Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I , THERE IS NO DEATH. There is no death! The stars go do^rn To rise upon some fairer shore; And bright in heaven's jeweled crown They shine forevermore. There is no deathThe dust we tread Shall change beneath the summer showers To golden rain or mellow fruit Or rainhew tinted flowers. Thegranit? rocks disorganize To feed the hungry moss they bear; The forest leaves drink daily life Prom out the viewless air. There is no deathThe leaves may fall. The flowers fade and pass away? They only wait through wintry hours The coming of the May. Tb ere is no death! An angel form "Walks o'er the earth with silent tread; He bears our best beloved things away, And then we call them "dead." Ho leases our hearts all desolate; He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowersTransplanted into bliss they now# Adorn immortal bowers. The birdlike voice, whose joyous tones Make glad this scene of sin and strife, Sings now her everlasting song Amid the Tree of Life. And when He sees a smile too bright Or hearts too pure for taint of vice, H? bears it to that world of light, To dwell in Paradise. Born into that undying life. They leave us but to come again; With joy we welcome them?the same, Except in sin and pain. And ever near us, though unseen. The dear, immortal spirits tread; For all the boundless universe Is Life?there are no dead! ?Chicago Herald. A HERO OF LOVE. T? iinff-nAiionffl/l niiorfor 1 All U JL1C W rtUU uuil^^u^ukvu Vjumwi 1 near the Park Monceau the summer morning had opened splendidly. A young girl was at her window, behind half-closed blinds, smiling at some chimera, at some dream of the future; for heaven permits youth to have hope in life and to dream of possible happiness. The apparition of a letter at the end of a thread, seeming to descend from heaven, startled her from her reverie. The envelope bore her name. In taking hold of it sho broke the slender thread and the letter remained in her; fingers. Emma could not see that just above her window a good-looking young man, concealed also by the blinds, had been watching her for a long time, trembling and still resolute. She opened the message arriving by this strange, aerial road. It was short, but contained an infinitude: Mademoiselle: I love you with my whole heart. I take the liberty to write, for I cannot delay to express my affection. For a year, without attempting to intrude, I have j noticed your steps and voice. I am 34 years : old and live with my mother, who "is a widow. My life is monotonous, but you are my joy, my sun, my hope. I am a poor painter, a pupil of the Ecoledes Beaux Arts,+ Dut with courage inspired by love for you I hope to take the Prize of Rome this year. That means glory and a future. It is of you alone that I dream. I trust you will look with favor on me, and let me believe that you are willing to accept my ueart, my me and my name, which will be celebrated, I promise, if you make me happy. I shall leave the institution in a few months, and then I will ask your father to grant me your adored little band, so delicate, and which must be so gentle. I cover it with kisses, that dear white hand, and kneel before you. Fernand Girard. Emma read and reread the delightful page, with lips half open by a radiant smile, eager eyes and palpitating heart, agitated and entranced by this first love letter. The broken thread was near her. No breeze, no breath moved it. It seemed to be waiting for an answer. She took a white rose which was pinned to her corsage, and attached it quickly to the suspended thread. The rose mounted toward heaven as by magic, even as the letter had descended, and following it with her eyes, Emma felt that her heart flew away with the flower. For a long time she had noticed this pale, intellectual young man, who changcd color whenever he met her. Thus an enchanting romance commenced, the romance forever new and heavenly, full of the delicious intoxication of a first love, in which the keenest sensations are excited by the exchange of a look, a smile, a sudden meeting, the thousand nothings, to others invisible, but to lovers fraught with terrible anguish or supreme joy. The ingenious correspondence continued. Emma ventured to write in her turn, j experiencing exquisite happiness in im-1 parting the facts of her lonely life, which j had been very sad since the death of her mother. Her father was a merchant. He often returned sombre and absent minded, she said, allowing herself to be drawn artlessly into the joy of unbosoming herself to her friend. Fernand. was now her only thought. Three months after she had received the first letter, her father, II. Ferald, on returning one evening from his counting room, said to her: "Don't sing so all the time, Emma; come this way; I wish to speak to you on an important subject. You are a large, sensible girl. You will be seventeen years old in a month. Listen to me, my darling." "1 am listening, papa. What would you like? You look as though you were j going 10 scoia me, repuea tne young | girl, lowering her large black eyes. Emma was no longer a mere child. Though she still wore a cunning red apron tied with a big knot behiud in little girl style, her well-poised figure was already rounding to womanhood. She was at that charming age of change when the young girl, without thought or care, become a crcature who observes and loves. "Don't remain standing on one foot like a bird on a perch; sit down." "Ye3, papa." "I was saying that youre a a young person?well! well!?of an age to think of marriage." At these works Emma's cheeks turned redder than the cherry ribbon around her neck. She remained motionless, opposite her father, poised unsteadily on the edge of an armchair, with eyes wide open and breating suspended, anxiously awaiting what would come next. "I wish," continued M. Ferald, "to provide you with a husband who loves you very much." Emma smiled while thinking of Fernand. Certainly her father was right. Fernand loved her, and always wouk. Jove her. 'The one who has asked your hand is a man whom I lovo and esteem beyond measure. He is good, sterling in character. rich and honorable. I am certain that he will promote your happiness. But you know him already. It is M. Morizot, the good Morizot. my friend of twenty years' standing." Emma turned pale aud cried in her distress: "I will never marry Monsieur Morizot. He is old I don't love him. I don't want him. I can't have him." ' He isn't old. He is but thirty-five years, aud just the man. well proportioned and of excellent physique. In ill'CJU, jiu is luc au5uauu mat x uavc uau ia mind for you." ' Father, it is impossible." "Why, mademoiselle? Why do you not wish to marry i" "Why, father. Vlo you wish me to marry Monsieur Morizot?" "My daughter, I will reply to you, as I to an intelligent woman. You often.see ! me anxious; it is because I have serious embarrassment. My affairs arc in a bad, very bad, way. I have large payments to meet. An extension is necessary for my paper, but I have other obligations in arrears. A terrible crises has occurred. Money must be had immediately; if not, the alternative is failure and ruin; that is to say, death, for I could not survive my shame," said M. Ferald, while his eyes filled with tears at the thoughts which tortured him. Emma threw herself on his neck, embracing him with tenderness, greatly moved by the tears of her father, whom she had never seen weep except on the day when her mother died. "If you marry Morizot he becomes my nnrtnpr nnd brinors me a hundred thou sand francs; that is to say, houor, fortune and security,in place of shame.want and death." "Oh, father, what do you say? Everybody knows that you are an honorable man. What is this failure?" "My child, it is the most frightful calamity that can befall a man. Remember that the house was founded by the grandfather of my father more than a hundred years ago. that the honor of the house is proverbial on the exchanges. I assure you I would sooner die than have our name dishonored." For a minute Emma remained in suspense. Grave and death-like in look, she balanced her love for Ferdand and her filial affection. M. Fcrald, seeing that she hesitated, fell on his knees, distracted. Vanquished, she slowly spoke these words, which could scarcely find utterance: "Father, I will obey you." Then hastily retiring to her room, she passed the night in stifling her sob3 that she might not be heard. TUe next day sne wrote to r ernana, i withdrawing from the engagement, not daring to tell him of the terrible secret of her father, but informing him of her approaching and inevitable marriage. Ferdnand in despair wrote in extravagant terms, beseeching and threatening by turns the one whom he loved. He sought a personal interview but she would not receive him. Mme. Girard, who had been made a confident by her son, called in his behalf on M. Ferald, but met with a refusal which left no hope. One morning the young girl found a note at her window. It contained but two lines: I will kill myself, I assure you, the hour you are married. Fernand. Emma did everything to forget this love, so violent and to which her heart had yielded so willingly, but she was obliged to look often at the anxious and careworn face of her father, to renew her courage for supporting the presence of Morizot, who had commenced his courtship and called regularly every day. He was an attractive bachelor, cheerful, courtly and good hearted. Having known her from her childhood, the love he now felt grew out of his former tenderness as an elder brother. The poor child endeavored to hide her grief, and he mistook her downcast and resigned looks for timidity. Finally the day for the marriage was fixed, and Emma put on the engagement ring, which she took off as soon a3 she was alone. Everybody was congratulating and envying her, for M. Morizot was a fine match; but the poor girl answered only by ft faint smile. She did not even look in the mirror when she tried on the white marriage dress, that wonderful and triumphant robe which all young girls anticipate in their dreams. One evening, when for the first time her betrothed had touched her hair with a kiss, she drew back quickly, uttering a cry and repelling him with her hands. It had not occurred to her that her promise to be Morizot's wife gave him the right to kiss her. As she threw herself back impulsively he tried to sustain her, but she withdrew from his arms. "What is the matter, Emma? Speak to me. One would think you were afraid. What have I done? I, who love you so tenderly, my dear Emma." He took her hands and carried them to his lips, kissicg them passionately. "I do not wish yoi to kiss rac," exclaimed the young girt with vehemence.. "Ah! Emma, you do not love me." 'Yes I do. I love j-ou very much. You have always been very kind to me." "You like me a3 an old friend, but that is not love. I excite your aversion. But why did you decide to be my wife!" "I will be your wife. It is necessary.'" "My dear little friend, I do not comprehend you. Come here, near to me. , I will not touch the tips of your little fin! gers. Have confidence in me. Remember that you have always confided to me your secrets, x our latner muse nave toiu you that my only desire is to make you happy. I have esteemed him very much during many long years. I know that he is at present seriously embarrassed. It will give me pleasure to be his partner. "We will form but one family, having the same interests and affections. These are my sincere sentiments." "Oh, how unhappy I an," cried the girl. Morizot regarded her eyes intently. , He scrutinized that brow, knit with anguish, and broke out sadly: "Ah! I now understand it. It is to save your father that you consent." Not daring to say yes her head fell disconsolately. "Poor fool thnt I was to think that you loved me. For some months your eyes were so bright, your voice so sweet, that I thought I believed that your , heart responded to mine." i Ho remained thoughtful for a moment, then said pleasantly: "If you do not love me yet, you will . love me some day. Do you not think I -;o?" She looked at him sadly, but could not tell a falsehood. "It must be that you love another," he broke out impetuously. Emma moaned and concealcd her face in her hands. It was an acknowledgment. "Who is this happy one that you love? Does he love you, too? Oh, Emma, how you make me suffer!" At last he drew the secret from her, ! ?; ?i i_?i. _.:*u l +UW1 listening, puie a ^uucl, ?itu uiculuicoo attention. "When the recital was concludcd he said with a trembling voice: "My dear girl, you do not love rac. I You love another. I would be a wretch I to accept the sacrifice that you are ready j to make. I restore your freedom, and in j order that yon may never regret this release I will still be your father's partner, j Be happy, Emma, but at least keep a place for me in your remembrance." Beaming with joy, with glowing eyes i and outstretched arms, she fell on Mori- i zet's neck and showered kisses upon him, ; breathing ont these words, of themselves I so cruelly ironical: "Oh, how happy you make me! How much I love you!" Three months later Emma married Fernand Girard, but M. Morizot could , not face the happiness of his rival. Hav- } ing left almost the whole of his fortune to M. Ferald, he embarked for Senegal,where he died of exhaustion, bereft of strength to struggle for an existence which had ! become a burden; a poor hero of love!? New York Sun. How a Captain Made His Fortnne. Many a Maine fortune, says the Lewiston Journal, was made in the West India j trade in olden times, but few in the way ! told by a Portland Captain. Toward : the close of the last century this Captain j sailed from Portland with a cargo of lumber for San Domingo. Arriving at his destination, he found Toussaint, the colored leader, in possession of the isl- j and, and was afraid to land. As he was j about to put to sea again his ship was ; boarded by a squad of colored troops under command of the renowned Christophe, and urged to land, as lumber was much needed on the island. Noticing j that the ship's papers, bearing the auto- 1 graph of the President of the United : States, as was the custom in those days, j made a great impression on Christophe, I the Captain concluded to try their effect j on Toussaint. Accordingly he landed, j and furnished with an escort by Christophe, marched to the camp of the leader. I This personage, upon being told that a j messenger with a letter from the Presi- j dent of the United States desired an in- I terview with him, readily accorded it, J and the result of the interview was that the lumber was exchanged for an equal i quantity of coffee, sugar and other goods of the Captain's selection, exchanging ; bulk for bulk. No ship ever sailed j carrying so rich a cargo obtained under ! such favorable terms. The fortune of the , Captain was made. He retired from the sea, and settkd down to a prosperous life j in Portland. Plea For Frogs and Sparrows. Thfi flnvnmor of a Chinese Province ; issued the following proclamation t"> ag- [ nculturists, in meter of six syllables: ; "Frogs are produced in the middle of your fields; although they are little j things they are little human beings in : form. They cherish a lifelong attach- i ment to their natal soil, and at night ' they melodiously sing in concert with clear voices. Moreover, they protect I your crops by eating locusts, thus de- I serving the gratitude of the people. Why I go after dark with lanterns, scheming to | capture the harmless and useful things? J Although they may be nice savoring for j your rice, it is heartless to slay them. I Henceforward it is forbidden to buy or sell them, and those who do so will be ! severely punished. Sparrows, again, J sing at their seasons sweetly in the trees. | They are not like wolves, tigers, or j leopards, which may take to injuring ' men when they grow large. Why go ; out with nets trying to catch them all ! from the hills and woods! Know that ! for the strong to slay the feeble for food | is the way of wild beasts and rapacious 1 birds. Resist the lust of your mouths j and stomachs for savory meats, and pre- j serve life. Both these sorts of creatures i ----- ... , i you are forbidden to catcu irom nenceforth. Do not flatter yourselves that af- | ter this warning the punishment for dis- ( obedience will be mild." ___ Catching Rattlesnakes for Oil. Most people think that rattlesnakes are entirely useless upon the earth, but the I story told by the Athens Banner will set j aside such a belief: There are places in South Georgia where men extract oil from the rattlesnakes and use it to cure rheu- I matism. These persons will give a colored i man one dollar to point out a rattlesnake to them, and then they kill it in a peculiar manner. They place a forked stick over the snake's head, then put a cord around it and strangle the snake. This is done to keep the snake from biting itself. The body of the reptile is then j strung up and the oil extracted from it. It sells at two dollars per ounce, and this indnot.rv iq ft vfirv nrofitable one. The ! snakes in that section are very large, averaging five feet in length, and one rattler gives up a great deal of oil. A little colored boy once saw two rattlers lying close together, and wanted to get the money for finding them. It was a mile , to the nearest house. He was afraid the snakes would crawl off while he was gone, and so he took off his coat and placed it I between the two snakes. He went off, came back, and found them still eyeing ! the coat. Pie had them charmed. Sc I the snake is cultivated down there as a ! profitable industry. A Queer Rustic Vehicle. On the last day of the Exposition Pro- ] fessor A. B. Morris drove from Essex Centre to the Exposition. He rode in ( one of the strangest buggies that ever | was seen on the streets of Detroit. The Professor made it during his odd hours for the past two or three months. It was made entirely of second growth hickory, and most of the hickory had the bark left on,the smooth bark being upon i the shafts and smaller parts of the bug- ! gy, and coarse hickory bark on the hub. The rig was ornamented by many twisted , hickory switches, bent in all sorts of queer shapes and loops. The rest of the buggy was made with hickory with the . bark off, and the whole affair was var- i nished nicely,and the effect of the smooth 1 hickory and the hickory with the bark on was very pretty. There was not a scrap , of leather or of iron, or anything about j the buggy, except a few nails that bad been driven here and there. Even the : tires were hickory hoops.?Detroit Free ' Presi. KEY. DR. TALMAGE. THE BROOKLYN DIVTNE'S SUNDAY SERMON. Subject: "The Baptism of Fire." Text: "JVone of these things move me."? Acts xz., 24. The Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D. D., preached at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, his first sermon after the destruction of the Brooklyn Tabernacle by fire. His audience was of vast size, and public interest was extraordinary. The opening hymn was: God moves in a mysterious way Hig wonders to perform. Be plant* His footsteps In the sea. And rides upoa the storm. Dr. Talmage's subject was "The Baptism of Fire," and he said: But, Paul, have you not enough affliction to move you? Are you not an exile from your native land? With the most genial and loving nature, have you not, in order to be free for missionary journeys, given yourself to celibacy? Have you not turned away from the magnificent worldly successes that would have crowned your illustrious genius? Have you not endured the sharp and stinging j neuralgias, like a thorn in the flesh? Have I you not been mobbed on the land, and ship- ! wrecked on the sea; the sanhedrim against i you, the Roman Government against you, all the world and all hell against you? "What of that?' says Paul. "None of these things move me!" It was not because he was a hard nature. Gentlest woman was nevermore easily dissolved into tears. He could not eren bear to see anybody cry, for in the midst of his sermon when he saw some one weeping her sobs aloud, "What mean ye to weep and to break mine heart? for I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus." What then did Paul mean when he said, "None of these things move me?" He meant, "I will not be diverted from the work to which I have been called by any and all the adversities and calamities." I think this morning I express not only my own feelings but that of every man. woman and little child belonging to the Brooklyn Tabernacle, or that was converted there, or comforted there, or'blessed there, when I look toward the blackened ruins of the dear and consecrated spot and with an aroused faith in a loving God, cry out: ' None of these things move me." When I say that, I do not mean that we have no feeling about it. Instead of standing here to-day in this brilliant auditorium, it would be more consonant with my feelings to sit down among the ruins and weep at the words of David: 4,If I forget th.*e, 0 Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning." "Why, let me say to the strangers here to-day in explanation of the deep emotion of my flock, wo had there in that building sixteen iears of religious revival. I believe that a undred thousand souls were born there. They came from all parts of the earth and we shall never see them again until the books are opened. Why, sirs! our children were there baptized, and at those altars our young men and maidens took the marriage vow, and out of those gates we carried our dead. When from the roof of my house last Sunday morning at 3 o'clock I saw our church in flames, I said: "That is the last of the building from which wo buried our De Witt on that cold December dav when it seemed all Brooklyn wept with my household." And it was just as hard for you to give up your loved ones as for us to give up ours. Why, like the beautiful vines that still cover somo of the fallen walls. uux iuicv;tiuu3 uio cicuiiuci iu^ a.ii | over the ruins, and I could kiss the ashes that mark the place where it once stood. Why, now that I think of it, I cannot think of it as au inanimate pile, but as a soul, a mighty soul, an indestructible soul. I am sure that majestic organ had a soul, for we have often heard it speak and sing and shout and wail, and when the soul of that organ entered lioaren I think Handel, and Haydn, and Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and Beethoven were at the gates to welcome it. So I do not use the words of my text in a heartless way, but in the sense that we must not and will not be diverted from our work by the appalling disasters which have befallen us. We will not turn aside one inch from our determination to do all we can for the present and everlasting happiness of all the people whom wo may be able to meet. "None of these things move me. None of these things move you." When I looked out through th6 dismal rain from the roof of my house and saw the church crumbling brick by brick and timber by timber, I said to myself: "Does this mean that my work in Brooklyn is ended? Does this terminate my association with this city, where I have been more than twenty years glad in all its prosperities, aud sad in all its misfortunes?' And a still small voice came to me, a voice that is no longer still or small but most emphatic and commanding, through pressure of hand, and newspaper coluuui, and telegram and letter, and contributions saying : ' 'Go forward!" I have made and I now make appeal to all Christendom to help us. We want all Christendom to help, and I will acknowledge the receipt of every contribution, groat or small, with my own hand. Wo want to build larger and better. We want it a national church, iu which people of all creeds and all nations may find a home. The contributions already sent in make a small hearted church forever impossible. Would not I be a sorry spectacle for angels and men if, in a church built by Israelites and Catholics, as well as all the styles of people commonly callod evangelical, I should, instead of the banner of the Lord God Almighty, raise a fluttering rag of small sectarianism? If we had three hundred thousand dollars we would put them all in one great monument to the mcrcy of God. Feoplo ask on all sides about what we shall build. I answer, it all depends on the contributions sent in from here and from the ends of the earth. I say now to all the Baptists, that we shall have in it a baptistery. I say to all Episcopalians, we shall have in our services as heretofore at our communion table portions of the Liturgy. I say to the Catholics we shall have a cross over the pulmt and probably on the tower. I say to the MethoHi=(-o -wrt menn to sine t.horA likn the voicea of mighty tliunderings. I say to all denominations, we mean to preach a religion (is wide as heaven and as good as Goa. We have said wo hod a total loss. But there was one exception. The only things we saved were tho silver communion chalices, for the / happened to be in another building, and I take that fact as typical that we are to be in communion with all Christendom. *'I be> lieve in the communion of saints!" I think, if all the Brooklyn firemen and all insurance companies should search among those ruins on Schermerhorn street, they would not find a splinter large as the tip end of the little finger marked with bigotry. And as it is said that the exhumed bricks of the walls of Babylon have on them the letter N, standing for Nebuchadnezzar, I declare to you that if we ever get a new church the letter we should like to have on every stone and every timber would be the letter C, for that would stand both for Christ and Catholicity. The last two words I uttered in the old church on Friday night, some of you may remember, were "Hallelujah 1 Amen!" The two words that I utter now as most ftxprossivo of my feelings in this our flrstservice after the Baptism of Fire, are Hallelujah ! Amen! "None of these things move me." We are kept in this mood by two or three considerations. The first is, that God rules. In what way the church took fire I do not know. It has been charged on the lightnings. Well, the Lord controls the lightnings. He managed them several thousands of years before our electricians were born. The Bible indicates that, though they flash down the skv recklessly. God builds for them a road to travel. In the Psalms it is said: "He made a way for the lightning and thunder." Ever since the time of Benjamin Franklin the world has been trying to tame the lightnings, and they seem to l>e quite well harnessed, but they occasionally kick over the traces. But though we cannot master great natural forces, God can and does, and that God is our Father and best Frieud, and this thought gives us confidence. We are also reinforced by the increased consolation that comes from fraternity of sorrow. The people who, during the last sixteen years, sat on the other side of the aisle, whose faces were familiar to you, but to whom you had never spoken?you greeted them this week with smdes and fears as you said: "Well, the old place is gone." You iid not want to seem to cry, and so you swept the sleeve near the corner of the eye, and pretended it was the sharp wind made your eyes weak. Ah! there was nothing the matter with your eyes; it was your soul bubbling over. I tell you that it is impossible to sit for years around the same cnurch fireside and not have sympathies in common. Somehow too-feel that you would like those people on the other sld? of tlie aisle, about whom you know but little, prospered and pardoned and blessed and saved. You feel as if you were in the same boat, and you wont to glide up the same harbor and want to disembark at the same wharf. If you nut gold and iron and lead and zinc in sufficient heat, they will melt into a conglomerate mass; and I really feel that last Sabbath's fire has fused us all, grosser and finer, natures, into one. It seems as if v?e all had our hands on a wire connected with an electric battery: and when this church sorrow started it thrilled through the whole circle, and we all felt the shock. The oldest man and the youngest child could join hands in this misfortune. Grandfather said: I "I expected from those altars to be buried;" and one of the children last Sabbath cried: "Grandpa, that place was next to onr own house.'' Yea, we are supported and confident in this time by the cross of Christ. That is used to the fire. On the dark day j when Jesus died, the lightning struck it from above, and the flames of nell dashed up against it from beneath. That tearful, painful, tender, blessed cross still stands. On it we hang all our hopes: beneath it we put down all our sins; in tne light of it we expect to make the rest of our pilgrimage. Within sight of such a sacrifice, wno can feel he has it hard* In the sight of such a symbol, who can be discouraged, however great the darkness that may come down upon him? Jesus lives! The loving, patient, sympathizing, mighty Jesus! It shall not be told on ! earth, or in hell, or in heaven, that three Hebrew children had the Son of God beside them in the fire, and that a whole church was forsaken by tne Lord when they wont through a furnace about two hundred feet vidh 0 Lord Jesus! shall we take out of T&y | hand the flowers and the fruits, and the ; brightness and the joys, and then turn away because Thou dost give us one cup of bitter- | ness to aruuK? un, no, Jesus! we wui drink i it dry. But how it is changed! Blessed Jesus, what has Thou put into the cup to sweeten it? Why, it has become the wine of heaven, and our souls grow strong. I come now, and place both or my feet deep down into the blackened ashes of our consumed church, and I cry out with an exhilaration that I never felt since the day of my soul's emancipation, "Victory! victory! through our Lord Jesus Christ!" Your harps, ye trembling saints, Down from the willows take, Loud to the praise of love divine Bid every string awake. "We are also re-enforced by the Catholicity that I have already referred to. We are in the Academy to-day, not because we have no other place to go. Last Sabbath morning at 9 o'clock we had but one cnurcb; now we have about thirty, all at our disposal. Their pastors and their trustees say: "You may take our main audience rooms, you may take our lecture rooms, you may take our church parlors, you may baptize in our baptisteries, and sit on our anxious seats." On! if there be any larger hearted ministers or larger hearted churches anywhere than in Brooklyn, tell me where they are, that I may go and see them before I die. The millenium has come. People keep wondering when it is coming. It has come. The lion and the lamb lie down j together, and the tiger eats straw like an ox. I should like to have seen two of the old time bigots, with their swords, fighting through that great fire on Schermerhorn street last Sabbath. I am sure the swords would have melted, and they who wielded them have learned war no more. I can never say a word against any other denomination of Christians. I thank God I never have been tempted to do it. I cannot be a sectarian. I have been told I ought to be, and I have tried to be, but I have not enough material in me to make such a structure. Every time I get the thing most done, there comes a fire, or something else, and all is gone. The angels of God shake out on this air, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." I do not know but I see on the horizon the first gleam of the morning which shall unite all denominations in one organization, distinguished only by the locality as in apostolic times. It was then the Church of Ttyatira, and the Church of Thessalonica, and the Church of Antioch, and the Church qf Laodicea. So I do not know but that in the future history, and not far otf either, it maybe simply a distinction of locality, and not of creed, as the Church of New York, the Church of Brooklyn, the Church of Boston, the Church of Charleston, the Church of Madras, the Church of Constantinople, the Church of America. My dear brethren, we cannot afford to be severely divided. Standing in front of the great foes of our common Christianity, we want to put on tho whole armor of God and vmowaU ilnmn in fllAtl Mar +71 mailu uunu ui ouuu wiuiuut ouviuuwt w shoulder! one commander! one triumph! The trumpet gives a martial strain 0 Israel! gird tbee from the light; Arise, the combat to maintain; Arise, and put thy foes to flight Wo also feel reinforced by the thought that we are on the way to a heaven that can never burn down. Fires may sweep through other cities?but I am glad to know that the New Jerusalem is fireproof. There will be no engines rushing through those streets; there will bo no temples consumed in that city. Coming to the doors of that Church, we will find them open, resonent with songs, and not cries of fire. Oh, my dear brother and sister! if this short lane of life comes up so soon to that blessed place, what is the use of our worrying? I have felt a good many times this last week like Father Taylor, the sailor preacher. He got in a long sentence while he was preaching one day, and lost himself, and could not fiud his way out of the sentenco. He stopped and said: "Brethren, I have lost the nominative j of this sentence, and things are generally mixed up, but I am bound for the kingdom anyhow." And during this last week, when I saw the rushing to aud fro and the excitement, I said j t/> mvself: "I do not know just where wo ! shall start again, but I am bound for the kingdom anyhow." I do not want to go I just yet I want to be pastor of this people j until I am about eighty- nine years of age, | but I have sometimes thought that there are I such glories ahead that I may be persuaded to go a little earlier?for instance, at eightytwo or three; but I really think that, it we could have an appreciation of what God has in reserve for us, 'we would want to go, stepping right out of the Academy of Music : into the glories of the skies. Ah! that is a good laud. Why, they tell ' me that in that land they never have a heart ache. They tell me that a mau might walk five hundred years in that land and never see a tear or hear a sigh. Thoy tell me that our friends who have left us and gone there, their feet are radiant as the sun, and that they take hold of the hand of Jesus familiarly, and that they open that hand and see in the palm of it a healed wound that must have been very cruel before it was healed. And they tell me that there is no winter there, and that thoy never get hungry or cold, and that the sewing girl never wades | through the snow bank to her daily toil, and i that the clock never strikes twelve for the night, but only twelve for the day. See that light in the window. I wondow j i who set it there. "Oh!" you say: "My j fathor that went into glory must have set i that light in the window." No; guess j again. "My mother, who died fifteen years ; ago in Jesus, I think must have set that light I there." No; guess again. You say: "My I darling little child, that last summer I put awav for the jrejnirrer.tiou. T t.limL- oUa mui' have set that light there in the window." No; guess again. Jesus set it there; and He will keep it burning until the day wo put our finger on the I latch of the door and go in to be at j home forever. Oh! when my sight gets black i in death, put on mv eyelids that sweet ointment. When in trie last weariness I cannot ! take another step, just help me put my foot j on that doorsill. When my ear catches no more the voices of wifo and child, let me go right in, to have my deafnes? cured by the stroke of the harpers whose lingers fly over the strings with the anthems of tne free. Heaven never burns down! The fires of the last day, that are already kiudled in the heart of tne earth, but are hidden because i God keeps down the hatches?those internal fires will after a while break through the crust, and the plains, and the mountains,and the seas will bo consumed, and the llani?s ' will fling their long arms into the skies; but j all the terrors of a burning world will do n<> more harm to that heavenly temple than the fires of the setting sun which kindle up the window glass of the house on yonder hilf toD. OB, TJiessed land! But I do not want to go there until I see the Brooklyn Tabernacle rebuilt. You say, "Will it be?" You might as well ask me if the sun will rise to-morrow morning, or if tho next spring will put garlands on its head. You and I may not do it?you and I may not livo to see it; but tha Church of God does not stand on two legs nor on a thousand legs. How did the Israelites get through the Red Sea? I suppose somebody may have come and said: "There is no need of trying; you will get your feet wet; you will spoil your clothes; you will drown yourselves, who t ever beard of getting through such a sea as that?" How did they get through it? Did they go back? No. Did they go to the right? No. Did they go to the left? No. They went forward in the strength of the Lord Almighty; and that is the way we mean to get through the Red Sea. By going forward. But says Bomo one: "If we should build a larger church, would you be able with your voice to flU it?" Why, I have been wearing myself out for the last sixteen years in trying to keep my voice in. Give me room whei% I can preach the glories of Christ and the grandeurs of heaven. Forward! We have to march on, breaking down all bridges behind us, making retreat impossible. Throw awav your knapsack if it impedes your march. Keep your sword arm ; free. Strike for Christ and His kingdom ! while you may. No people ever had a bettor I mission than you are sent on. Prove your| selves worthy. If I am not fit to ; uo juui iwiuoi, acu me usiue. lue ungui/; est goal on earth that I can think ; of is a country parsonage amidst the mount1 ains. But I am not afraid to lead you. I I i have some dollars: they are at your disposal, j I have good physical health; it is yours as long as it lasts. I have enthusiasm of soul; | I will not keep it back from vour service. I , have some faith in God, and t shall direct it toward the rebuilding of our new spiritual house. Come on^-then. Lwill lead von. j Come on, ye aged men, not yet passed over Jordan! Give us one more lift: before you go into the promised land. You men in middle life, harness all your business faculties to this enterprise. Young man, put the fire of your soul into this work. Let women consecrate their persuasiveness and persistence to this causp^and.thex will be preparing benedictions for their dying hour and everlasting rewards; and if Satan really did burn that Tabernacle down, as some people say he did, he will find it the poorest job no ever undertook. Good-by, old Tabernacle. I put my fingers to my lips and throw a kiss to the departed church. In the last day, may we be able to meet the songs there sung, and the prayers there offered, and the sermons there preached. Good-by. old place, where some of us first felt the Gospel peace, and others heard the last mfissacra or* thev fled awav into the sltias' Good-by, Brooklyn Tabernacle of 1878! But welcome our new church. (I see it as plainly as though it were already built!) Your gates wider, your songs more triumphant, your ingatherings more glorious. Rise out of the ashes and greet our waiting vision! Burst on our souls, oh day of our church's resurrection! By your altars may we be prepared for the hour when the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is. Welcome, Brooklyn Tabernacle of 1890! POPULAB SCIENCE. During the last ten years an oculist of Cronstadt, Russia, is said to have treated thirty cases of photo-electric ophthal| mia, a new disease due to the action of the electric light on the eyes. M. Cornu,the Frcnch scientist,believes that the light of shooting stars cannot be rlno tr? rnmhjistfnn or heat, as SUDDOSed. but it is a phenomenon of static electricity developed by simple friction. In a recent issue of a Russian medical journal, a contributor emphatically calls attention to the common sunflowers as an excellent and cheap substitute for quinine in the treatment of malarial fevers of all possible forms. The German Government propose forming a botanical garden in the Cameroons, for the purpose of determining what plants, medicinal or commercial, are the best for cultivation in the plantations of Germany's African colonies. It is said to have been demonstrated at j the Paris Exposition that, by a combinaI tion of compressed air and water, it | will be possible to drive a train on ! slides over a hundred miles an hour. There is no smoke, no noise and scarcely j j any perceptible motion. Narrow chested recruits of the Prus- | j sian army are to be measured monthly, j j and those whose chests are not widened | j by drill are to be discharged as predis-! I posed to consumption, au are to db j considered narrow chested whose chests ! are less in circumference than half the length of their bodies. j The new and ingenious process brought, ! forward in London for the production of j aluminum steel is likely, it is claimed, to supercede all other methods. It consists simply in melting pig iron in contact with clay and a certain flux, the result i being a sonorous, incorrodible alloy, I containing 1.75 per cent, of alluminum. j In observations on eighty-two male I ! and twenty-eight female convicts Dr. ; Fradenigo, of Italy, has found them more 1 liable to ear diseases than law-abiding i citizens, but has detected no constant : relation between the obtuseness of touch, taste and smell so common in convicts and the sharpness of vision credited > them. Dr. Von Duhring has reported a case j ia which tuberculosis was transmitted by the earrings of a girl who died from consumption to another girl. Shortly after the second girl commenced to wear the earrings an ulcer, containing tubercle bacilli, formed on her left ear and she subsequently developed pulmonary consumption. An official report states that in England and Wales 546 persons were killed by lightning during the twenty-nine years from 1852 to 1880. The inhabitants of rural districts are found to suffer more from lightning than those of towns, while vicinity to the west and south coasts reduces the chances of injury by lightning, and distance from the coast 'and high land seems to increase them. A new ice machine of great capacity has recently been devised, in which the sulphurous anhydride hitherto employed for this purpose is replaced by a mixture of sulphurous and carbonic anhydride alone. The inventor of this arrangement explains the matter on the basis of the theory that some kind of molecular action, or rather reaction, occurs between the two gases when liquefied, in consequence of which the pressure exerted by the gas is much smaller than would be expected. By comparing modern skulls with those of the same race in an old monastery in the Kedrou Valley, Dr. Dight, nf the American College of Beirut, Syria, has shown that thirteen centuries have j added two inches to the circumference j and three and a half cubic inches to the j capacity of the Caucasian skull. The I brain is developed in the parts presiding I over the moral and intellectual functions, j growing higher and longer, without in-! crease of the lower portions, which give ! breadth to the head and in which the selfish propensities are centred. Sea.Gnll and Grow in a Fight. An Eastport picnic party visiting Casco | Island recently were attracted to a sound like that which an old-fashioned windmill might send forth in a gale. They went to the south side of the island, where they witnessed the astonishing sight of-a pitched battle being savagely waged between a sea-gull and a crow. It was a hard fought battle, but; the gray bird won, knocking the crow out so badly that he was easily captured by one of the party.?Portland (Me.) Prett. 1 ???w^?i????g SABBATH SCHOOL 1 INTERNATIONAL LESSON FOB NOVEMBER 10. has Lesson Text: "David's Grief tor AbB| * salom," II Samuel xviii., 18-33? V Golden Text: Prov. xriL, V 26 ? Commentary. V David, hearing of Absalom's rebellion, took his servants, and followed by six hon- v, dred faithful Philistines under Ittai the Gitj tite, fled from Jerusalem. Zadok and Abiathar also, with the Levites bearing the went with him, but David sent back the ark,' saying that if God delighted in him He would bring him back to his city and thrones1 Hushai, the archite, David's friend, was also sent back, in order that, perchance, he might be used of God to defeat the counsel of Ahithophel, who had turned traitor to David and become Absalom's counselor. It turned out as David had trusted it would; Absalom accepted the advice of Hushai rather that of Ahithophel, and Hushai sent word to David which led him and all who were with him to cross over Jordan to the other sided and thev came to Mahanaim, a LevitteaX city of God, where long before the angels of God met Jacob (Gen. xxxJL, 2). ah?Wn and his army also crossed the Jordan, and fVion fnllntTQ flio r\f tka VMWU ? v?v vw*w Vft VMW WIIIIWifM J and the death of Absalom at the *""yV? or Joab as he hung by his head in an oak. The verse immediately preceding the one which' begins our lesson says: 'They took Ah?lnm ana cast him into a great pit in thewoodjj " and'laid a very great heap of stones upon him " Thus perished beautiful Absalom. | 18. "Absalom's monument." This is the R. V. translation instead of "Abaalom'i place." Here is the record of something * this wicked, willful, wayward son has done in his lifetime that his name might be'perpe^ uated. In Absalom's life everything was for AbOr lom, and his name, and ,his pleasure; it might be said of him' as of Belshazzar, "The God In whan hand thy breath is, and whose are aU thy wata hast"thou not glorified." (Dan. v., 28.) The life of a Christian is to deny self and please^ God, magnifying His name; unto such He. says: "I will give in Mine house, and withjal^4| My walls, a place and a name better thaa4^^| sons and of daughters; I will give them a^^H everlasting name that shall not be cut ofT," 19,20. 'Then said Ahimaas the son of ?Za-I dok: Let me now run and bear the Kingtbk : ings." This was the son of Zadok the priest, ' ' and be had already endangered his life fbr( ? David when he and Jonathan, son; of Abiathar, brought word from Hushaite? . * David that he should flee across the Jordan ' i (chap, xvii.); now he is anxious to convey to , David what he thought would be glad tidings for him, but Joab will not consent. "Then said Joab to Cushi: Go tell the Star what thou hast seen." We do not know any-j thing more about this man than is here nj . corded, nor why Joab sent him instead of i Ahimaaz, unless the reason is found in this words "what thou hast seen." His name signifies "black," and he may have been a per-! sonal attendant upon Joab, and seems to have witnessed the killing of Absalom. 22, 23. "Then Ahimaaz ran by the way of| the plain and overran CoshL" This "power-, ful brother," for such is the significance of ;' his name, was so eager to bear tidings that , he again pleaded with Joab to let mm rain after Cusni, and Joab finally consented. He .<3 was so swift of foot that he outran Cushi and; got to David first. This reminds us of that! other disciple who outran Peter and came first to the sepulcher (John xx.. 4). J 24. "And David sat between the two S&tMU and the watchman went up to the roof oWr, the gate." "We now pass from the battle field) with its twenty thousand slain (verse 7), andj the monument which Absalom did not .build' for himself (the heap of stones)*, to beholdJ David as he receives the tidings from the me*- ,< sengers Ahimaaz and Cushi. 25. 26. "And the watchmen cried and told - the King." He sees first the one and then the other running alone, and he reports each toj the King as he comes in sight, and now we . may fancy the anxiety of th$ King's trembling heart till he hears the tidings. We arerte minded somewhat of Eli as he sat in the gata waiting to hear tidings of the battle, his hear* j vi? c a _V. _# rs i rt a 1 ireuiuuiig iui uig an ul vruu mini. xuui but Eli seoms to have been nearer to God than David, for Eli trembled for the Ark,; not for his sons, while David's only anj*jyf\ was his son. ' y. j 27,28. "All is well." This was'the shout of. \ Ahimaaz, as ho drew near to the King with) the tidings that the King's enemies wer? , , overcome. The watchman recognized Ahi-\ . maaz by his running, before he came near enough to be seen as to his features. Some of us want to do things just like other peo-j pie, but Scripture teaches us that God takes a man as he is, and works through one in one way and another in another way and all equally for His glory. Let us see Jesus only,; and yielding fully to Him, let Him work ml and through us by His spirit as He pleases. , 29,30. '"And the King said; Is tne young man Absalom safe?" Ahimaaz had cried? "It is well," but the King replies: "It is well with Absalom?" Ho seemed to have no heart for any but this wicked son. It is s' wonderful picture of human love. 31. "And Cushi said: Tidings, my Lord the King; for the Lord have avenged theej j this day of all them that rose up against thee." Thus from the mouth of tn$o witnesses the fact is established that the enemies of thai King are defeated. 32. "The enemies of mv Lord the King bs as that young man is." Still unaffected by the good tidings of the defeat of the enemy the King again asks: "Is the youne man Ab-i salom safer' and receives his reply in these not doubtful words, which declare tnat AbSSn lom is dead. The thing which he feared has come upon him, and now in his heart shown forth, and it is proved that wicked Absalom is more to him than his raitniui soiaiers or m captains or all his people. S3. "0 my son Ab salom! my son, my son fl Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O. Absalom my son, my son." Perhaps there are no more pathetic words in all Scripture H than these, but there are various ^*ys of looking at them. Absalom appears to bo in deed a lost soul, passing out into the black-; H ness of darkness forever, and well might H David wish to have died in his stead, for he was ready to meet God and Absalom waq B not; but then God was overruling all this H (xvii., 14), and He is infinitely wise and H good. David was in this grief for Absalom,' H honoring him more than God (1 Sam. ii., ; and while his great love is commendaMe;! his idolatry is not. Let those who foolishly H say, "I do not want to go to Heaven if my j wife, my husband, my son, my daughter,! t JM my brother or my sister is not there,'' con- *fl| sider well these words of ouf Lord Jeeus I Christ: "If any man come to Me, and hath H not liis father and mother, and wife and H children, and brethren and sisters, yea, his own life also, he cannot be (Luke xiv., 28.)?Lesson Helper.' B Ik tho memoir <$f T. T. Stoddart, fl the angler poet, ^hi3 daughter recounts H some anecdotes/of his literary friends. H JDe Quincey was one of them; and B Miss Stoddart gives some curious in- MB stances of his passion for reading.' H When staying at Christopher North's H ho would lie in bed for days, till he had H read all the new hooks his host pos-' H sessed, and then get up, dress, and be- H have like a sensible mortal. On one! H nrvmsinn Stoddart wa3 talking to the H professor in the library, when Dei Quinoey came in, dressed only in his' night shirt, and his arms full of books. He took no notice of the two, bat placed the books on the shelres, collectcd another armful, and left the' Hj oom. H A whiter in the United Service Magazine says that the stones used for scrubbing the decks of ships are called "holy stones," because the work IB was generally done on Sunday. But a II writer in the. Churchman says that they were so called because thoso who [J used them hod to go down on their HjH knees to do their work. V Bl A law-school for the purpose ol giving to the ladies of New York and others the opportunity to study law flfl and to qualify themselves for the ma&i MH agement of their own affairs is soon t be started.