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^ ^ ^ ^ ISSUED SEMI-WE E K I. Y? ^ ^ l. m. grist & sons, publishers, f % dfami!} lleurspager: ^or the promotion of the ?oIitical, Social, Agricultural, and Commercial Interests of the |eojIe. { established 18557 YORKVILLE, S. O., SATURDAY, JAISTXJAEY 5, 1901. THE MYSTE AGA1 By ANNA KATHA Author of "The Leavenworth Cas and Ring," Copyright, 1900, by Anna Katharine G Synopsis of Previous Chapters. In order that new readers of The Enquirer may begin with the following installment of this story, and understand it just the same as though they had read it all from the beginning, we here give a synopsis pf that portion of which has already been published: The story opens with the close of a ball after daylight in the morning. While the guests are leaving the house Frederick Sutherland dashes out fran- | tically and disappears in the woods on | the other side of the road. Agatha Webb is found up stairs murdered. The body of Batsy, the cook, is found hanging from a window. Philemon Webb, Agatha's husband, is discovered sitting before a dining table asleep, with a smear of blood on his coat sleeve. Philemon being charged with the murder, his mind, alrady feeble gives way completely. All Agatha Webb's money has been taken. Miss Page, standing on the lawn, points to a spot of blood on the grass. Frederick Sutherland, who has been a wild fellow, promises nis father to reform; also to give up Amabel Page, whom he has been expecting to marry. Miss Page tells Frederick that she followed him on the night of the murder and saw him secrete $1,000 in a hollow tree. She declares that he shall either marry her or she will proclaim him a murderer. She is about to leave him and the town when she is held as a witness. The past life of Agatha Webb. Six children have been born to her and all died in infancy. It is learned that the money taken from Agatha Webb was all in new bills. A storekeeper produces one of them that a strange man with a flowing beard gave him the night of the murder. The problem now is to find the man with the long beard. Suspicion falls on the Zabel brothers. Fred erlck visits the hollow tree and finds the money gone. Wattles a gambler from Boston, demands $950 of Frederick in payment of a gambling debt. Frederick secures a check for the amount from his father, pays the debt and is about to leave home when he is stopped by Miss Page. Knapp, detective, and Abel, with the coroner, visit the Zabel brothers. They are obliged to break into the house, and find both brothers dead. A spot of blood is found on the clothing of one of the brothers, and a miniature of Agatha Webb when a young girl is lying on James Zabel's breast. The party visit the hollow tree, and Sweetwater, who has oined them, digs under it and finds $980. The finder declares that Amabel Page buried the money. He also declares that he followed Amabel Page when she left the house on the night of the murder and saw her bury the money. He accuses her oftrying to throwsuspicion on one of the Zebel brothers with one of the bills. Miss Page is examined with reference to her conduct on the night of the murder and proves a very wily witness. The will of Agatha Webb bequeaths her fortune to Frederick Sutherland. CHAPTER XIX?Continued. Mr. Sutherland was taken aback. lie bad noticed this fact and bad found it a hard one to understand. To ascertain what her explanation of it might be he replied at once: "There Is a change in him?a change that more than one has noticed. What is the occasion of it? To what do you ascribe It AgneR?" How breathlessly he waited for her answer! Had she any suspicion of the awful doubts which were so deeply agitating himself that night? She did uot appear to have. "I hesitate," she faltered, "but not from any doubt of Frederick, to tell you just what I think lies at the bottom of the sudden change observable In him. Miss Page (you see. 1 can name her, if you cannot) has proved herself so unworthy of his regard that the shock he lias received has opened his eyes to certain feeliugs of his own which made his weakness in her re ^ I nnt 1 r r? A U? A f Onr guru puooiuic. t uu uui Ci L1V .. v. uuj thing else. Do you?" At this direct question, which pierced to the very quick of his trouble, breathed though It vas by tender lips and launched in ignorance of the barb which carried It to his heart. Mr. Sutherland recoiled and cast an anxious look upon the door; theu. with forced composure, he quietly said, "If you do not. who are so much nearer her age, and. let me hope, his sympathy, how should 1. who am his father, but have , never been hlscontidautV" "Oh." she cried.holding out her hands, "such a good fitfcer! Some day he will appreciate that fact as well as othera Believe it. Mr. Sitherland. believe It." And then, ashamed of her glowing interest. which vas a little more pronounced than tltted to her simple attitude of friend toward a man professedly in love with'Vwwftwr woman, she f.iiton-d n little aid castvthe shyest of looks upward at the graild but troubled face she b*j never sven turned 1 toward her with anything but kindness. "I have evidence in his good heart." she added with something like dignity. "Would CJod tht I could share it!" was the only atisvur she received. Before she could recver from the shock I of these words lr. Sutherland was gone. Agnes was a title troubled by this interview, for afte she had heard the gate click behind these two friends and had carried hat precious something away wither up stairs there Was a lingering In lie step with which Ihe trod the litth white embowered ibamber. sacred tcber girlish dreams, bat bespake an Oercharged heart, a eart that, before he slept, found reef in these few \%ds that she whis>red into the nigh air. laden with the reetness of honeyackles: "Can^ is right? Did 1 ; |ed a ,,\id^-l who have hatr this ma" ^^sjjight that it Fk TT ATI Kl UF HA WEBB. lRINE GREENE, ;e," ''Lost Man's Lane," "Hand Etc., Etc. ireen. was my hatred which made itimpossible for me to think of auythinj or anybody else since we parted fron each other last night? Oh, me, If It s so!" And from the great, wide word without, tremulous with moonllglt, the echo seemed to come back: "Woe to thee, Agnes Halliday.If this be so!" CHAPTER XX. AGATHA'S HEIR. Meanwhile Mr. Sutherland and Trederiek stood facing each other in the former's library. Nothing had ?een said during their walk down the hill, and nothing seemed likely to proeed from Frederick now. though his faber waited with great and growing agitation for some explanation that wotld relieve the immense strain on bis heart At last he himself spoke dryly, as we ?11 \r nrhnit thn Kr?oi?+ (a fnllnn+ nn/1 an opcan n iicu iuc uuaii to luucoi auu we fear to repeal the depth of our emotions. "What papers were those you gare Into Agnes Halllday's keeping? Anything which we could not have mo% safely, not to say discreetly, harborel In our own house?" Frederick, taken aback, for he bat not realized that bis father bad seet these papers, hesitated for a moment then be boldly said: 'They were letters-old letters? wbicfc I felt to be better out of this houst than In it 1 could not destroy them, " When were these letters vrtttent" so I gave tbem Into the guardianship of the most conscientious person I know. I hope you won't demand to see those letters. Indeed, sir, I hope you won't demand to see them. They were not written for your eye, and I would rather rest under your dlipleasure than have them in any way made public." Frederick showed such earnestness rather than fear that Mr. Sutherland was astonished. "When were these letters written?" he asked. "Lately or before? Sou say they are old. How old?' Frederick's breath came easier. "Some of them were written yeatg ago?most of them. In fact. It Is a pet. sonal matter. Every man has such. 1 wish 1 could have destroyed them You will leave them with Agnes, sir?' "You astonish me," said Mr. Suther land, relieved that he could at leas hope that these letters were in uowis connected with the subject of his ow; frightfil suspicions. "A young girl t whom you certainly were most indil ferent a week ago Is a curious guai dian of letters you decline to sho\ your fither." "I know it," was Frederick's sole r< ply. Sonuhow the humility with whlcl this wis uttered touched Mr. Suthei land aid roused hopes he had suppose dead. He looked his son for the firs Hmo Jiv?v?tlv in tho eve and with ; beatlnj heart said: "Yoir secrets, if you have sucl might better be intrusted to your fa ther. You have no better friend." An there he stopped with a horrified, dt spairiig feeling of inward weakness If Frederick had committed a crinu anythng would be better than kuow ing it. Turning partially aside, he fit gered the papers on the desk befor which he was standing. A large et velopt, containing some legal docv ment, lay before him. Taking it u meclunlcally. he opened it. Frederic as me-hanically watched him. "I Inow," said the latter, "that have to better friend. You have bee too g?od, too indulgent. What is i' father? You change color, look 11 What is there in that paper?" Mr Sutherland straightened himself there ,vas a great reserve of strengt in this broken down man yet. Fixin Frederbk with a gaze more penetrai ing thin any he had yet bestowe upon hm. he folded Ids hands behin him, wth the document held tightl betweei them, and remarked: "Wli? you borrowed that mone from ue. you did it like a man wh expecttd to repay it. Why? Whenc did yoi expect to receive the mone with vhich to repay me? Answei Frederick; this Is your hour for cor fessiou.' Frederick turned so pale his fathe dropper his eyes in mercy"Coufcss?" he repeated. "Wha should coufess? My sins? They ar too maiy. As for that money, aoped ?> pay it as any son might hop to payhis father for money advance to pa; a gambler's debt. I said ueantto work. My first money earr ?d shal be offered to you. I"? "Well? Well?" His father was holding the document he had just read opened out before his eyes. "Didn't you expect this?" he asked. "Didn't you know that that poor woman, that wretchedly murdered, most unhappy woman, whose death the whole town mourns, had made you her heir? That by the terms of this document seen by me here and now for the first time, I am made executor and you the Inheritor of the $100,000 or more left by Agatha Webb?" "No!" cried Frederick, his eyes glued to the paper, his whole face and form expressing something more akin to terror than surprise. "Has she done this? Why should she? I hardly knew her." ino, you uaruiy nuew uer. adu suer She hardly knew you; If she had, she would have abhorred rather than enriched you. Frederick, I had rather you were dead than stand before me the Inheritor of Philemon and Agatha Webb's hard earned savings." "You are right; It would be better," murmured Frederick, hardly heeding what he said. Then, as he encountered his father's eye resting upon him with implacable scrutiny, he added In weak repetition: "But why give her money to me? What was I to her that she should will me her fortune?" The father's finger trembled to a certain line In the document, which seemed to offer some explanation of this, but Frederick did not follow it He had seen that his father was expecting a reply to the question he had previously put. and he was casting about in his mind how to answer it. "When did you know of this will?" Mr. Sutherland now repeated. "For know of it you did before you came to me for money." Frederick summoned up his full courage and confronted bis father resolutely. "No," said he, "I did not know of it It is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you." He lied. Mr. Sutherland knew that he did and Frederick knew that he ; knew it A shadow fell between them, which the older, with that unspeakable ! fear upon him roused by Sweetwater's > whispered suspicion, dared no longer t to attempt to lift After a few minutes, in which Fredtrick seemed to see his father age before his eyes, Mr. Sutherland coldly remarked: "Dr. Talbot must know of this wilL It has been sent here to me from Boston by a lawyer who drew It up two years ago. The coroner may not as yei have heard of it Will you accompany me to his office tomorrow? I shoild like to have him set that we wisk to be open with him in an affair of such importance." "I will accompany yon gladly," said Frederick, and, seeing that his father neither wished nor was able to say anything further, he bowed with distant ceremony as to a stranger and quietly withdrew. But when the door had closed between them and only the memory of bis father's changed coun, tenance remained to trouble him, he paused and laid his hand again on the , knob, as if tempted to return. But he . left without doing so, only to turn again at the end of the hall and gaze wistfully back. Yet he went on. As he opened his own door and disi appeared within be said half audibly: "Easy to destroy me now, AmabeL i One word and I am lostl" [ TO BE CONTINUED. rv. j. (uv ?r (W3T .4 , scraps ot ^ocai mstorit. REMINISCENCES OP YORK. I Valuable Bits of Local History Prel served by a Septuagenarian. >? ' I)r. Maurice Moore In The Enquirer of 1K70. * THE CUTAWBA INDIANS. 6 It was between the years of 1760 and Q 1769, that Thomas Spratt obtained a ? lease for five miles square, from Hag" ler, King of the Catawbas, to extend through three life-times, or 99 years. v He was the first white man who located in "the Nation;" for prior to this, no pale-face had been able to induce them to allow a settlement oh their territoh ry. gpratt was i man, true and just in - all his dealings, possessed of courage il and tact, and also thoroughly acquain;t ted vith the Indian character. He a gained their confidence and always retained it. To exemplify his great pow,t er over them. T relate an anecdote of Int. dian juitice in connection with him. (1 It wa? some years after Spratt's residence among the tribe that a French , dancing master chtnced to travel that ,* way. Mteting a p*rty of Indians, one !' asked him what It had in his box, ( referring to his fiddle case. To please and conciliate the Indians, he took out his violin, showed it to them, and furl" thermore delighted them by playing some lively airs. Hating satisfied their P curosity, he returned his fiddle to its k case, and continued <m his route. One of the saviges, seized with the spirit 1 of Achan, ran ahead of the traveler, " shot him from an ambv^eade, and posI. sessed himself of the ?oveted instru I. ment. The article in hand betrayed him: and it was soon noised in "tfi'e Nation" that a white man had been li killed. Spratt felt it incumbent on him g to use his influence to PDtect his color. [. He took with him, Me^rs. Barnett, j Garrison, White and Erwin, white j friends, and went to see King Hagler. y When they arrived at his encampment, he was out on a hunt with his warriors. Not caring to delay in the matter, "Q they went on in quest of him, and came up with him at no very gieat distance, on the top of an eminence, near Hag^ ler's Branch. He received them with r* cordial dignity, and, after the usual 1 friendly greeting of hand ihaking, the leading question, "if they Vere not all 'r friends and brothers?" was asked by Spratt. as the white spokesman, to 1 open the business in hand. The King e replied "they were." The white man j I then continued with his speech, and e told of the recent murder of a pale-face d by one of the red men, and demanded I justice. The king, with benignity, ani swered, "Justice shall be done, and immediately." Then requesting the white men to seat themselves around, sought the highest pinnacle for himself, took his stand upon It, and taking up his handsome, silver mounted rifle, put In fresh priming, blew a piercing blast on his hunting horn, and with the air of a king and eye of an eagle, watched the approaches on every side. In a few moments, an Indian came in view, tolling up the ascent with a fine buck on his back. As soon as the Indian king descried him, he raised his piece to his shoulder, fell on his knee, took a rest, deliberate aim, and fired. The unerring rifle did its work, the victim of the savage monarch's justice fell dead, and the royal marksman turned to Spratt and his associates, extended his hand in turn for each to shake, in token of further amity between them. Of course they had to be satisfied with his law, administered in his way; and readily accepted his warm invitation to them to dine with him. The repast was venison without salt, and sweet potatoes lUttaieu un mc tutwo and served on pieces of pine bark for plates; and directly as they began to eat, the king would order the attendants to remove It, and bring a fresh piece of bark with another supply of venison and potatoes. This was repeated several times, and done in imitation, Mr. Spratt said, of a dinner Hagler had once had the honor of tak- j ing with Governor Bull, in Charleston, where the changing of plates had struck his fancy as something very j grand, and he now observed the style in honor of his white guests. Thus ended the visit of Mr. Spratt and his friends and a white man was never again murdered by the Catawbas. THOMAS SPRATT. Mr. Spratt's residence was about two miles from the old "Nation Ford," on the Saluda road. He was a publicspirit man, and induced the Indians to grant other leases to white eettlers. He also gave a man named Garrison, I think, a mill-site, to enable him to put up a gristmill, which he did, on the millsite now commonly known as "Webb's Old Mill," on Steel Creek?the first erected in "the Nation;" and Garrison, I think, was probably the third or fourth white settler. Mr. Spratt lived to an advanced age, seeing white settlements grow up where he had known but Indian towns, and the powerful tribe among whom he had come when young, dwindle into insignificance. How mutable are the things of this world! I remember seeing him once. He was a tall, spare man, kindly spoken, and active for his years. He raised a large family. His son, Thomas Spratt, died unmarried; James married a Miss McRea, and left three sons?Thomas, Robert and Leonidas?the last, lately the edi tor of the Charleston Standard, an accomplished gentleman and graceful writer. One daughter married Hugh White; another, Arthur Ervin; a third, a Mr. Garrison; and a fourth, a Mr. McNeil. The fifth, Susan, never married. WILLIAM ERVIN. The second white settler in the "Indian Land" was William Ervin. He was from Virginia, and through the Influence of his friend, Thomas Spratt, obtained from the Catawbas a lease of three miles square, extending from Steel Creek bridge, on toward Charlotte. He moved here with his family, and ever maintained pleasant relations with the natives. A small field of the rich land produced corn bread and hominy, and his trusty rifle procured always deer and wild turkey for meat. Our now common daily beverages of tea and coffee were luxuries well nigh unknown in the families of A11 ** V> n KaAlrnrAn/lomnn anil Httlp wui naiuj uavivn vuuQuitii, ui>?? ?. labor and expense were necessary to a comfortable subsistence. Milk and butter were usually abundant. But a few years after -Mr. Ervin's Immigration. a disease among the kine in his section of country was prevalent, which proved fatal to his entire stock. He bought a fresh supply, for he could not, he declared, live without milk and butter. The distemper again visited his range. The third time he bought; the distemper killed every cow. In thorough disgust, he sold three miles square of Indian land, for an Indian pony, a silver watch, a still and an old wagon, shook the dust off his feet and removed to the head waters of Turkey Creek, near the spot where Yorkville now stands, and where his cattle found immunity from disease. He never could be brought to acknowledge that he regretted the exchange; for he was a dear lover of butter, and milk was a fair necessity to him, he would always declare, in exculpation of his exchange. William Ervin was a man of short stature, inclined to be corpulent in his old age, when I knew him. A brave, free hearted man, who would fight for a friend and give his last shilling to a needy stranger, with a great deal- of dry humor and fund of anecdote, which he told well. He fought at Fort Du Quesne, and used to say he did there "some of the tallest running to save the red hair on the top of his head." He woq in thp Keowee exnedition. and af terwards fought till the end of the Revolution as one of Lacy's command, and illved years after to tell many a merry tale of his campaigns. His wife was I Miss Sally Ross, a sister of Maj Frank Ross, of York, a woman of great energy and good sense, who lived to the advanced age of 98. They had three sons and four daughters ? Arthur, Frank and William, who was called the handsomest young man of his day; Dorcas, Jenny, Mary and Katie, from whom are many descendants now living in York. "GENTLEMAN" FRANK ROSS. Francis Ross was born in Virginia. When quite young, his parents emigrated to North Carolina, and settled in Mecklenburg county between Coddle Creek and Rocky River. Before the war, he came to the "new acquisition" ?now York county?and located about two miles from where Yorkville Is now situate. Here, from his high sense of honor, wealth, and uncommon grace of manner and person, he soon acquired in the settlement the title of "gentleman," a custom brought by the Scotch-Irish from the "old country;" and every now and then, we find the epithet applied, in old times, to some man of the community, admired and looked up to for his superiority in accomplishments, property, or family. In all the old land pa pers of Ross, though signed by a cross, he is styled "Gentleman Frank Ross." Gentleman Frank Ross had a favorite sister married to William Ervin, and though bitterly opposed to the match, he afterward became much attached to his brother-in-law; and in his family met the romance of his life, which, more for the interest of my young readers than an incident of his life, I narrate. His reconciliation with Ervin, too, is characteristic of the times in which they lived. At a large public meeting, a common bully, who had a drunken spite against Ross, went through the crowd, frequently in close hearing of Ross, saying with loud and insolent oaths, "Gentleman Ross was no gentleman, and he could whip him!" This, of course, was very annoying to a bold, high-spirited man, but the fellow was beneath his notice, and his only refuge was dignified silence. Now, William Ervin. in his younger days, was a wild, drinking man, generous and brave. Although his brother-inlaw had never been friendly with him, he was his wife's brother. He did not choose to allow such indignity to be offered him in public. "His Irish was up," and he wasn't afraid to fight the boasting bravo, which he did, giving him a good, sound thrashing, making him leave the assemblage and go quietly home. Ross, though above noticing the insolence of the man himself, was much relieved to be rid of it, and appreciated the generous temper which performed the act, looked up Ervin, shook hands, and accompanied him home that night to see his sister. And there he met Mrs. Graham, the sister of his brother-in-law, Ervin. She was an uncommonly beautiful and attractive woman, and more than three years before had been married to John Graham, an uncle of Governor Graham, of North Carolina. They had lived very happily for six or eight months after their marriage, when the season arrived at which he was in the habit of taking cattle on to Philadelphia for sale. He made his arrangements and started to "the Norrard," as our old settlers called it, with a fine drove, and he was never heard of again. His wife was young and beautiful, and of a most pleasant disposition. They had lived agreeably together, and everything combined to make home attractive. As weeks on weeks went by, and still no tidings of him, his friends were forced to conclude I he had, on his road home, been murdered for the money he obtained in Philadelphia; for such murders were not un[ frequent in those early days of our country's settlement. At length, too, the young wife gave up nope, Denevea this solution of his disappearance, and by her brother's kindly hearth-stone, found, in her early widowhood, a home. Frank Ross became acquainted with her on his first visit to his sister's house, and was soon captivated by her beauty and gentleness. Nor was she proof against the attractions of Gentleman Frank Ross. The avenues of her heart again opened, and love entered in mastery there. She consented to marry him; but an unexpected obstacle presented itself?the bitter opposition of Mrs. Ervln, who would not hear of | her brother marrying a woman whose I husband might be alive. Yielding for (the present, Ross by no means relinquished the idea of making Mrs. Graham his wife. At the end of three years, he again renewed his suit, for the seven years of absence of Graham made it legal for his wife to marry; but Mrs Frvin could not accept this com mon rule and overcome her feelings, still Insisting they ought not to be united, without proof of the husband's death. Susie Graham's tender conscience had experienced more than one prick at the new affection, which had at first, unawares, grown in her .breast, and she yielded to the prejudices of her sister-in-law, rather than to the entreaties of her lover, and finally discarded Frank Ross. He afterward married Rachel Love, of York district. At the beginning of the Revolution, he espoused the cause of the Whig party, and was an active partizan leader up to the time of his death. His first service was in the "Snew campaign," in the winter of 1775-76. In the summer of 1776, he commanded a battalion from York, which was in the "Keowee expedition," and in the spring of 1779, in command of a battalion of cavalry, joined Colonel Hammond and his "light horse," near Augusta. On the morning of the 29th of March, five miles east of Rockey Comfort, they attacked a party of Cherokees. Nine Indians were killed, and some white men who were dressed as savages, (three Cherokees and three whites) captured. The rest fled and saved themselves; but here Major Ross received a mortal wound in his abdomen. From a MS. journal of General Joseph Graham, of North Carolina, we make the following extract: "The brave Major Frank Ross died of his wounds the 31st of March, and was buried with military honors the 1st of April, in sight of, and opposite to, Augusta, on the Carolina side." Major Frank Ross was more than six feet in height, of a muscular frame, and weighed above 200 pounds; had dark hair, eyes and complexion, of noble presence and commanding port. He was cut off in the meridian of life, being only about 35 years of age, at the timo nr hia rio.nth Hp left three sons. little lads, when he was killed?James Alexander and William. A faithful Negro, belonging to their father from boyhood, (whose name, as he was well known and respected in Yorkville, in my recollection, shall be recorded in these "reminiscences"), going always under the soubriquet of "Cracker Tom," managed their plantation after his master's death, working himself as well as making others do it by force of example combined with authority, and during all the minority of the young Rosses?making the finest crops, keeping everything in order on the premises, and proving himself worthy the confidence reposed in him. When Alexander and William removed from the homestead of their father, "Cracker Tom," now verging toward old age, begged to stay in his "old cabin home." They indulged him. and every year corn and meat were sent down for his support. At last the decrepitude of years made him willing to go to "Mas' William's" to be taken care of till he died. James Ross was dearly beloved; but died early, unmarried, and I always heard was a youth of exceeding promise. Alexander studied law. and settled in Lancaster, where he also died single. William married and left a family. One son, Dr. Prank Ross, now resides in Charlotte, N. C. [TO BE CONTINUED NEXT SATURDAY^ A ittisceUiuicous: Reading. hbipi All Urge on the Duty of the Present. FOR PERFECTION OP THK FUTURE. JiiHtas Solomon Was Commanded to Add to the Work Commenced by David, So Also is It the Privilege and Duty of the Present Generation to Strive Toward the Successful Completion of That Infinite Work Which God Has Had in Contemplation Prom the Beginning. The following sermon, preached by Rev. W. G. Neville In the Yorkvllle Presbyterian church last Sunday, has been considered by those who heard It to be of such striking Interest that some of the leading members have made a special request for its publication in The Enquirer: "And thou mayest add thereto."? I Chron., xxii, 14. By the grace of God, and in the providence of God, David did a magnificent work for the people and for the church of God. He made an impression on mankind and on the history of the world that will be felt through all coming time and through eternity. But he commenced one work, at least, which he was not able to finish. His heart was in the building of a grand temple for the worship of God, which would reflect credit on the true religion. He had the plans for this house of God; he had actually commenced its construction; but he was not permitted to complete this great work. Just before he closed his earthy career, he gives to Solomon, his son and successor, a farewell message, a loving charge. Then he commits to him his unfinished work. He says: "Now, behold in my affliction I have prepared for the house of the Lord an hundred : thousand talents of gold, and a thousand talents of silver; and of brass and iron without weight; for It is in abundance; timber also and stone have I prepared; and thou mayest add thereto." David's work, as far as his personal connection with it was concerned, is done? He lays down the trowel, the sword, and the pen. Solomon's work, in his independent connection with it, now commences. Where David's work terminates, there Solomon's work begins. T)?i U U ?11 T an/1 In DUL II 1*3 ail Hie jjuiu o n ui iv, aitu in j an important sense is the same work. "God's workmen die; but God's work goes on." Here is a transition period. The past the present, and the future are involved. We see the past in David and his work. We see the future in Solomon and his work. They are connected and held together by the present. The connection is vital, one in which much is involved. "And thou mayest add thereto." David's work made Solomon's work possible. Solomon's work made David's work complete. One is the complement of the other. Neithei is complete without the other. In the plans and purposes o? the Almighty, they are essential, the one to the other. There is an interdependence. What would David's work be without Solomon's added to it? A huge failure. What would Solomon's work be without David's? An impossibility. The, foundation without the superstructure is useless. The superstructure without, the foundation is worthless. There is really no independent work in this life, in the sense that it is complete in itself. | We add to the work that has been done by those who have gone before. Those who come after us will add to our work. Paul plants and Apollos waters. There is an unbroken continuity in man's work from generation to generation. The unfinished work of our fathers has been transmitted to us; and wo will hand down to our children our unfinished work. Living as we do, in the very last days of the nineteenth century and standing on the very threshold of the twentieth century, we are forcibly reminded of the fact that we are indissolubly connected with the past and the future. We are connected with the past in our thinking and modes of thought, in our habits and manner of life, In our doctrines, principles and policies, in the unfinished work of our fathers, and in all of our environments. We are, to a very great extent, what the past has made us. We are connected with the future by our hopes and aspirations, by our works which are to follow us and by the impression these works are to make upon the generations which are to come after U3. The future is to be, to a very great extent, what we are going to make it. Hence the full sweep of a man's influence and life can never be known by us until the end of time. Thus we can see the propriety and justice of waiting till the last day for the general judgment. Not till then will all the facts In ! connection with a man's life be in, and not till then can a just estimate be formed of that life. Your influence goes on and on till the end of time. It is impossible for you to trace it out in all of its different ramifications; but the omniscient eye of God keeps up with it. Thus, as we stand here today with the past stretching out behind us and the future stretching out before us, we feel like taking off our shoes; for we are standing on sacred soil. The blessed dead are In the past,?they have gone to an infinitely better and happier! world; but their works do follow them. They have transmitted to us their unfinished work. "And thou mayest add thereto." The glorious future, potential with j grand possibilities, looms up before us! today. As we stand here in the midst of the solemn issue that crowd upon us, we are forcibly reminded of our indebtedness to the past and our obligations to the future. We do not appreciate, as we should, our indebtedness to rlA \tfA ?*aoH??a qc u*q t I1C I'UOl, nu? UV iwailAV, ?.? f.v should, our obligations to the future. We are the beneficiaries of the faithful work of those who have gone before us; and we are the custodians of many of the blessings that are to be enjoyed by those who are to come after us. There are many important inferences to be drawn from this general subject. I. The work or oi:r fathers comes to cs as a priceless rlessino. i Though their work may come to us in an incomplete form, yet they added to what others had done, and transmitted to us the work in better condition. Thus they have made our work easier, and they have -increased our possibilities for usefulness and happiness. They toiled, not simply for themselves, but for others, for generations unborn: and we today are enjoying the fruits of their faithful labors. Every blessing which we possess and enjoy has come ; down to us through the toils and tears, through the struggles and sacrifices of those who have lived in the past. "The great thoughts that warm our hearts and inspire jus to noble living are the We do comfort, which has great cost to somebody. These blessings and comforts nave come to us through the toils and tears, through the ^ sorrows and sacrifices, through the efforts and energies of those who have lived before us. This is seen in every deparment of life. In the Material and Industrial World. ?In the houses we live in, in the sane- mk tuarles we worship in, in the clothes WRk we wear, in the food we eat. SH Our forefathers had to contend with the forests and the deserts; but they have left us our fruitful fields and our comfortable homes. How they had to struggle to secure what we now possess and enjoy! They toiled hard when they laid the foundation for our modern civ- 9HH ilization. Every achievement in sci- H ence, every invention and discovery in ^^9 the material world is a monument to the faithful labors of those who have lived in the past. In the Civil and Political World.?As we rest serenely under the American flag; enjoying the blessings of liberty and good government, our minds ought to go back, occasionally, at least, to the trials and conflicts through which our forefathers had to pass in achieving these blessings for us. How they had to endure hardships of war under peculiarly trying circumstances! How they had to contend with the elements in nature! How they left their humble homes, their loved ones exposed frequently to the enemy and the hardships which were characteristic of those times! How many of them poured out their life-blood on the battlefield. How thev all consecrated themselv es and all they had upon their country's altar! They had to do all this, in order that their posterity and succeeding generations in this country might inherit the blessings of good government and be free from the tyrany which had so oppressed them. In the Educational World.?The log school house which served its purpose nobly in its day and generation has been replaced by the beautiful academy, or graded school building; and colleges and universities are scattered all over our country. The blue-back spelling book which in its day was one of the greatest blessings ever bestowed on the human race, after holding its grasp on the human mind for so long a time, has paved the way for something better. See how the appliances in the schoolroom have been improved and multiplied; How the methods of teaching have been advanced! How the opportunities for getting an education have been increased! How the facilities for diffusing a good literature have been multiplied! Every school house, every good book, every appliance in the school room, every printing press,?they all remind us of our indebtedness to the past; for they all come to us as rich blessings from those who have labored in the past. Especially in the Religious World.? All the accumulated blessings of religion which we enjoy, come down to us through the toils and sacrifices of those who have lived in the paSt. We have in our possession all the achievements of past generations. We are enjoying today the fruits of the labors of all the good people who have lived before us. "Their works do follow them." Blessed are the sainted dead: They are blessed in that they have blessed us through their faithful labors. They sowed the good seed, and we are reaping the harvest of their wise and judicious sowing. Wnw nrorinns thpsp trpnnnrps nrp which have come down to us through the past! How costly they are! Oh, how those faithful ones who have gone before us had to strive and struggle in order to achieve, conserve, and transmit to us the blessings we now enjoy in the Kingdom of God! They were persecuted; they were tortured; they were imprisoned; they were slain. They had to pass through all of these experiences In order to hand down to us the _ priceless blessings which we possess and enjoy. And when we survey the life and work of our divine Lord and Savior, we see this truth reaching the very climax of Its realization. See how he had to pas;i through the exhaustive sufferings of the garden and the cross; how he sweat great drops of blood; how he drank the very dregs of that cup of Intense suffering! He endured all this in order to secure for us and transmit to us the inestimable blessings of the gospel. Oh, how Jesus tolled and suffered for us! And it was a willing sacrifice on his part. He preferred the garden of Gethsemane to the paradise of God; he preferred the cross of Calvary to the throne of heaven; he preferred the scoffs and maledictions of a wicked and gain-saying world to the admiration and homage of the Intelligent hosts of heaven. For it was only in this way that he could secure for us the blessings of eternal life. These blessings come to us at infinite cost. When we contemplate these priceless treasures which come to us at such great cost and sacrifice; which have come to us through the sufferings and ueaxn ox our uiesseu neueeiuei, m.iiu through the lives and death of his disciples; which are baptized with the blood of Jesus and the martyrs, we feel something like David did when the three brave men brought him water from the well by the fcate of Bethlehem, having cut through the line of the Philistines in order to get the water to him. David was so impressed with the bravery of these men and the danger to which they had exposed themselves, that he would not drink the water which they had brought; but he poured it forth as an offering to the Lord. He said: "Be it far from me, O Lord, that I should do this. Shall I drink the blood of the men that went in jeopardy of their lives?" Even though he was so thirsty, this water was too sacred and it came at too great a cost for him to drink it. It could be properly used only as an offering to the Lord. As we sit here today and contemplate the unnumbered and priceless blessings which have come to us as an heritage through the toils and tears, the sacrifices and sufferings of our fathers. may the Lord help us to appreciate properly these olessings, and, at the time, to realize our indebtedness to the past. "Thou mayest add thereto." II. The work of our fathers come to us as a sacred trust. ^" a1 ? ?-i a ofriirrrr\ckr\ *>ur lauieis luneu?arm?srr they laid the foundation for our work and made it possible. We are not only to conserve what has already been achieved; but we are to add to it. "And thou mayest add thereto." This is to be done in view of our connection with the future. "The only sure way if getting; rid of a past is by getting a future out of it." We are to turn our eyes to the future as well as to the last. The past is gone; it is irreversi- ^ bly fixed. The future is before us; it is yet to be made; it is filled with grand and glorious possibilities. We are to be living factors in the development of the future. The past has given us a sacrel trust; we are the custodians of all the priceless treasures of the past; we have i?all the accumulated wealth of all the ages that are gone. What an exalted privilege; and, at the same re m endousgg?^^|^flilty! ture is