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DR TALMAGFS SERMON.
SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED
DIVINE.
"Writing In Dust" the SuhjectA Dcnnn.
elation of Hj-pocrlsy The Injustice of
Condemning In Woman Sins That Are
Overlooked in Man. ' '
Text: "Jesus stooped down and with
His fingers wrote on the ground." John
viii., 6.
You must take your shoes oft and put
on the especial slippers provided at the
door if you would enter the Mohammedan
mosque, which stands now where onee
stood Herod' temple, the scene of my text.
Solomon's temple had stood there, but
Nebuchadnezzar had thundered it down.
Zerubbabel's temple had stood there, but
had been prostrated. Now we tak" our
places In a tern pie that Herod built, because
he was fond of great architecture, and he
wanted the preceding temples to seem in
significant. Put eight or ten modern ca
thedrals together, and they would not
equal that structure. It covered nineteen
acres. There were marble pillars support
ing roofs of cedar, and 6ilver tables, on
which stood golden cups, and there Jvere
carvings exquisite, and inscriptions re
splendent, glittering balustrades and orna
mented gateways.
In that stupendous pile of pomp and
magnificence sat Christ, and a listening
throng stood about Him when a wild dls- j
turbance took place. A group of men are
pulling and pushing along a woman who
had committed a crime against society.
When they have brought her In front of
Christ, they ask that He sentence her to
death by stoning. They are a critical,
merciless, disingenuous crowd. They want
to get Christ into controversy and public
reprehension. If He say "Let her die,"
they will charge Him with cruelty. If He
let her go they will charge Him with being
in complicity with wickedness. Which
ever way He does, they would howl at Him.
Then occurs a scene which has not been
sufficiently regarded, He leaves the
lounge or bench on which He was sitting,
and goes down on one knee, or both knees,
and with the forefinger of His right hand
He begins to write In the dust of the floor.
word after word. But they were not to be
diverted or hindered. They kept on de
manding that He settle this case of trans
gression, until He looked up and told them
they might themselves begin the woman's
assassination, if the complainant who had
never done anything wrong himself would
open the fire. "Go ahead, but be sure that
the man who flings the first missile is im
maculate."' Then He resumed writing
with His finger nail in the dust of the floor,
word after word. Instead of looking over
His shoulder to see what He had written,
the scoundrels skulked awav. Finally, the
whole place is clear of pursuers, antag
onists and plaintiffs, and when Christ has
finished this strange chlrography in the
dust He looks up and finds the woman all
alone.
The prisoner is the only one of the court
room left, the judges, the police, the prose
cuting attorney haying cleared out. Christ
Is victor, and He says to the woman:
"Where are the persecutors in this case?
are they all gone? Then I discharge you:
go and sin no more." I have wondered
what Christ wrote on the ground. For do
you realize that this is the only time that
He ever wrote at all? I know that Eusebius
says that Christ once wrote a letter to
Abgarus, the King of Edessa, but there is
no good evidence of such a correspond
ence. The wisest Being the world ever
saw, and the One who had more to say
than anyone whoever lived, never writing
a book or a chapter or a paragraph or a
word on parchment. Nothing but the lit
erature of the dust, and one sweep of a
brush or one breath of a wind obliterated
It forever.
Among all the rolls of the volumes of the
first library founded at Thebes there was
not one scroll of Christ. Among the books
of the Alexandrian Library, which, by the
infamous decree of Caliph Omar, were used
as fuel to heat the "baths of the city, not
one sentence had Christ penned. Among
all the infinitude of volumes now standing
in the libraries of Edinburgh, the British
Museum, or Berlin, or Vienna, or tbe
learned repositories of all nations, not one
word written directly by the finger of
Christ. All that He ever wrote He wrote
in dust, uncertain, shifting dust.
My text says He stooped down and wrote
on the ground. Standing straight up a
man might write on the ground with a staff,
but If with His fingers He would write in
the dust He must bend clear over. Ave, He
must get at least on one knee, or He can
not write on the ground. Be not surprised
that He stooped down, His whole life was a
stooping down. Stooping down from castle
to barn. 1 Stooping down from celestial
homage to monoeratlo jeer. From resi
dence above the stars to where a star had
to fall to designate His landing-place.
From Heaven's front door to the world's
back gate. From writing in round and
silvered letters of constellation and galaxy
on the blue scroll of Heaven to writing on
the ground in the dust which the feet in
the crowd had left in Herod's temple.
Christ came down from the highest
Heaven to the broiling of fish for His own
breakfast, on the banks of the lake. From
emblazoned chariots of eternity to the
saddle of a mule's back. From the hom
age cherubic, seraphic, archangelic, to the
paying of sixty-two and a half cents of tax
to Caesar. From the deathless country to
a tomb built to hide human dissolution.
The uplifted wave of Galilee was high, but
He had to come down before, with His feet,
He could touch it, and the whirlwind that
arose above the billow was higher yet, but
He had to come down before with His lip
He could kiss it into quiet. Bethlehem a
stooping down. Nazareth a stooping down.
Death between two burglars, a stooping
down. Yes, it was In consonance with
humiliations that went before and self
abnegations that came after, when on that
memorable day in Herod's temple He
stooped down and wrote on the ground.
Whether the words He was writing were
in Greek or Latin or Hebrew, L cannot say,
for He knew all those languages. But He
is still stooping down, and with His finger
writing on the ground; in the winter in
letters of crystals, in the spring jin letters
of flowers, in summer in golden letters of
harvest, in autumn in letters of fire or fall
en leaves. How it woulcf sweeten up and
enrich and emblazon this world, could we
see Christ's caligraphy all over it. This
world was not flung out into space thou
sands of years ago, and then left to look out
for Itself. It Is still under the Divine care.
Ctrlst never for a half second takes His
hand off of it. or it would soon be a ship
wrecked world, a defunct world, an obso
lete world, an abandoned world, a dead
world. "Let there be light," was said at
the beginning. And Christ stands under
the wintry skies and says, let there be snow
flakes to enrich the earth; and under the
clouds of spring and says, come ye blos
soms and make redolent the orchards; and
in September, dips the branches in the vat
of beautiful colors, and swings them into
the hazy air. No whim of mine is1 this.
"Without Him was not anything aaaflethat
was made." Christ writing on the around.
If you could see His hand In all tjio pass
ing seasons, how it would llluyune the
world I All verdure and foliage would be
allegoric, and again we would
say, as of old, "Consider the li
field, bow they grow;" and we
lear Him
lies of the
Ivould not
hear the whistle of a quail or tb
cawing of
a raven or tbe, roundelay of
a brown-
thresher, wrliOut saying, "Bene
of the air, tbey gather not la
ll the fowls
barns, yet
your Heavenly Father ieedeththem;" and
a Domljhio nen 01 tee Danger a could not
cluck for her brood, but f
'would hear
Christ saying, as of old, "J
I have gathered thy cLild.'
as a hen gathereth br c! t
w;rgi;" and through tin
we would hear Christ
ro.se of Sharon;" we cot ,
toi-iiig from the salt-ceij-
"
Y often would
.geiuer, tsveu
-i under btr
vent hedges
VI a:n the
thu Bca
t think
ing of the divine suggestion, "Ye arth
salt of the earth, but if the salt bath lost
its 9avor, it is fit for nothing but to be cast
out and trodden under foot of men."
But when Christ stooped down and
wrote on the ground, what did He write?
The Pharisees did not stop to examine.
The cowards, whipped of their own con
sciences, fled pell mell. Nothing will flay
a man like an aroused conscience. Dr.
Stevens, in his "History of Methodism,"
says that when the Bev. Benjamin Abbott,
of olden times, was preaching, he ex
claimed: "For aught I know there may
be a murderer in this house," and a man
rose from the assemblage and started for
the door and bawled aloud, confessing to
a murder he had committed fifteen years
before. And no wonder these Pharisees,
reminded of their sins, took to their heels.
But what did Christ write on the ground?
The Bible does not state. Yet as Christ
never wrote anything except that once
you cannot blame us for wanting to know
what He really did write. But I am oer
tain He wrote nothing trivial or nothing
unimportant. And will you allow me to
say that I think I know what He wrote on
the ground? I judge from the circum
stances. He might have written other
things, but kneeling there in the Temple,
surrounded by a pack of hypocrites who
were a self-appointed constabulary, and
having In its presence a persecuted woman,
who evidently was very penitent for her
sins, I am sure He wrote two words, both
of them graphic and tremendous and re
verberating. And the one word was
"hypocrisy" and the other word was "for
giveness." Yes, I think that one word written on
the ground that day by the finger of
Christ was ttie awiui word nypocrisy.
What pretensions to sanctity are the part
of those hypocritical Pharisees! When the
fox begins to pray look out for your chick
ens. One of the cruel magnates of olden
times was going to excommunicate one
of the mactyrs, and he began in the usual
form "In the name of God, Amen."
"Stop!'Ksay9 the martyr, "don't say 'In the
name of God!' " Yet how many outrages
are practiced under the garb of religion
and sanctity! When in synods and con
ferences, ministers of the Gospel are about
to say something unbrotherly and un
kind about a member, they almost always
begin by being ostentatiously pious, the
venom of their assault corresponding to
the heavenly flavor of the prelude. About
to devour a reputation they say grace
before meat.
But I am sure there was another word
in that dust. From her entire manner I
am sure that arraigned woman was re
pentant. She made no apology, and Christ
in nowise belittled her sin. But her sup
plicatory behavior and her tears moved
Him, and when He stooped down to write
on the ground He wrote that mighty, that
imperial word, forgiveness.
When on Sinat God wrote the law, He
wrote It with finger of lightning on tables
of stone, each word cut as by a chisel into
the hard granite surface. But when He
writes the offence of this woman He writes
it in dust so that It can be eiisi'y rubbed
out, and when she repents of it oh, He
was a merciful Christ! I was reading of a
legend that is told in the far East about
Him. He was walking through the streets
of a city and He saw a crowd around a dead
dog. And one man said: "What a loath
some object is that dog!" "Yes," said an
other, "his ears are mauled and bleeding."
"Yes," said another, "even his hide would
not be of any use to the tanner." "Yes,"
said another, "the odor of his carcass is
dreadful." Then Christ, standing there,
said: "But pearls cannot equal the white
ness of his teeth." Then the people, moved
by the idea that anyone could find any
thing pleasant concerning the dead dog,
said: "Why, this must be Jesus of Naza
reth!" Keproved and convicted, they went
away.
But while I speak of Christ of the text.
His stooping down writing in the dust, do
not think I underrate the literature of the
dust. It 13 the most tremendous of all
literature. It is the grandest of all libra
ries. When Layard exhumed Nineveh he
was only opening the door of its mighty
dust. The excavations of Pompeii have
only been the unclasping of the lids of a
nation's dust.
Oh! this mighty. literature of the dust:
Where are the remains of Sennacherib and
Attila and Epamlnondas and Tamerlane
and Trajan and Philip of Macedon and
Julius Cfesar? Dust! Where are the
guests who danced the floors of the Alham
bra or the Persian palaces of Ahasuerus?
Dustl Where are the musicians who
played, or the orators who spoke, and the
sculptors who chlsled, and the architects
who built, in all the centuries except our
own? Dust! Where are the most of the
books that once entranced the world?
Dust! Pliny wrote twenty books of his
tory; all lost. The most of Menander's
writings lost. Of one hundred and thirty
comedies of Plautusj all gone but twenty.
Euripides wrote a hundred dramas, all
gone but nineteen. Eschylus wrote a hun
dred dramas, all gone but seven. Quin
tillan wrote his favorite book on the cor
ruption of eloquence, all lost. Thirty
books of Tacitus lost. Dion Cassius wrote
eighty books, only twenty remain. Bero
sius's history all lost. Where there is one
living book there are a thousand dead
books.
Oh! this mighty literature of the dust. It
is not so wonderful, after all; that Christ
chose, instead of an inkstand, the impres
sionable sand on the floor of an ancient
temple, and, instead of a hard pen, put
forth His forefinger, with the same kind of
nerve and muscle and bone and flesh as
that which iakes up our own forefinger,
and wrote the awful doom of hypocrisy,
and full and complete forgiveness for re
pentant sinners, even the worst. We talk
about the ocean of Christ's mercy. Put
four ships upon that ocean and let them
sail out in opposite directions for a thou
sand years, and see if they can find the
shore of the ocean of the divine mercy. Let
them sail to the north and the south and
the east and the west, and then after the
thousaud years of vogage let them come
back and they will report- "No shore, no
shore to the ocean of God's mercy!"
And now I can believe that which I read,
how that a mother kept burning a candle
in the window every night for ten years,
and one night, very late, a poor waif on the
street entered. The aged woman sai l to
her, "Sit down by the fire," and the stranger
said, "Why do you keep that light in the
window?" The aged womfen said, "That is
to light my wayward daughter when she
returns. Binee she went away, ten years
ago, my hair has turned white. Folks
blame me for worrying about her, but you
see I am her mother, and sometimes, half a
dozen times a night, I open the door and
look out Into the darkness and cry, 'Liz
zie! 'Lizzie!' But I must not tell you any
more about nry trouble, for I guess, from
the way you cry, you have trouble enough
of your own. Why, how cold and sick you
seem! On, myl can It be? Yes, you are
Lizzie, my own lost child! Thank God that
you are home again!" And what a time of
rejoicing there was In that house that
night. And Christ again stooped down,
and in the ashea-of that hearth, now lighted
up, not more by the great blazing logs than
by the joy ot a reunited household, wrote
the same liberating words that had been
written more than eighteen hundred years
ago in the dust of the Jerusalem temple.
Forgiveness! A word broad enough and
high enough to let pass through it all the
armies of Heaven, a million breast; on
white horses, nostril to nostrif, flank to
flank.
Kelief Needed in Spain.
Countess de Casa Valencia, wife of the
former Spanish Ambassador to Great
Britain, appeals through the London papers
for contributions to her fund for the Spanish
sick and wounded. She says: "There are
many thousands lying in hospitals at San
Sebastian, Las Faimas, Santiago de Cuba
aad Guantnnamo without bandages or lint
or even beds to sleep upon, owing to inade
quate funds. And there are many widows
and orphans who are in most urgent need
of relief."
& Woman Fresenta Check. '
Scene: A downtown bank.
"Will you cash that, please?" v
'Certainly, but it requires a stamp, '
"A what?"
"A stamp; a bank check stamp. Up
here in the corner." ;
"Does it?"
"Yes." '
"Well, why don't you put it on?"
"We are not the ones to put it on.
The person who draws the check
stamps it."
"What's it for?"
"It's a war tax."
"How funny. Does the Govern
ment expect to carry on the war with
my poor little, two cents?" .
"Yes, with yours and others."
"But I haven't any stamp. I've
been out of town and didn't know
about the law."
"It -wasn't necessary to know it un
til you drew the check."
"How ridiculous. And you won't
let me have any money until I put a
stamp in the corner?"
"We are obliged to insist that the
tax be paid."
"Supposing I give you two cents?"
"That will do."
"But I haven't two cents."
"Perhaps you could borrow it of
somebody."
"Perhaps I could of you."
"As a banker I couldn't countenance
any such transaction."
"Dear, dear. How ridiculously
serious it is. Here, I have a car ticket.
You take it for five cents, and give me
three cents change. Will you?"
"Yes."
Then she went away with a bright
smile. She had cleared a fraction of
a cent by calling tbe ; value of the
ticket five cents. Cleveland Plain
Dealer.
"Talking Qnalcer."
It is no easy matter for a novice to
talk "Quaker" fluently. The tongue
becomes confused with the triple
choice of pronouns and flaps hopeless
ly around the palate. I well remem
ber my clumsy effort to engage in con
versation with a farmer whom I met
near Chester. When I happened upon
him, he was sitting on a fence, vacant
ly staring at a cream-colored cow in
the adjacant field. : I at once defined
him to be a "Friend" in undress, and
determined to delight the old fellow
and amuse myself by carrying on a
skillful dialogue in his own idiom.
This is how I succeeded: '
"How do thee do, sir? Is that is
are thee meditating?" If he was de
lighted he controlled his emotion ad
mirably. All he did was to gape and
inquire: "Hey?"
"The fields, the birds, the flowers,"
I pleasantly pursued, "are enough to
bring thou dreams I mean dreams to
thou."
He was looking at me now, and crit
ically. I felt that my syntax had been
very idiotic instead of idiomatic; so,
wiping the sweat from my brow and
hat, I eyed him calmly and observed:
"Those cows, are they thy's or thee's
that is, thou's hang it, I mean
thine's?" .
It was very fortunate. He crawled
down from the fence, and as he ambled
away muttered, indignantly: "Go to
Bedlam! I'm a farmer, but, but, thank
heaven, I'm not a loonatic." Tid-Bits.
SIOO Reward. SIOO.
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as a Cough medicine. F. M. Abbott, 883 Sen
eca St., BuflaloJMarJP
Argentina owes Its name to, the silvery
reflections of its rivers.
To Care Constipation Forever.
Take Cascarets Candy Cathartic 10c or 250.
If C C. C fail to cure, druggists refund money.
The only wild quadruped in Iceland is
the fox. -
THE HCELENCE OF SYBUP OF FIGS
is due not only to the originality and
simplicity of the combination, but also
to the care and skill with which it is
manufactured by scientific processes
known to the Caijfobnia Fio Sybtjp
Co. only, and we wish to impress upon
all the importance of purchasing the
true and original remedy. . As the
genuine Syrup of Figs is manufactured
by the California Fig Sykcp Co.
only, a knowledge of that fact will
assist one in avoiding the worthless
imitations manufactured by other par
ties. The high standing of the Cau- "
forxia Fig Syrup Co. with the medi
cal profession, and the satisfaction
which, the genuine. Syrup of Figs has
given to millions of families, makes
the name of the Company a guaranty
of the excellence of its remedy. It is
far in advance of all other laxatives,
as it acts on the kidneys, liver 'and
bowels without irritating or weaken
ing them, and it, does not gripe nor
nauseate. In order to get its beneficial
effects, please remember the name of
the Company
CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO.
SAN FKAKCISOO, OaL
tOriSVILLE, Ky. NEW TOIIK.. Y.
- BICYCLISTS NEED A
Liouio.' Fist?
1 :-wmMmmMmj
50c. ff ' vcTS-.
PROTECTIO
AGA8FJST
DOCS OR EV!Eft9
WITHOUT KILLING
OR EYlAlfJirJC. LOTS
FUN TO BE HAD
It is a weapon which protects bicyclists against vicious dogs and foot-pads;
travelers against robbers and toughs; homes against thieves and tramps, and
is adapted to many other situations.
It does not kill or injure; it is perfectly safe to handle; makes no noise
or smoke; breaks no law and creates no lasting regrets, as does the bullet pistol.
It simply and amply protects, by compelling the foe to give undivided atten
tion to himself for awhile instead of to the intended victim.
Itls the only real weapon whu-h protects and also makes fun, laughtfir and
lots oi 11; u suoois, not once, .out many times
in 3c. Postage Stamps, post-office Money Order, or
NEW YORK UXIOIV SUPPLY Co., 135 Leonard St., cw York,
Do You Know That There is Science in Heatnccs?
De VisD and Use
SAPOL
BOOTS,
FALL DRESS GQLa
AnHtrallnn Fleece Tbe lightest, warmest fab.
rlo known for dresses, wrappers, shirt-waists, etc j
27 inches wide; 12. ct. pr yard, Kiiiresnai
prepaid. Send six cents in stamps to th -Textile
Novelty t-o.. 78 Klin Wt.t New York,
for samples of their entire line. If you are unable
to flud these Rooda in yowr retail atora we wlJ
sxipviy y iroro our uau direct.
THE
COLUMBIA
dlAINLESS
MAKES
HILL
CLIMBING
EASY
COLUMBUS
A.IIJ3
STANDARD
FOR CHAIN
MACHINES.
HARTFORDS ,
Next Best.
Other Models
Low mees. I
Catalogue Free.!
SlANDARDOFTHEWORI
POPF MFfi TO. HARTFORD. CO?
ART CATALOGUE OP COLUMBIA BICYCLES BY t
TO ANY ADDRESS FOR ONE TWO CENT 5ft
Hlstorg cf JOHNSON'S
M7TDPY DIM Q
Foi Iflalafla, CUIUS and Fever, and lim
Complaints, Is enjaraiielsu in i W$
cf a medicine.
THEY CUiiE. NO nERGURK
. TJIE fHPPT PIEDICIJiE CO.,
West New Brighton, S. I.,
Borough of Richmond, N.'Vjf '
MrMTTfYNT this papbk wh en keplyv
IJlLJJXi IXUll ING '
: TO ADVT. NYNU 33
CUHtS Witt All f SF FAII&. Pi :
Best Cough Syrup. Tames Good. Cse f '
in lime, wnlcl ftr druggist. pl "
. Jill nil.mil mi ji
(.JOHNSON'S 2fi
, A MALARIA GERM MAGNIFIED. V
m -
SHOOTS WATER,
OPJIA,
OR OTHER
LIQUID,
m
WITH IT
wisnout reloading; ami win
Express Money Order; '
' "fill. '
OF A.
; V 1: