VOLUME XVIII.
FRANKLIN::N. C. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4, 1903.
NUMMU 10.
J A Returning' iSail.
By ELLEN E.
"All the earth Is full, of tales to him
who listen."; '
The sail shone on the tar horizon
Hue a more speck. White as the wing
of a wheeling gull It flashed, then sllp
ped Into the concealing depths ol blue
. beyond.' ' .
"Now she's gone!" '
' "Yes. It's like the slipping away ol
a life, isn't It? One Instant here In the
seen the next, beyond in the unseen.
Yet to John, who is sailing away from
us, It is but a pushing forward ot his
horizon line. . He is not conscious of
the earth-curve that hides him from us
sitting here on the beach. Perhaps," he
added musingly, "perhaps that is what
death is, simply the curve of our life
ocean that draws us below the line to
those watching on the shore, while to
ourselves we are still sailing on "level
Beas' with the horizon yet far ahead."
"That is a beautiful thought."
"Yes." He shifted his position slight
ly, leaning case-fully against the sandy
. bank that rose behind the driftwood
log on which they sat He clasped his
hands behind his head, staring medita
tively over the water. : " .
"Yes, It Is. I found ft In a little poem
that I read the other day. Shall I re
peat It for you?" '.-v..-' -'v
"Do; I should like to hear it"
The sand-bank rose to a narrow ter
race above them, where a group of wtl
f lows threw a welcome shads around.
Tift water ran In endless shining rip
ples up the whito beach, lapping softly
on the wet sand. A little breeze rus
tled through the tall bunches of beach
grass Just feathering Into great, grace-
ful' plumes. ' ' . .
"Please, let me hear It"
"Well, it is a simple thing, but
something in It pleased me, and watch
ing John sail away as we sat here,
. called It back to my mind. .
" 1 watched a sail until It dropped
. . from sight
- Over the rounding sea. A gleam of
. white,
A last far-flashed farewell, and, like
, " a thought .
Silot out e"ilnd. It vanished an
. t V
jfto the helmsman standing uircn-
I wheel t
1 seas still stretched beneath the
J gliding keel.
Disaster? Change? He felt no slightest
- sign, '
Nor dreamed he of that far horizon
line.
" 'So may it be, perchance, when down
the tide '
Our dear ones vanish. Peacefully they
glide. . ' :: , .:'
' On level seas, nor mark the unknown
, bound. '
We call it death to them 'Us lite be
yond.' " .
His voice dropped to silence; , his
gaze still searched the unanswerlng dis
, tones. The girl beside him sat motion
less, her head turned slightly away,
holding In one hand a willow branch
with which she had been Idly brushing
the warm, dry sand at her feet
He unclasped bt hands, bending for
. ward to look at ljer. ..vi ..., : ,
"Welir he uald, "well?"
Her fingers swept the willow switch
slowly badkxjnd forth ov
nnuTheu away her bead.
When she. spoke, her voice was not
quite steady: ""'
"I like it very much. It Is beautiful,
and If we knew that It was true, how
comforting it would be. Oh!" with a
sudden passionate note of longing In
her voice, "why can't we know that it
is so? I have known what It Is to watch
some one slip out ot sight that way,
and how I have longed for some token
just a word or the sight of a face to
show that death Is not the end, and
"Si all Is well. "But." she added, after
a pause, during which his eyes studied
her averted face sympathetically, "it
has never come."
She turned toward him: "Do you be
lieve it ever does come to any one?"
"I think," he said, slowly, "I think
no, I know it does sometimes. Hay I
tell you an experience ot my otfn, Hiss
Evans?" .
"Yes," she said, eagerly, "tell it to
me." ;' ' -r - ''
lAg&ln his eyes searched the misty
horizon line." ,"'.-. . !
"I had a very dear friend with whom
I was intimately associated for a num
ber ol years. We were almost like
brothers, and I knew well what a thor
oughly good fellow he was; honest
kindly, and as tender-hearted as he was
strong and manly.
"He had a wife and a baby girl about
two years old. His wife was a lovely
woman, and they were the fondest,
happiest pair of lovers It has ever been
my fortune to mee But Bess, ths baby,
was the very core of his heart, and she
adored her father. He used to spend
hours talking to me about her, plan
ning her future, which was to be all
brightness If he could make it ro. There
was nothing he was not willing to do
for -her." ' ,-.,' -
Miss Evans stirred slightly, and the
willow branch In her fingers tapped the
sand protestlngly. He glanced quickly
ut her. .
"No, Miss Evans, you must not think
that Bens never ursurped her mother's
place in bis heart, but between her and
her father there was a peculiarly strong
! '!"! of sympathy , , . .:
j ,nk fell ill of a fever. At first It
(3i;l tm'ti appear to be serious, but a sud
den diauge took place, and we scun
saw that the worst wag to be feared.
"During his sickners, whenever he
r.Mm ml from his stupor, he would call
Jkr: 'Bring me the baby, Mary,'
ho
YO
wouid say to his wife, and she
M !'
I '
!n r8 to the bed. The child
iiil'B down by him, looking so
l;e his hut
II. WILDB1AN.
"Excuse my foolishness," he - said,
rather shamefacedly.
"I do not call it fopllBhnesa," she
cold quietly; "pleasC go on."
"Well, the end came soon, and one
sad day we were gathered around
watching him aa he slipped away from
us as quickly and as silently as John's
boat vanished from our sight this af
ternoon. He lay utterly motionless and
voiceless. His wife knelt sobbing be
side him, while Bet; sat on the bed
close to him, her blue eyes wide with
wonder but with no fear In them." ,
. He looked at her inquiringly: "Do
you read Kipling, Hiss Evans?"
"Yes, some." -,
"Do you remember, what he - ssys
about Ameera when she lay dying?"
She shook her head. "What does he
say?" J . .
" 'She made no sign when Holdon en
tered, because the human soul Is a very
lonely thing, and when it is getting
ready to go away, hides itself in a mis
ty borderland where-the living may
not follow.'
"These words seemed to ring In my
ears almost as if someone had spoken
them aloud, as I watched Frank pass
ing and malting 'no sign,' and I thought
he was gone, when suddenly the baby
called him: 'Papa! Papa! I verily be
lieve that his escaping soul turned on
the verge between this world and that
fmlsty borderland' beyond, to answer
ber for, as she called him, he opened
his eyes, looked at her, then at bis
wife, and spoke their names faintly."
He stopped abruptly. A light wind
sighed through tho drooping willow
branches, nod crept out over the wat
er In a thousand shining crinkles. The
pendulous leaves of the poplars on the
side of the steep bluff rising from the
Sandy terrace pattered like the Bound
ot falling raindrops. From the upper
nlr the call of a bird dropped clear and
sweet through the stillness. . . '-,
"Do I soem to you" a puzzled frown
drew bis heavy brows down to a black
line over his keen eyes "like a person
easily deceived by appearances, or eas
trlckedr .- ,
'irtie smile of amusement grew
e rwd mirVA nf tiAr linn
"r-
but that," she yssssWered.
"Why
Because that what I am bait per
suaded at tlmlat I was a credu
lous fool, trlftKtdln some wy. And yet
I know that I was not But," with an
impatient sigh, "It is all so inexplica
ble by any merely logical process of
reasoning."
"What is?"
The frown deepened. For a moment
his -eyes, oblivious ot her and their
surrorpdlrfKs, looked back Into the
past Then he began, speaking slowly,
as If searching his memory for every
detail: ': : ; -. v.-r- ;...-- -.
"About a week after Frank's death,
I was sitting alone in my room, which
was on ths second floor and at the
rear of the house. . '.'.
; "There was but one door to the room,
that opening Into the upper halt On
the side opposite the door was a
window, while at the back end ot the
room was a fireplace with a grate. In
the grate stood a large Jar ot roses
that filled all the open space. My table
stood nearly Jfrthe centre ot the room
ont of the fireplace. : w
On comlhg In I bad closed the door
behind me, dropped Into a chair by ths
table, and picking up a book, had be
gun to read. No sound broke the silence
ot the room, save the twitter of the
birds outside, or the voices of chil
dren playing. As I sat X had an unob
structed view of the entire room) ex
cept the corner. Just behind me, and
that was filled with bookshelves. -.. -
"I am particular in describing to you
ail these minute details, in order that
you may judge for yourself whether
anyone could have entered the room
unknown to me and tricked me in what
afterward occurred. -
"Glancing .Up from my book as I
turned a page, my eyes mechanically
took note of the familiar objects be
fore me; the books, the pictures on the
wall, the clock op the mantel just
pointing the half-hour and the jar of
roses In ths fireplace, a mass of pink,
fragrant bloom. Slanting in between
the partly open slat's of the shutter, a
ray of sunshine fell across a dish ot
pansles on the window-sill, making
them look like whimsical baby-faces,
all a-smlllng. The quiet sunny room
was certainly empty of any human
form except my own.
"Dropping my eyes to my book, I re
sumed my reading, when instantly
something impelled me to look up again,
and there before me, standing at the op!
poslte side of the table,. between it and
the fireplace and- not five feet away,
was Frank! He looked perfectly natur
al in every respect He was dressed in
a dark suit that was familiar to me.
His face wore the same pleasant smile
I used to know so well, but his eyes,
though kind, had a strange, grave lrv
tentness In their steadfast look that
Impressed me as an appeal.
"As the fact of his presence flashed
upon me In that swift glance, he spoke
to me: 'Dick, I want Bess. I want her
to come to me.'
" '-Vhy do you want her to come?'
I asked. 'Do you think it would be bet
ter for her to go to you than to stay
here? Have you any knowledge of fu
ture evils that might befall her on
earth?'
" 'No, t have not,' he replied; 'but I
want her with me. I went to hor today
and called her, and she lifted up her
hands and cried for "Papa!" I know
she wants to come.
" 'But,' I said, 'poor Mary' -
"'I know,' he Interrupted, adding In
a solemn tone that awed me, 'yet she
shall bo comforted. She shall find us
after a lilile.'
" 'WV.l,' I said, 'I Will go to her and
tell her what you" then I r.-is ahmo.
A'
1
-"Until then I had not "realized any
thing unusual in the appearance of my
friend before me, but as the fact of his
amazing disappearance forced Itself
on my mind, I must coniess that a cold
shiver shook me.
"He was here an instant before; now
he was gone! How? Not through the
door, for that was still closed. I opened
it and looked out into the hall. No one
was in sight I looked around the room
again; no one there. He had not gone
through the window, for the. shutters
were still closed, and ths dli.a of pan
sles still stood undisturbed on the sill.
- "I dropped breathless and trembling
into my chair. What did It ' mean?
Something on the side ot the table
where Frank had stood, caught my eye.
I looked closer; it was rose. I picked
It up. It was fresh, its stem still wet,
and anxact counterpart in color and
form of those in the jar, but I was sure
that there had been so rose on the
table when I sat down. What did this
mean? Had Frank dropped It there as
a token? Then I remembered the mes
sage which I bad promised to deliver.
"I left the house at once, without
having seen or spoken to any one, and
went directly to the home ;i whers
Frank's widow lived. As I rang the bell
she opened the door to me. v
' "'Oh, Mr. Forster, she said, 'I felt
sure you would come. Bess Is 111, and I
am so anxious about her.'
"I followed her into the room whers
the child lay In her crib in a feverish
slumber, .the rose-flush of her cheeks
turned to a burning red, her hands
hot her breath labored; and as I
looked at her my heart grew heavN
with foreboding. It must be true! Her
father had -called her to come to him,
and I must tell the mother! .
"She must have seen something
strange In my face and manner, for she
turned to ins with a'quick apprehen
sion of coming trouble paling her face.
"'What is it, Mr,' Forster? Do you
think she Is'
"Her voice failed her,' and she sanlri
on hor knees by the child and moaned,
'0 my baby, must you go too?'C-'
. "Then she turned to metfh'd said In
low voice, 'Mr. Forster, I almost be
lieve that Frank 1ias called her to
come to him, for this morning,. as she
lay qulot and I thought she was asleep,
she suddenly opened her eyes and lifted
up her hands, railing but in such a
glad, pleased way, "Papa! Papa!
Papa!" She looked as If she saw him.
What do you think? Did she? ,
I told hor then as gently as I could
at I had seen and heard, and gave
hers the message that had been given
to nV by
FrsnKs fac
something that had worn
face and spoken with Frank's
voice.
"SheIooked at me steadily while I
told her all, and when I. had finished,
all sue saltesas. 'Rese will go- too.'
"And she did. It wsa only" few days
before little Bess died, and we laid her
by her. father who had so loved her,
and who had come back from that 'un
known bound' to call her to him. With
in a year Mary had followed them.
' "Now, Miss Evans, what was It stood
before me in the solitude ot my -room,
wearing the living semblance of , my
dead friend, and speaking to me in his
own well-known voice? Was It a dream
an illusion? I am sure It was neither.
If ever I may believe the evidence of
my senses, then I must I do believe
that It was Frank himself, drawn back
from that 'misty borderland' by a love
stronger than death itself; and this be
lief has been a great and comforting
as3urancs to me."
They sat silent. Dick's- fare- grave,
bis look abstracted from outward
things.
The birds were flying westward to
ths woods where their nesting places
were. All the air was full ot a golden
glory. Across the swelling water a
shimmering path led away to the red
heart of .the sinking sun, A fresh breeze
out of the nmtheasfjent the long
waves running to the shore to break In
curling foam-fringes on the pebbly
beach. . ... -.
Out of the. shadowy depths along the
horizon line grew a white sail, return
ing. . . -v"See!'
she said, pointing to It Then
she held out her hand to htm, smiling
gently--"! thank you." The Criterion.
fcUnipwirliiff Wafer, .
. Devil's Lake In North Dakota, ths
largest body of water in the state, cov
ers about S50. square miles. It is a
glacial lake, and once had an outlet to
the south Into the Cheyenne .river;
through a channel .which is now well
marked and empty. Observations for
the last nineteen years show. an almost
uninterrupted sinking of the water
level. Grovea of trees, which once
stood at the beach, are now separated
from It by. broad strips of land, and
the shallow parts ot the lake notably
the long arms and bays, have been left
quite dry. . - : ,
Another change Is in the water from
fresh to salt This has taken place
within the memory of man and is In
some particulars producing serious re
sults. FlBh wre found In great abun
dance up to about 1SS8, but now prac
tically' none are caught :
The United States geological survey
bas established a benchmark near ths
lake, and, under ths charge of Profes
sor C. M. Hale, of the state agricul
tural, college will make rnr.-rul rec
ords and a general study o the fluctua
tions ot the wsters.
An Ambition. Man.
When the big lG-Ineh gun was towed
to Sfiady Hook the great floating der
rick Monarch and the lighter Caption
Tom carried tho weikht. while the pow
erful wrecking .steamer I. J. Morrtife
did the pulling.
At the government doik the V irlll
dropped behind tie crthir w t and
pushed them In scnlnst the piernt th
end of whic h an Insignificant little pin
driver wns tied up. The hero Mon
arch swung elu; e to the pile driver and
a man aboard the lunt-r. f ;iriir tut
pile driver was In il nic r r.f t ;:
eru lied, anil with no ic.-i of t ei r-
wo
ft'iie-3 of thii
a 'to pn n ?
r 11 1 M: .'
1 ( it i
t i i
At ltmoli.rlni limn.
In a cask of water sufficient to scald
a 200-pound hog, throw In three or four
handfuls of finely pulverized pine pitch.
Stir the water, a little, then scald your
hog, and it you'll keep It on the water
long enough all the bristles, with the
scurf skin, will peel oft with the great
est ease, scarcely leaving a bristle any
where. Even the toenails will mostly,
all come off. At the scalding of each
subsequent hog add another handful
of pitch. The effect of pitch In water
will astonish anyone who has never
seen It tried. Should someone suggest
that tar Is as good or anything ap
proaching It say , positively no. After
a hog la scalded In this way tbsre is
hardly a bristle left on to Shave off,
Charles Haines, In Orange Judd Far
mer. Taint tf On Cut Bon.-,w
Compared with other foods, we con
sider groca bono the cheapest, tor the
results securing from It use, of any
one food nearly doubling (as it does)
the amount of eggs, and very material
ly increasing their fertility, besides
producing better plumage and main
taining a more healthful condition ot
the. fowls so fed. Therefore, whether
from a desire to Increase the vigor Ol
the fowl or develop Its egg producing
qualities, we can most heartily recom
mend the use pf green bone, for prac
tical experience as well a science,
chemistry has undlsputahjjfiomoi
strated that the component parts of its!
structure afford the highest degree
nutriment and sustenance or poulti
AlmajCole Pickering, in The Wlscou
slnAgriculturist ' ' Grains ItafleUnt InU-lmsw
The grains are deficlentin lime and
mineral matter, while clovyr is rich in
those materials. Corn contains Wtfeiv
cent of water and clover hay 15 per
cent Of the dry matter corn has but
1 1-2 percent of ash (lime magnesia,
potash, soda, etc.), while clover hts
over 6 percent Clover hay contains 11
percent of protein and corn 10.1-1. Corn
Is rich in starch and fat, however, con
taining twice as much as clover. Clover
hay lias more crude fibre than the
grain, hence la less valuable In that
direction. While many farmers have
always made clover hay specialty in
feeding adults, yet it is more valuable
tor young stock than may be supposed.
If cut up very fine, and then scalded; It
makes one of the best rations In win
ter, for poultry and will promote lay
ing. For ducks and geese it cannot be
excelled. It cufvery 'fine and mixed
with cooked turnips and carrots, clover
hay will be relished by young pigs,
and It will promote rapid growth. In
some sections clover bay Is ground Into
what Is termed "clover meal," and It Is
then sold In bags. Cornmeal Is too fat
tening' for certain animals, but in win
ter It may be used more freely, being
an excellent' ration when used in con
nection with clover. ,
- Preparing miarjr for Mrkt. '
When placing stock In storage, con
sider the amount of your trade, so as
to have the celery ready at the proper
time. You must have a sufficient
control of the temperature of the stor
age pit to be able to keep certain parts
of it warmer than others, so as to con
trol the ripening. ' .
The dressing should be dons in the
pit to avoid breakage In handling and
saving moving the waste, at a -time
when it Is neither cheap nor conven
ient to do aa Remove all yellow or
decayed stalks, then cut the root to a
point being careful not to cut too high.
This takes live o;' six strokesjwlth a 6
Inch butcher knife. Hold the plant with
the root from you and cut with a mo
tion as It you were whittling shavings.
The washing room should be in a
warm basement or room where water
Is convenient and a boiler or caldron
at hand- to warm water. A square cor
nered tub Is most convenient. Use plen
ty of water and have it quite warm, SO
to 100 degrees. This gives a gloss to the
celery not obtainable with cold water.
Dump a box of celery Into the tub With
the butts toward you; then with a com
mon soft scrubbing brush give each
head two or three downward strokes
with the brush. This takes all the dirt
out pf the creases and gives It a bright
shiny appearance.
The tier stands at the table and ties
It up four bunches to the dozen, using
common white wrapping twine for the
purpose, and running it twice around
each bunch. All decayed loaves or tips
should be carefully clipped off. It is
now ready to pack for shipment or
home delivery. If you have a large
amount of celery, it is sometimes Well
to grade it, making a fancy of the larg
est, and a standard grade of the re
mulndor. Do not try to bring your trade
to the size of your packages to suit the
trade. We have found that a case hold
ing about one bushel Is as large as it
is profitable to use. This will bold
about ten dozen good sized celery.
Line cases with paper to avoid drying
In warm weather and freezing In cold.
Ship by express after cold weather
sets In. I. C. Smith, in American Agri
culturist Profit In Qnlck-Growii nf.
IT' h prices for beef have greatly
.Increased the interest In cattle raising
throughout the Eastern States. The ad
dress of J. B. Sanborn at North Adams,
Mass., before the state board of agrl-
fiittiir jaa nn "llfVt'f Prnililptirin tn
New l.i'iihiiKl. ' ana was listened to
with an I ion by a l;'"n mulienee. of
f 1 II s 1
( 1 1
hHl I
1 1l i f J
J 1
n i t 1 e t
) t t e t
1 e V i
i i c: n. i i
t' .' ' - !l
! 1
a i 1
Miaaeiit la i
t. i f 1
will require three times the rood to
make a pound of growth on a maturing
steer that is called for the first four
hundred pounds' growth. It Is shown
that twice the growth a day is mads
the first year that occurs the fourth
year, so that a double loss occurs hi
one making an unnecessarily heavy
steer.
"Palatable foods In abundance or
great Bkltl in feeding are required, as
free consumption Is the baslB o(, rapid
growth. Old bushy pastures cannot be
the basis of cheap hoet, for I hoy afford
neither abundant nor palatable foods.
These pastures most be rid of weeds
and bushes and fed. Protein foods In
either the coarse foods fed or In the
grains or meals must constitute a pari
of the ration, though not to the extent
advocated by students of German feed
ing tables. It requires for a pound ot
butter fat under high feeding ; some
twenty-five pounds or more of food.
This food will make over two pounds ot
steer, probably two and one-half
pounds, as I have made a pound ot
growth on a steer Of average weight on
nine pounds of dry matter. It the meat
is the product of a good breeder and
feeder it will net about tbe same aa
-butter, labor considered."
Itararoii tn DlrTlii.
' There is a growing tend
to mi
make
reforms in the dalrle
department on
no
in anus more c
present meth'
cows andf"
there Ifnii-nm ,
dairying than in almost any" tan,"
cupadon. i The mlfk is to be "sold"
and "the dealer Is not particular,' whilt
the consumer is In blissful lgnoranci
of any of the conditions affecting th
preparation ot milk. . Milk passes
through so many hands from the cow
to the consumer as to render the mat
ter of obtaining pure and clean milk
difficult one. The dairyman consoles
himself with the fact that he strained
the milk before selling it, but . the
strainer does not remove soluble filth.
A pinch of salt or sugar in milk Is not
arrested by the strainer, nor is any
other substance that Is dissolved, by
the milk during the act of milking.
Those who handle cows .know that it
is not unusual for a cow to get down
on the floor of her stall to rest, without
regard to whether the floor is covered
with manure or urine, and her udder'
and teats may have rested during the
night on heap of fresh manure. The
cow Is not as clean as the hog as tar
as selecting a suitable place for resting
is concerned, and where the dairyman
himself is careless and does not keep
the stalls clean, as tvI1 as brush and
even wash the cows, it 1b Almost lm(
possible to have clean milk. It Is grati
fying to notice, however, that some
dairymen wash the udders and teats
of the cows at every milking, wiping
with clean towels, ' avoiding every
chance ot filth entering the milk, but
such dairymen get good prices, which
are secured 'by their reputations tor
skillful management of their cows and
their product. -; .-'-'y .'.'':'-:
The ordinary dairyman Injures his
business and loses profit by. purchas
ing fresh cows from other ; parties.
Some of them will sell a good cow as
soon as she becomes dry and buy one
in her place that is fresh, but which
may be much infericr to tho one sold.
Then there Is the liability of bringing
disease, as that great scourge of the
dairyman abortion among cows Is
contagious, being carried from i one
herd to another through the practice
ot selling the dry cows and buying oth
ers that may do harm and which may
not be worth the room they occupy.
Then, again, the calves are taken from
the cows when two or three days old,
and ths milk from their dams is added .
to that taken from the other cows ol
the herd, although such milk is ropy
and usually unfit tor use, being Inju
rious to children who are fed upon it
The milk from fresh cows should go tc
the calf until it Is at least a montt
old, but as the average dairyman mllki
his cows for tha.purpoee ot : selllni
their produce he will not willingly sac
rifice to the calf an article lUat he cai
put on the market. The result la thai
the milk sold in the cities Is of variablt
quality, much of it Is unclean, and
some ot it unfit for human use. Then
la room for Improvement and there ar
hundreds ot consumers ready and will
Ing to pay the dairyman tor his extrs
care If he will provide tbem with milk
of tho best quality. It may take time to
build up such a trade, but any dairy
man wlfl make It a point to seek such
customers and assure them that he
may be depended upon will find that
he cannot easily supply the demand.
The best milk Is from good and
wholesome food. At this seeaoti of the
year pasturage cannot be provided or
the cows given an opportunity ot se
lection of good in tbe fields, but selec
tion by the dairymen of the foods giv
en at the barn Is a matter which should
not be overlooked. Each cow in a herd
is an individual, and must be treated
accordingly. If she rejects foods that
are readily acceptable by the others
she should be allowed something which
to her Is more palatable, and a variety
of food Is always better than the use of
a single kind, as the health of the ani
mals can only be promoted by supply
ing them so as to satisfy their wants.
When a cow Is sick or "off her feed"
the milk Is then unfit for use and
should be allowed to eat alt that she re
quires, si such cows aro usually large
producers snd demand more food than
inferior animals. Every dairyman
should breed his cows and make it a
point never to buy a frenh one. If his
herd Is healthy and free from dlaeaso
limn tti i In i lis ai ' i i'i in (. I
comlHlon with bws rtulieimy. while the
J
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ii I n (
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f I i
1 in
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It is
I 1
A SEIIM0N F0K SUNDAY
- "-''PVSP
AN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE ENTITLED
"THE PRODIGAL'S FATHER."
Aa rpllfttn Tlk on Tnta Fuaons Blbll.
ml Story 'by the llnv. Dr. jr. Wllan
Glmiman-Row It Bevonls On Part
of UoiVi Mature,
Nkw YoitK Citt. The following sermon
entitled "The Prodigal's Father' is one of
a series prepared for the press tiy tha dis
tinguished evangelist, the Rev. Dr. J. Wil
bur Chapman. It wu preached from tha
text: "But when he was yet a great way
off his father saw him . and had
compassion and ran snd kissed
him " and said to his servant,
Bring forth the best robs and put it on
him. and put a ring oa his hand snd shoes
on his feet, and bring hither tha fatted
calf and kill it." Luke xv: 20-23.
Of making many sermons oa ths prodigM
son there seems to have been no end.
Yet I was in the ministry fifteen years be
fore I n reached from any part of the para
ble. There may be many reasons why, as
a rule, we turn away from it. It may be
that the picture is too realistic.
. I was standing in the prison chapel t
Joliet, Illinois, when a renuest was made
that I should sonduct a service for the con
vict. Oust as 1 was leaving the building
the officer said to me, "By the way, if you
should come do not preach upon any part
of the prodigal. We have had twenty-tour
ministers here by actual count, and every
on? of them gave us tho prodigal son, and
those poor follows have had about ss much
prodigal as they can stand." '
U may also be that we hare turned away
from it because it is such familiar ground
that it has lost its charm for us. I was
sweeping through the magnificent Kooky
'.-htnin scenery some time sgo. and when
lunged into tbe H'jya! Uorge, ana
into tho urana, usnon it
e that scenery jsrore sublime
nd in all UK world, snd it
vj.iinraed before with
trt Should have cried
out uii.-r Nf those mount-
sin ne.iks.
ry one in the
car, with one sinn..
was gating
in rapt admiration, lu woman was
intently. reading s book.X to my cer
tain knowledge she did nufrjft her -eyes
onco from the printed pngeVyile we were
in that wonderful scenerw- tmen we had
swung ont into the great tohle SfB4Lvi
heard her say to a friend, This tr--mHt-
tecnth time I have crossed the tnSuntsinl
The first time I could not keep the tears
irora roiling down my cneeits. so impressed
was l.i but now," she said, "I know it so
well that I frequently go through the whole
range with scarcely a glance east ont ot
the window." It is thus, alas! that ws
read God's word, and that which fills
heaven with wonder, snd furnishes the an
gels s thsme for never-ending praias, ws
read with indifference or foil to read aLall.
And yet my own confession Is that I never
have had until recently ths best ol this
story of the prodigal.
I thought ii was to give us s vision of the
younger son, snd as such it would be a.
message to backslider, and while this is
one part of the interpretation it is not by
any means the best part. Then it occurred
to me the story micht have been given us
that we should take warning from tha sel
fishness of ths elder brother, but I con-
Sired such a dislike, for this character
at I never eared to consider him even for
a moment, But it has in these later days
become to me one of the sweetest portions
of all the New Testament because I believe
the parable was written that we might fas
ten our eyas upon the father of the parable
Snd in that father get a glimpse of God.
Did it aver occur to you that in the pic
tures of the fathers of the Bible yon were
Slways riven vision of on part of ths
nature of God? Jacob cryingout "Me Ys
have bereft of my children; Joneph is not,
Simeon is not, snd aow Yon will take Ben
jamin from me," is an illustration of God
crying out in His great tenderness over ths
lost. David exclaiming. "Oh, Absalom, my
son, my son I would God I had died for
thee, is just a hint as to the wav God
feels over His lost ones for whom His Eon
has really died. And yet better than any
picture of a father as tho revelation of
God is the life of the Bon of God fmm
whose lips we have heard these words, "Ha
that hath seen Me hath seen the Father."
But putting all these things together, and
in ths light of them reading the story of
the produral, our hearts burn within us as
ws see God.
I,
"BUT WHEN irE WAS YET A GREAT
WAY OW."
, These words mast hive s wonderful
meaning, for ths measurement is from
God's standpoint. It would be an awful
thing to be a great way off according te
man s conception, but when it is ths com
putation of One who is definite ws are
startled, and yet our amassment gives way
instantly to adoration, for w are told that
even if w are so great a distanoe from
Him we are not to be discouraged. In
Acts ii: 30, we read that the promise is
unto "all that are afar off," and in Ephe
sians ii: 13, 17, we are told that "Ye who
sometimes were far off are made nigh by
the blood of Christ," and that Jesus Christ
"came and-preached peace to you which
were afar off," ss well as to them that
were nigh. It never is any question with
God as to how deeply one has sinned. ' It is
a remarkable thing that throughout ths
whole Biblo He has ever chosen the most
conspicuous sins snd ths moss flagrant sin
ners that He might present to us His wil
lingness to forgive. -
God requires but three things II WS
would know Him in this way.
- First, there must be s willing mind. In
Isaiah i: 18, we read, "If ye be willing and
obedient ye shall eat the good of tha
land.". In another place we read, "If there
be first s willing mind, it b accepted for
what s man hath ana not for what he
hath not." In still another place we are
told, "If any man will do His will he shall
know of the doctrine." God Himself, infi
nite though He may be, will not save us
against our wills. .
Second, there must be s desire to know
the truth that we may do it. Mere knowl
edge of the truth may be our -condemnation,
and it is the saddest thing in the
world that so many people know and yet
are unwilling to do. It will be an awful
judgment which must finally fall upon the
rank and file of men because all their lives
they lived under the shadow of the church
ana heard the preaching of the word, all
of which condemns them. ;
The third requirement is an honest con
fession of ones intentions; God never
gives to one more lilit than be uses, but
if there is in the heart a single desire, bow
ever faint, to know Him, and that desire is
confessed before men and unto God, He
enlarges our vision, shells upon us more
abundant linht, and it is always by the
way of confession that we enter into the
fulness of joy. ' '
II. .
, ' "IT19 FATHER SAW HTM."
Mr. Moody says that that father was
looking through the telescope of his love.
I havi always felt that he v-s looking
through his tears. It is said that when as
tronomers want to increase the scope of
their vision they sIJ to the numher of
lenses, and sometimes our fulling teat nrs
liKe tha li'iics in the teicscone. Xuey
bring obit'cts tar removed niiih unto us.
hat what a eomturt it 13 to know that
the Ureiit 1' ,11 her of ns oil looks after us
With a pity that is infinite ami with a s'-ni-Mttiiv
that is ix'voml cntu'etitimt. 'i no
vision ot the futlu-r of the pnniii'.il TV;
limited, hut (ioil s eve sweeits tnnmsh ail
nnil lie f'fa tin lvherrv
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r:,0 l'Vi'11
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our
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is probable that God has made a revelation
of Himself to His creatures?" sod his
friend answered, "Yes, probable.'
Third, "Well, do you not think," said he,
"that He would nuke that revelation plain
if ws were to ask Himf" and the old pro
fessor answered, "I should think He would
be obliged to."
"Well," said Dr. lUinsford, "have you
ever asked Him?" snd ths old man an
swered, "No."
"For my sake," said he, "will yon ask
Him now?" and they fell upon their knees
In the study, and the old minister said,
'Ird God, reveal Thyself unto my dear
friend." When his prayer was onded he
said, "Now, Professo-, you pray," snd the
old man lifted up his eyes and, said. "Oh,
God," and then as if he felt he had gone
too far, he changed his petition, and said,
"Oh, God, if then be a GouS show me ths
light and I will " and hs was just going
on to say, "I will walk in it," when sud
denly he sprang to his feet with his face
radiant and shouted, "Why, I see it, I see
it, and it is glorious!" His agnosticism
took wings and departed from him. Faith
filled his bean and joy thrilled in his soul.
He has from that time to this been a good
disciple of Jesus Christ. In the light of
all this I make the plea, only encourage
your least desire, ana yoa shall come to
snow Him whom to know is life eternal.
III.
"HE HAD COMPASSION AND BAN."
I never knew until recently what that
WOrif "compassion" meant. I know now
that it indicates one's suffering with an
other. It is this that makes the story of a
man's transgression so pathetic. Other
hearts are rondo to ache and almost break.
Other eyes are filled with tears and other
lives made desolate. I can see this old
father going up to the outlook from his
home, gazing off in the direction which his
boy had taken, coming down the steps
again like David of old crying out, "Oh,
my Kin, my son, would God I bad died for
youl" He had compassion. ' -..
We had in our city a young man who
was more than ordinarily prosperous in
his business, and bis prosperity seemed to
.be the cause of his downfall. It became
so marked that his partners called him
into their office to ssy that he must either
mend his way.i or dispose of bis interests
in. tbe concern. His promkrt wetV
and all went welLfat sTTittle. season, and
then when the failure was worse than ever
they insistethut hs should dispose of his
internits to them, and with a great sum
of jRfbney he began to sink rapidly. Ha
Sd cone from bod to worse until not long
ago they found him Abating in the river,
for he hod taken his own life. The story
is sad in the extreme, but the saddest por
tion of it is found in the fact that there is
an old man to-day going about tbe streets
of ths city mourning for his son. He
scarcely lifts his eyes from the ground as
he -walks. - Sometimes yon behold him
With the tears rolling down his cheeks. He
bos compassion. And it is s fact that on
never sins, breaking, even the least of
God's commandments,' that the heart of
ths great and loving Father does not yearn
over him and long for bis return.
.WHAT DID HE .DOT .
Ws sll know this story so thoroughly
well that it would seem almost unneces
sary to emphasise things the father did
when ths meeting between himself and his
son occurred, but for ths sake ei ths story
let me say? s . . - i -' - '
First, ''hs kissed him." You will notice
that hs did not wait until the boy's gar
ments had been changed, or ths signs of
his wanderings removed. There woua 1
have been no grace in this. But clad in all
his rags be threw his arms about him snd
draw him close against his heart, -and gavs
him ths kiss which was the sign of com-
Slots reconciliation. This is what. Jesus
hrist waits to give to every wandering
soul. The old hymn says, " My God is
reconciled," and this -is. tha teaching of ths
Scriptures. - It is not Vueesssry that I
should work myself up into a fever of ex
citement, nor weep Snd wail in. the depths
of my despair, but it is necessary only that
I should receive what God offers me in
Jesus Christ. Ths first step in the Chris
tian life is sn acceptance of that which
comes from above.
We had in Philadelphia s young man be
longing to one of ths better families, so
called, who by his wayward actions dis
graced his father and finally hroke.bts '
heart. After s little he left hifhome,
went to Baltimore, from there to Wash
ington, and after months of wandering de
termined to return. Ha was ashamed to
meet ths members of his family, but hs
knew that if he made a peculiar sound at
the door at the midnight hour there was
one who would hear and understand, and
when hs stood before that door it was
swung open and without a word of re
proach his mother bade him welcome. The
next morning hs did not come down from
his room, the second morning be Was
ashamed to come, but the third morning
ss he descended the stairway his brother,
a physician, met him and said, "Edward,
mother is dying." She had been suddenly
stricken down and was anxious to see him.
He made his way into her room, knelt be
side her bed and sobbed out, "Oh, mother,
I beseech you, forgive me!' Snd with her
fast departing strength she drew close to
him, placed her lips close to his ear and
said, My dear boy, I would have forgiven
yon long ago if you had only accented it."
This is s picture of God. With a love that
is infinite, and s pity beyond description,
He waits to save every one who will but
simply receive His gift of life.
Second, I hare always imagined that
whefl the-fajher started out from the house
running to meet his boy, that the servants
must have noticed him, and possibly they
ran after him. WBen ths father saw the
condition of ths son 1 can hia.- him as he.
turned to the approaching servants to say,
"Kun. bring tho best robe and put-it on
him, snd it is s beautiful thing to ms. to
know that when ther brought the robe tftff
father' wrapped It round about him, thus
covering over all the signs of his wander
ing. This is what God does for ms snd
for you. Tho vjnoment we believe the
robs of Christ's righteousness is placed
about us, and God looks upon us as with
out spot or blemish, for ws are t once ac
cepted in the beloved. . ;
I remember that when Jonathan was
dead and David wanted to do something
for some one that belonged to hsm, tho
only one he could find upon whom he
might lavish his affection was poor, little,
lame Mephibosheth. He was lame on both
his feet, you will remember (his nurse had
dropped him as she was fleeing awav from
the enemy), but when David found him he
placed him at the king's table and in such
a position that his lameness wns hidden,
and if yon had been on the opposite side
from him you never would have known
that he had a mark of deformity about
him. This in what God does for every
roor, wandering, lost one that comes to
lim. "I, even I, am He thnt blotteth out
all thy tranwjressions, and -1 will remem
ber them against you no more forever."
Third, he put the ring on his hand. The
ring is always the emblem for complete
nesa. And this was s beautiful illustration
of the fact that the father's love was per
fect, and that his love had not been af
fected by ths wandrinir of the boy. This
is certainly true of Clod, anil I know no
better figure to give a thought of His lovo
than that of the ring.
"For the love of God is broader than the
measure of miin's mind,
And the heart of the Kternal is most
wonderfully kind."
Fourth, he put shoes on his fret. I can
pee the poor hoy ns he liolihics on to meet
his fiiUier, his fW't, bleeding at every sivn,
fnr the nhnea mcio worn end he walked
Wlh
sv, hut. when hi. was well pisod
with !i
him t . 1 1
rum-
in the ume s Imn f 1 ran see
ins? hie hand ol the oU i.
i.uk to his h"iue. t'l
t e('i'' " pi. "led !,y
--tot :ir-. is t'.e t - r
. i; 1 (-.1. !-,! tn 1. , 1, ,:
S-i'l
At the close of s meeting (n Jollct, Illi
nois, I sat down beside sn honored evan
gelist, Rev. H. W. Brown, and amoni
other things in his career, he told me this
story:
r- A number of years before be had s re
markable work of grace in the lake region!
of Wisconsin In that .town of the strange
name, Oconomowoe. After his work of
grace be returned one day. for a little visit,
and as he stepped off from the cars he saw,
at the station an old man named James
Stewart. Knowing him well he asked him
why be was there, The old man rcsIicJ
that bis boy had gone away from liomev
snd had said to him, "Father. I will re
turn some dnv, but I can not tell when," .,'
and said he, "I am waiting for him to come '
back." ' Rtrancm ss it mnv wem- tiiirtaam
L years afterward he revisted that phi town.
ana me nrst man ne saw wnen ftotrtng-oft
from the ears was this old father; Ho4iad
forgotten his story, but he met. 'him, sav
ing, "Mr. Brown, he hasn't eomoet. but!
he will come, and I am waiting." "Just
then," said my friend, "I lifted nn my
eves and saw ont walking.down the anile ot
the ear, snd said to myself. Tf I was not
sure that the boy was dead; I would say
that that was the son." ' But other eyes
had seen him, too, and with a great bopndl
the old father snrang to. the steps of tho;
car, and when the . boy reached ther pint
form, and in less time than I can teU it,'
he was in his father's arms. ' Tbe old fath
er sobbed out, "Oh, my son, thank God,
you've come, you've come," and then,
turning to my - friend, he said. ' "Mr.
Brown, I should have waited until i4ieAi-
Thus God waits, snd looks and yearns and
loves. Thus Jesus Christ entreats us to
look unto Him and be saved, and in His
name I bid you come. ' ...
God Resolves.
Ws s re about to start ont on S flew
year. It is worth something to make
stood start.. It is s good thing to make st .'
few good resolutions st the beginning of
the year. We drift out of the way, get .
into bad habits, snd nn timn is lwt.toi tn
pull ourselves" Wls.iint,o right courses than!
trie beginning of, new year.
tnmg we canl An .A th.t 1. .i.
tQ.be SJTTtla mnpfl ehor-f,,l .A .ani.l tk.m
avs been in ths, nuaf W n .
down the fact that we intend to sneak at
snaao more kindly than the year before.
We can e'so resofve to show the, world thiiS'
glorious morrlng face that Stevenson speaks
of. It is surely our duty.ts carrvs' 'cheer '
fnl snirit into each day's tasV and trial.
We dp well to count un our mercies anqjhe
cheerful. It is an awfid sin to go through'
the world grumny and morose. - This is a
good, glad world we are in.- We are gird
ed round with mercies new every morning
and fresh every evening. If we give our
selves unselfishly to the service of others
we shall find Jov and gladness everywhere,
The Rev, J. 3, Silcox, :. ,..., . - ,
"Ths Greatest of These Is tore.""
Christian fellowship is possible only be
cause of love. It is the only ground oa
which different faiths can meet. Christian!
unity is not and cannot he found in creed,
for there are no two persons of the same
church even that read and understand tha
Scriptures alike, much less thQi"nf.difIcr
ent faiths. ' Instead -of heirg liieorer to
fether after a discussion, of thnVce4
they are further aparti, Gfcsitllan' unity
cannot be effected in our creed, Such is
Impossible. It is not -fouh3 in our polity.
Here ths same difficulties" confront us ss
before. Nor is it to be found in our tastes-'
Indeed, if there is any difference it is that
Ws get farther apart here than on any,
other ground. Creed, or polity or tastes
are not possible srounds of Unity, indeed
ithey are impossible grounds. Thersjs hue
!jms possible ground, and that is found in
love. We may differ in our ideas concern;
jipg creed and polity snd in our tastes, bud
if wj have lore in our hearts we can strike
insnds with eur neighbor snd say, "Mj!
Trother.',---Ram,s Horn. - -
BlessTn, Oarsslves,
God blesses us by enabling us to bless
ourselves. Blessings are largely the result
of reaction; they are the return upon our
selves .of that which wo do. Just ss mod
ern mechanism has made ths recoil of
peat forces a great part of the value of
those-forces the recoil of rapid-fire
guns does almost n the work of thoi
guns o d!vineow1slaJrtsirTvril
teaetietf-slfaTwe do, ur own fates to
condemn us, or our own angels to bless us.
We confess this truth in ths proverb that
we make our own beds, and must lio oa
them; God gives us the words of hfe
words of labor or, duty or love or burden,
but we set them to music, and life is a
melody or s threnody largely from the way
in which ws set the measure. Familiar
ere Emerson's words: "If von love -or
serve, you cannot, by any hiding or strata
gem, escape tha remuneration." God rnjes,
and God so rules that no man or manner
to f event can rob" us of the "prise that God
bas fitted us to prepare for ourselves.--Bunday-School
Times. , - -
Power ot On Heller. '-.'-
Have you ever thought what a change
It would make if you betisvsd with all yeur
heart and soul and strength and mind tsat
God is? This-one belief would slter every
thing. Borne mav even think that.it would
change too much;' if we realise'd God. as ,
He really is we could thjnk?ertnot1.ing
else. This I do not admit.- The thought
of God should lie to the best of our 4inW
ing, like thn sky to other objcrU ofyjur
landxcape, always there, bktf, viTcntCu'iii
fying. In His presence, coirstanUyisnd
steadily realised, everything wriuld ilnd its
right place: it would be easy 'to' dc sight
and difficult to do wrong. In fact, tha
Eroblem of life would be solved. James
talker, ' " -w-:.--. - - ii; .
" ' , ' '. Am Wo goir. .
Terfl4s--irTIower TirocTKlicartj
wir.cii iiourisnetn on trie meanest sou v. .
ith stood deeds and kind v thtmeli'H.
and tis worth a sing a ransom to its pos
sessor. That same flower had Ttiff.Tjts
deep in the heart of God, and its fruit
unto eternity, where every gooS- smill ff. n
its unfailing harvest of weal, and every 1 !
deed find its just meed of woe.. Ve n i l
not think-to cheat .ousselve with.-f i '
fancy that God's law can fail. Here and
hereafter we shall reap as we havif sown.
A. L. Glyn. .. . 4. .
K -. ' Pity for thij Angels.
The lady with the enameled tea cur,
sipped and told this story. She sal.i
the Incident happened in Brooklyn. "A
liltlo boy stood at the window' watch
ing the snow falling -upon the-pan
ment and blowing together Into dtt
patches, ,
" 'Aunt,' he said, 'do the angola so
the snow?
"'Yes, dear,' said Aunt, win
looking up from her book.
"There was silence for a v im-.
From out the house across tho
a white-capped maid" came . v,.',',
broom and swept the sliW;V,i. i
the Btcps. She was the oervm r
of Mrs. S., a very fantld'cn
old lady, who bas a strong d:
both children and dirt. Itid.-.- ,
scemrid to regard the word 3 as t
ymous. Ouly that (Jay sins l-a ; c
Utile Jack and. his chums aay r
hex sides' of the Btree-t.
"Jack wali'hed the re;1' 1 f- r a
thnn be startled ls f '
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