subject: "From Dungeon to Palace. " (Preached at the Hamptons, Long Island.) Text: The time of mtf departure is at hand. .II. Timothy iv., (k The way out of this world is so blocked up with coffin, and hearse, and undertakers spade and screwdriver, that the Christian can harrMv think nA he oueht of the most cheerful passage in .all bis history. We hang black j instead of white over the place where the good man gets his last victory. We stand weeping over a heap of phains which the freed soul has shaken off, and we say: uPoor man! What a pity it was he had to come to this!" Come to what? By the time the people have assembled at the obsequies the man has been three days so happy that all the joy -of earth accumulated would be wretchedness beside it, and he might better weep over you because you have to stay, than you weap over him be1 cause he has to go. It is a fortunate thing that a good man does not have to wait to see his own obsequies, they would be so discordant with his own experience. . If the Israelites should go back to Egypt and mourn over the brick kilns they once lef t,they would not be aiiv more silly than that Christian who should forsake heaven and come down and mourn because he had to leave this world. Our ideas of the Christian's death are morbid and sickly. We look upon it as a dark hole, in which a man stumbles when his breath gives out This whole subject is odor-, ous with varnish and disinfectants, instead of. being sweet with mignonette. Paul, in my text, takes that great clod of a word, "death,'' and throws it away, and speaks of bis "de parture" a beautiful, bright, suggestive word, descriptive of every Christian's re lease. . i Now, departure implies a starting place and a place of destination. When Paul left this world what was the starting point? It was a scene of great physical distress. It was the Tulliamim, the lower dungeon of the Mamertine prison. The top dungeon was bad enough, it having no means of ingress or egress but through an opening in the top. Through that the prisoner Was lowered, and through that came all the food and air and light received. It was a terrible place, that upper dungeon; but the Tullianum was the lower dungeon, and that was still more wretched, the only light and the only air coming through the roof, and that roof the floor of the upper dungeon. That was Paul's last earthly residence. It was a dungeon just six feet and a half high. It was a doleful place. It had the chill of long centuries of dampness. It was filthy with the long incarceration of miserable wretches. It ' was there that Paul spent his last days on earth, and it is there that I see him to-day, in the fearful dungeon, shivering, blue with the cold, waiting for that old overcoat which he had sent for up to Troas,' and which they had not yet sent down, notwithstanding he had written for it. If some skilful surgeon should go into that dungeon where Paullsincarcerated,we might find out what are the prospects of Paul's liv ing through the rough imprisonment. In the first place, he is an old man, only two years short of seventy. At that very time when he most needs the warmth and the sunlight, and the fresh air, he is shut out from the sun. What are those scars on his ankles? Why, those were gotten when he was fast, his feet in the stocks. Every time he turned, the flesh on his ankles started. What are those scars on his back? You know he was whipped five times, each time getting thirty-nine strokes 195 bruises on the back (count them!) made by the Jews with rods of elmwood, each one of the 193 strokes bringing the blood. Look at Pauls face and look at his arms. W here did he get those bruises? I think it was when he was strug gling ashore amidst the shivered timbers of the shipwreck. I see a gash in Paul's side. Where did he get that? I think he got that in the tussel with highwaymen, for he had been in peril of robbers and he had money of his own. He was a mechanic as well as an apostle, and I think the tents he made were as good as his sermons. There was a wanness about Paul's looks. What makes that? I think a part of that came from the fact that he was for twenty-four hours on a plank in the Mediterranean sea, suffering terribly, be fore he was rescued; for he says posi tively: "I was a night and a day in the deep." Oh, worn out, emaciated old man! surely j-ou must be melancholy, No constitution could enduo this and be cheerful. Bat I press my way through the prison until I come up close to where he is, and by the faint light that streams through the opening I see on his face a supernatural joy, and I bow before him, and I say: ''Aged man, how can you keep cheerful amidst all this gloom?" His voice startles the darkness of the place as he cries out: "I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand." Hark! what is that shuffling of feet in the upper dungeop? Why, Paul has an invitation to a banquet, and he is going to dine to-day with the king. Those shuffling feet are the feet of the execu tioners. They come, and they cry down through the hole of the dungeron: "Hurry up, old man. Come now; get yourself ready." Why, Paul was ready. He had nothing to pack up. He had no baggage to take. He had been ready a good while. I see him rising up, and straightening out his stiffened limbs, and pushing back his white hair from his creviced forehead, and I see him looking up through the hole in the roof of the dungeon into the face of his execution, and hear him say: "I am now ready to be offered, at the tune of my departure is at hand." Then they lift him out of the dungeon, and they start with him to the place of execution. They say: "Hurry along, old man, or you will fe.d the weight of our spear. Hurry Rlong have "How far is it," says Paul, "we travel V "Three miles." Three a good way for an old travel after he has beer, and crippled with mal- to miles is man to whipped treat nent. But they soon get to the place or execution Acquae 1 at via ana he is fastened to the pillar of martyrdom. It djesnot take any strength to tie him fast. He makes no resistance. O Paul! why not strike for your life? ' "Vou have a great many friends here. With that withered hand just launch the thunderbolt of the peo ple upon these infamous soldiers. No! Paul was not going to interfere with his own coro nation. He was too glad to go. I see him looking up into the face of his executioner, and, as the grim official draws the sword, Paul calmly sa3's: "lam now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand." But I put my "hand over my eyes. I want not to see that last struggle. One sharp, keen stroke, and Paul does go to the banquet and Paul does dine with the King. AVhat a transition it - was! From the malaria of Rome to the finest climate in all the universe the zone of eternal beauty and health. His ashes were put in the catacombs of Rome, but in one moment the air of heaven bathed from his soul the last ache. From shipwreck, from dungeon, from the biting pain of the elm-wool rods,- from the sharp sword of th3 headsman, he goes into the most brilliant assemblage of heaven, a king among kings, multitudes of the sainthood rushing out and stretching forth hands of welcome; for I do really think that as on the right hand of God is Christ, so on the right hand of Christ is Paul, the second great in heaven. He changed lungs likewise. Before the hour of death and up to the last moment ne was unaer JNero, the thick necked, the cruel eyed, the filthy lipped; the sculptured features of that man bringing down to us to this very day the horrible possibilities of his nature seated as he was amidst pictured marbles of Egypt, under a roof adorned with j mother of pearL in a dining room, which by ma chinery was kept whirling day and night with most bewitching magnificence: his horses standing in stalls of solid gold, and the grounds around bis palace lighted at night by its victims, who had been daubed with tar and pitch and then set fire to il lumine the darkness. That was Paul's king. But the next moment he goes into the realm of Him whose reign is love, and whose courts are paved with love, and whose throne is set on pillars of love, and whose scepter is adorned with- jewels of love, and whose palace is lighted with love, and whose lifetime is an eternity of love. When Paul was leaving so much on this side the pillar of martyrdom to gain so much on the other side, do you wuuuer at me cneerrui vaieoictory of the text: "The time of my departure is at handT Now, why cannot all the old people of this congregation have the same holy glee j v. ..... iilrnno VnrAa Fn 'i-. as that aged man .hid? Charles I. j when he was combing, his head, found fy hair, and he seni it to the queen as a great joke; but old age is really no joke It alL Forthe last forty yeara you have been dreading that which ought to have being an exhilaration. You say you must fear the struggle at the moment the soul and body part. But millions have en dured that moment, and why not we as well? They got through with iV and so can we. Besides this, all medical men agree in saying that there is probably no struggle at-all at the last moment not so much pain as the prick of a pin, the seaming signs oL distress being altogether involuntary. But ybu say: "It is the uncertainty of the futum" Now, child of God, do not play the infidel Af tef God has filled the Bible tdlit can hold no' more with the stories of the good things ahead, better not talk about uncer tainties. Jiut you say: "I cannot bear to think of parting from friends here." If you are old you have more friends in heaven than here. Just take the census. Take some large sheet of paper and begm to record the names of those who have emigrated to the other shore; the companions of your school days, your early business associ ates, the friends of mid life and those who more recently went away. Can it be that they have been gone so long you do not care any more about them and you do no want their society? Oh, no! There have been days when you have felt that you could not endure it another moment aw&J rom their blessed companionship, ihey lave gone. You say you would not like to brmg them back to this world of irouble, tven if you had the power. It tvould not do to trust you. . God would bot give you resurrection power. Before to-morrow morning you would be rat tling at the gate3 of the cemetery, crying a .u. a 4-tLa. "fnmo Vin-lr tn the cradle where you slept! Come back to the hall where yott used to playl i Come back to the table where you used to sit ! " and there would be a great burglary in heaven. JNo, no ! God will not trust you with resurrection power, but he compromises the matter and says : " You cannot bring them where you are" They are more lovely now than ever. Were they beautiful here, they are more beautiful there. j . Besides that, it is more healthy there for you than here, aged man; better climate there than these hot summers and cold winters and late springs; better hearing; better eye-sight; more tonic in the air; more perfume in the bloom; more sweet ness in the song." Do you not feel, aged man, sometimes, as though you would like to get your arm and foot free? Do you not feel as though you would like to throw away spectacles and canes and crutches? Would you not like to feel the spring; and elas ticity and mirth of an eternal boy hood? When the point at which you start from this world is old age, and the point to which you go is eternal juvenescence, aged man, clap your hands at the anticipation, and say, in perfect rapture of soul: "The time of my departure is at hand." I remark, again, all those ought to feel this joy of the text who have a holy curi osity to know what is beyond this earthly terminus. And who has not any curiosity about! it? Paul, I suppose, had the most . satisfactory view of heaven, and he says: "It doth not yet appear what we shall be." It is like looking through a broken tele scope: "Now we see through a glass darkly." Can you tell me anything about that heavenly place ? You ask me a thousand questions about it. that I cannot answer. I ask you a thousand questions about it that you cannot answer. And do you wonder that Paul was so glad when martyrdom gave him a chance to go over and make discoveries in that blessed country? i I hope some day, by the grace cf God, to go over and see for myself ; but not now. No well man, no prospered man, I think, wants to go now. But the time will come, I think, when I shall go over. I want to see what they do there, and I want to see how thev do'it. I da not want to be look ing througn, tne gates ajar rorever. l want them to swing open. There are 10,000 things I want explained about you, about myself, about the government of this world, about God, about everything. We start in a plain path of what we know, and in a ininuts come up against a high wall of what we do not know. I wonder how it looks over there. JSoinebody tells me it is like a paved city paved with gold; and another man tells me it is like a fountain, and it is like a tree, and it is like a tri umphal procession, and the next man I meet tells me it is all figurative. I really want to know, after, the body is resur rected, what they wear and what they eut; and I have an immeasurable curiosity to know what it is, and how it is, and where it is. Columbus risked bis life o find this continent, and shall we sb.ua.der to go out on a voage of discovery which shall reveal a vaster and more different country ? John ; Franklin risked , his life to find a passage between icebergs, and shall we dread to find a pas sage to eternal summer? Men in Swit zerland travel up the heights of the Mat terhorn with alpenstock and guides and rocket i and ropes, and getting half way up, stumble and fall down in a 'terrible massacre. They just want to say they had be&n on the tops of those high peaks. And shall we fear to go out for the ,ascent of the eternal hills, which start a thou sand miles beyond where stop the highest peaks of the Alps, arid when in that as cent there is no peril? A man doomed to die stepped on the scaffold and said in joy: "Now, in ten minutes I will know the great secret." One minute after the vital functions ceased the little child that died list night in Montague street knew more than Jonathan Edwards, or St Paul him self, before he died. Friends, the exit from this world, or death, if you please to call it, .to the Christian is glorious expla nation. It is demonstration. It is illu mination, it is sunburst. It Is the opening of all the windows. It is shutting up the catechism of doubt and the unrolling of all. the scrolls of positive and ac curate information. Instead of stand ing at the foot of the ladder and looking up, it is standing at the top of the ladder and looking down. It is the last mystery taken out of botany, and geology, and astronomy, and theology. Oh, will it not be grand to have all questions an swered? The perpetually recurring inter rogation point changed for the mark of exclamation. All riddles solved. Who will fear to go out on that discovery when all the questions are to be decided which we have been discussing all our lives? Who shall not clap his hands in the anticipation of that blessed country.it it be no better than through holy curiosity, crying: "The time of my de parture is at hand ?" I remark,again,we ought to have the joy of the text, because, leaving this world, we move into the best society of the universe. You see a great crowd of people in some street, and you say: "Who is passing there? What Gen eral, what Prince is going up there?" Well, I see a great throng in heaven. I say: "Who is the focus of all that admiration? Who is tne centre ot tnat guttering company T" It is Jesus, the champion of ail worlds, the favorite of all ages. Do you know what is the first question the soul will ask when it comes through the gate of heaven? I think the first question will be: "Where is Jesus, the Saviour that pardoned my sin hat earned my sorrows; that fought my battles; that won my victories?" O radiant One! how 1 would like to see Thee! Thou of tno manger, but without its Humiliation; Thon of the cross, but without its" panrs Thou of the grave, but without its darkness. ' The Bible intimates that we will talk with Jesus in heaven just as a brother talks with a brother. Now, what will you ask him first? I do not know. I can think what I would ask Paul first, if I saw him in heaven. I think I would like to hear hua describe the j storm that came upon the ship when there were 275 souls on the vessel, Paul being the only man on board cool enough to describe the storm. mere IS a. nsnnatmn oK..- . . . sea that I shall never get over, and I think I would hke to hear him talk about that first. But when I meet my Lord Jesiia shall first want. -r u . . 1 last hours; and tlen LuwT acuT of the uuu account of the cru cifixion will 1t t.v,,- . 1-u livmglip. of OuS ttyWoslJuS tolS . , , , . were was darkness in Ctoreshari; , and beeatoinT wI"-1111 mob Christ, and the curdKg Tf the lESf ?f his ear more fatotly and hi, me were fastened to the i hoL.. -nanda th. cross, and his feet fL?,e of the perpendicular pfooe o7 fastened to hisneaHeU torwSin a' uttered the last moan 'and cr finished!" au " .J .mrv haro forth the oratorio of the WJJl WeS is the Lamb that was .slam reoerowwj tog, and riches, and honor, and glory, ana power, world without endl" . What he endured, oh, who csn tell. To sve our soula from death and heO! . When there was between Paul atii that cJttoner dyouionder that he wanted to Oh my ' Lord Jesus, let one ware ff kat gforyroliW this auditory! Hark! fheS 4e wedding bells of tenanogff. now. The marriage of the Lamb has come, and the bride hath made herself ready. TEMPERANCE. The Little Temperance Soldier. I am a little soldier, ' Tho' but a few years old; I mean to fightfor temperance, "And be both brave and bold; I know how strong the foe is, How many he has slain, Yet still I'll be a soldier, . , And fight with might and mam. I've heard cf other soldiers i Much younger too, than I. " ' Who overcome the drunkard, - Then why should I not try? : : I know that God will help me, : , For 'tis a holy cause; And all who don't keep sober, ; ' Are tramp'ling on his laws. I now can do but little Yet though I'm not a man, . ) Til try to do for temperance The greatest good I can. If God will give me courage, In all I do or say, Then I, with my companions, Will win the glorious day. i Come, then, my fellow soldiers! And march along with me; Though long and fierce the battle, AVe shall victorious be. And soon the temp'rance army, With banners all unfurled, Will go through every country And conquer all the world! Youth's Temperance Banner. Cost and Cruelty of Liquor Traffic Tho Won "William Windom. sneakine at the Fourth of July celebration at Woodstock, Conn., said: ... "It is estimated upon the best attainable authority that this tyrant's revels cost an aually more than $700,000,000; that 500,000 victims, rendered worse than useless, are staggering along in his triumphal procession to dishonored graves; and that his army of immediate retainers the makers and ven ders of "liquid fire" numbers 500,000 more. "Estimating that this million of makers, venders and victims, if engaged In some le gitimate business, could have earned $1.50 per day, we have a loss in productive power of $450,000,000 per annum, which, added to the $700,000,000 wasted for strong drinks, makes a total of $1,250,000,000. Add to this taxation estimated at $100,000,000 for the support of jails, criminal prosecutions, peni tentiaries, almshouses, pauperism, and all the unnumbered burdens imposed upon the country by this tyrant, and you have $1,350, 000,000 as the annual cost of his reign. , How does this compare with the administratk n of King George, or with the tax on the historic tea, that a century ago was put to steep in Boston Harbor? "Let it be borne in tnind that this burden rests most heavily upon t ha poor, who are least able to bear it. It is doubtless true that a large portion of it is borne by the rich and prosperous, but if only one-half of it falls upon the wage-workers of the nation, there is an Anti-Poverty Society, with possibili ties beyond the wildest dreams of Mr. George and Dr. McGlynn. Mr. Powderly, in a recent speech said: 'In one Penn sylvania county, in a single year, $17,000, DO0 was spent for liquor, and it was esti mated that $11,000,000 of the amount came "roin workingmen.' The savings that could be made through an Anti-Saloon Anti-Poverty Society, would in teu years buy half the farms in the United States, and in fifteen years more furnish a fund large enough to pur chase every railroad in the country, and pay for them more than their actual cost. "Not lessi than 8Q,000 victims go annually to the drunkard's grave. Pestilence and war combined do not, in this country, equal its destructive energy. I repeat what 1 have dad occasion to say elsewhere, that the waste of human life wrought every five years by Dur 200,000 saloons, is equal to the destruction Df life by both armies, nuriibering millions of irmed men, during tho entire War of the Reballion. In their hands strong drink is a weapon so fatal that the 500,000 drunkard Makers are able to accomplish more in the me period than four times their number could with shot and shell, fire and sword, and ill the appliances of 'modern warfare. The cruelty of war is not measured by the number ot those who fall in battle, but by the unutter able woe and bitter anguish of broken hearts ind desolated homes. Most emphatically is it true, that the mere destruction of 80,000 lives every year affords no measure of the re .entless cruelty of the liquor power in its war against society. To realize this you nust go to the dishonored homes, question he broken hearts, and the voice'ess misery in wan and haggard faces, hear helples3 chil dren cry for food, see them stricken down by drunken and infuriated fathers, and some-' fimes even by besotted mothers, witness the debauchery and ruin of youth, and the utter degradation, ignorance, poverty and , misery which everywhere and always accompany the victims of the saloon. Do you say that ill these are the incidents of the business, not the motives for it? Certainly. Let us do these men no injustice. Human misery is not their motive. They only want to get money, and knowing that these things follow as effect follows cause, they are not deterred. Doubtless they would prefer to get money without these disagreeable consequences of their acts. A like plea may be made for the burglar and highwayman. Their motive also is money, not murder." ' The Saloon's Kindred Evils. The saloon element does not stand as only a representative of intemperance in strong drink, but it is representative of immorality arid crime. A temperance movement directed solely ' against the saloon will fall short of accomplishing the desired aim. There are kindred evils that must be removed evils that support the saloon and with a suhtler. though no less strong influence, enter places accorded respectability, arid are thus snieiaea from impeachment or protest. immorality, m whatever garb of respecta bility it may be clothed 'and the cealed the worse, is an evil forming the basis uii Huu.il e ery saioon is established. There is a suuue influence pervading the entire social fabric which, at least tar-it.lv f o t-,. f-l,A eolrtAn KAlnM I .... I. 1 morality, each supplementing the other. The temperance movement has been a blessing yet it is not broad enoiiHi. It: ,' moral movement, bent on remeving the social disorders which underlie the saloon. These arc the fields from which the saloons grow as grain. The removal of the saloon will not remove them, but their W1U the destruction of every vestige of intemperance. It is "V . ."" soruu substrata that the J?ri.mterPf?t ' e?trenhing itself. Placing its faith m this, it has moved along in the ""Z- "souoauon and organization, r suiting m a national nni t.- j ; .i . -. . j -...., Aiuia vi villi v political compact, presenting to existing mr- ZI T" ,vitia- and financial strength. As a nolitiral far-tn,- ,. n. . l . w www ao ovt Li LI la flmo6a,arniing' and th3 ten3ency ,V . parwes to court its support by heeding its dictates is humiliating ami dis- "l;r: r fe- -JJ,c"luf1 oi ooin prominent T. r . wiuuicuiuuen o opine lor favnr able action by their respecUveorfaSLSoS but a feehmrof disannoint.m ti"iZr 2r! cernible, and the in'dicationi point strongly toward a general breaking away of the mofal elements of both parties, and th t j. fvV Tf , II I. . . Drae the reform uemanoea Either tvH PY ha? the opportunity of SSnlSthfa support, and the twVht tZli LZT Raping this reforms will r" m emorace the be riven vlvVv," " , " """ger aia man can Sedominalei S?t?' fr,the moral lnt ten-r the FoM-firstm? fa the history of Iowa, Sent nnmU "VT short of a suffl ntSLf nvicts to enable it to fill uf1' upon basis of the usual supply. This and many similar instances ro crhSTVe that dolTSfg tit rnn r "nia fV. t- In the Journal of United lj own name: Master Workmari T H iy in speaking uipio j quor trm, M " Among the letters that crf,i .i I find one which takes mo tn V. V"taJ words ou the teniperanen .,...r some ten or twelve days a?o n Tu- tyj sion in starting out that in tlle T M right, that even the rumsolL.i- ,..:V,m, I tho justice of my position, u,,, llnt much he should have stoppwi y" j told me nothinz new. I i.', ntU right.. I know that in refusing V at I 4 a .drop of strong drink I wa-i JJ, in reiusing w ireaianotii. r I know I am right. In rcf to with men who get drunk I kn. V aS In not allowing runisellers tocain V T 1 T- into tho Order of the hknow I am right. In anights "f I4 blics not to nire nails or drinking places I know I am r?JrIN done this from the day niv vni.Jl heapd in the council halls .f oui-'Li Twdtion on the riiiret.inn r . r o-nr. i nm nnrm mm t. . -"'11.11111; not alter it one jot or tittlo. u-. ft I am right, why should I alw ,m " len years ago i was hissM " four; vised men to let stron threatenea to rotten e; nmnan ui Mjivisir iiifn r.i I .. . ... . . , i tViruio-h T halve liad no PTn..fi . rf qualify me to render an 'iini.,n K v"q rr . ' " thit emcacy vl u. iuiwu cuk as an aiv coUer. vet I would Prefer tr I,-...: 'lrtJ decorated from suinmit to ba. xvlti, .if est kind of rotten eggs rather than ii 1 drop ot liquid villainy to pass my lir the end of my nose illuminat d ,V' '? Som that follows a planting i .f hetred, envy, malice and l4 SM. which are represente 1 ht n gin." u ,l,t 7. Wliat Canadian Doctors Thui In r sponse to the inquirv nri.i,,. them recently by the c'rt.( Cf,r' v v wv - - - nj h Eighty-two out of i'l phy.sirianw.f arith thA fullpftt rto"TAA of i.l.i t vflrA ' ,V7 who emnhaticnllv l r,J 4-1 m -u-iti n-oro fort' 1 1 a crave. kj Vl 71 tn're er 7 an-tAa,'i in tha nrunirm Mint th.. t,,t,.i " t - K'irfii axrj arinKer lornjwvi-ijr j um uih ori. ana oi oi ine vi rkiwJ twu al WUUXU.KW . li J'uinv "II 11'.. "flfr ationists were iu u muu minority. waoie me auancu H'uiuvin;: Dpt.. I 4., 1 .... .....I. ' National Advocate. Pleasant for Beer Drinker Dr. E. II. Bartley, chcniNt to the Bn Health Department, has rm iitly male rJ discoveries which it wui not u pkas;e beer drinkers to contemplate His j. tions of different kinds of WtM eluding some of the Western Utrs shu tney contain, s-amyiic ami. ino Record states thut lh; am unt of tin, required to preserve leor isalK.u:t?: fifteen grains per gallon, an I it adli 'salicylic acid, if taken continuous:)-.! to injure digestion and irritate the kiln The employment of this 1i ul' in t '.lepr tion of different articles of !'! aul c- bas increased so much in laristu; French Government has already twir action in the matter. National W. C. T. lf Bulletli Dr. Newman, pastor of the MetrwJ hurch, at Washington D. C, reoentlrd zed a Youth's Temperance Society in b i Z relation. The members of the u . 1. T. U. iuh philanthropic women of Duluth. ILn about to establish a ''Home for newly td and children." Bv an amendment recently adopted Maine law makes the hol.lin?oi i Upj States tax receipt prima favie evjdem linnnr sllinfr. Mrs. Laura Eerrv. a prominent the Des Moines (Iowa) W. C. T. U., cas r. moved to Chicago, to take a position on tt staff of the Lever. The recent World's GrandIodge or uoo Templars endorsed the petition of the n oria tir r' T TT -t.4s.k mallei frw tha n nl Vfmt outlawing of the drink and opium trade; al adoped the white cross movement as a meth of work. TIia W. O. T- TT nf Plpvpliind h&Lf vited bv the Common Councihof tl name two ladies who shall act as aiw matron n t thp Central Police .Station action ouzht to extend to every city awa town In the L nited fetates. xr;. f Tnisn Oraves of Spr.W' foc nm Rliss FoO'e. riaiKT 1TCT 01 UWl't W.'fV Poole, of Chicago, and Uth psfej rf Wellesley College, sailed tne iw Turin nc miRsirmnriPS to Jiinan. TafJ ' hoth earnest white ribbon women, and n gone forth thororghly furnished with! niong nd literature from the . C I now being so wen esiauiiMH"i m the visitor Mrs, le win. i TliAhiVhAst. honors of the TrienniLffl national Sunday-school Convention cm w?wncu , li tunc men. Mr. Ira H. Evans, of Texas. famnArorvpnatrman Hp hfll IVllK'Q securing the quarterly tenipranrt r the International course, a iiia-ure i i u iir r t i i ii'Tiem . ' F.sk, who presided until me arn -i Evans, stands in the fore front ol 1 perance battle, and Wm. Reynolds, 1 who was unanimously elerted P3; President, is at the head of a movew Mrs. Lea vitt writes from hanfi'. that she had an audience with t Siam, going before him w ith a fr C. T. TT. rfnniment.. nnd COJ'M Union Sinml, all tied with a nj entering "t.h nlno liptwcon tw guards and meeting a liamfcojn. gentleman, to whom Mr. vrf r5i 1 1 in ty t.ViA m.nnpr f .'llljlit her New England childlil. f hree times, alter which the Kmfrto the hand nnd led her to a u count of the Worlds AV. C. T. v.a. ...,inx..n.i vrri:ii mis n- l. n v j - 7 m leXP luruuga an mierpreier. yd writes: -jjear iteverenn .'"""T' Pray do not send out any nire 1 goaiy. men or unrisiian ,u"11- , Governmen employ an d enpaed m J Let Christian missionaries I sn u all these things that no poor soul or A sraarLAB fact or mo o,Tiake at Magdalcna, Mexico.' i i-- m;nilTa t, work . i ' the8ur lour nun area ieei. uciw" the earth were not at any cioua of a land disturb IhAv fAAl thA effects of any of Aether re'n lerciib Biiucn.3. . . ... i ?i- iu mnnw lact is tnat, wnne i-" -aa arid, so almost totally JcstitnW j ning water, great springs v. . water ahotdd start from tne themselves, and flow Pwaru.al eartr; wnn every fuA source. Many of the towns ia Western land are curions strange to old-country ears . , i A rP a lew : A 13 U, Axie, ua Hide, Big Bug, Big Fool, Chicory. Coffee, Cow Vo?, J Dammit, Dirt Town, Door v -yJ t i-1 A T and. (.'CO" ii ireea.. uuuu ' Good Luck, Gnn Powder, Off. Hiffh Up. Bobbie, w a - Jin co. Johnny Cake, Jump V'A MA.r.hlan. Mad Indian Nine Times, Number W Our Carter, Oz, rats M Gnmpus, Blevna (several . x RiKKU TTali. U Iiet ( i"u.. . a Thz hnman hair varies ij from 1.250 to 1.600 of jn" w hair is the finest, coarsest. A German xje rf that in four heads of weight, tne rea n tnn hairs, the bl lnum brown 103.000. andtM vignr-amoKing missionm . - ample enough in all these lands fn . i - . . . . . , nun. K
The Weekly Record (Beaufort, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Aug. 11, 1887, edition 1
2
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