The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, July 02, 1890, Image 6
t
THE SEA.
P&.vn is dim on the dark soft water.
,'Soft and passionate, dark and sweet;
Love's own self was the deep sea's daughter,
' Fair and flawless from faca to feat;
flailed of all when the world was golden,
Jjoved of lovers whose names beholden
^Thrill men's eyes as with light of olden
&* Days more glad than their flight was fleet.
Bo they sang; but for men that love her,
Bonis that hear not ber word in vain.
Earth baside her aad heaven above her
? Seem but shadows that wax and wane.
Softer than sleep are the sea's caresses,
tder than love that betrays and blesses,
her than spring when her flow erful
i tresses
Shake forth sunlight with shine and rain.
All the strength of the waves that perish
< fircaiic twnMth me and lauzhsand sichs.
Signs for love of the lifo they cherish,
Laughs to know that it lives and dies;
Dies for joy of its life and lives,
Thrilled with joy that its brief death givos,
Death whose laugh or whoso breath forgives
I ChaDges that bids it subside and rise.
?Algernon Charles Swinburne.
AME.
Ten years ago the railroad running
6outh from Calhoun was five years in the
future. A stage was run in its stead;
but little Dorsey, two mile3 and a half
southwest of Calhoun, being without
means of mail transfer, sent and brought
its mail by a daily pedestrian. For a
year this servitor was Anne Davis.
The employment of a woman was
new, but Anne's sharp need of the slender
salary gained her the appointment.
A small privilege, most girls would have
reckoned it, that of tramping five lonely
miles a day in all weathers; but to Anne
it was a boon.
SVio walV-pd hnrnoTP.arrl on a r/iinv Oe
tober morning. The mail had been
late, and she was afraid Sammy and
Polly might be home from school, and
wanting their dinner. The road was
? beautiful in summer, but now there was
mud to plod through, with rain dripping !
from the trees. Anne wore of necessity
an attire of short skirt and boy's boots; i
the mail-bag was slung over her shoul- 1
der, and her face glowed warm under
her soaked hat."
"Littlp late?" said the postmaster, :
sm\ling over his railing. He looked af- !
ter her as she hurried away, and wel- J
oomed the opportunity for speaking !
which the presence of an out-of-town
farmer afforded.
"That's the best girl I know," he said. ,
'Don't know as you can call her a girl? '
she does as much as any woman. Way
of it is, her mother had been a widow
half a dozen years, and she died a year
ago, and now Anne's head of the family. (
There's a boy a year or two older that
aint at home. He's been wild, Jim Davis .
has, and made his folks considerable
trouble. He's in Ingleby now; got a job
in the tool factory. There's two children,
and nobody but Anne to do for !
'em. And now she's took the mail- ]
carrying: she neccb the money, but it's
pretty hard on a girl. Well, she does as '
near what's right she know3 how, !
Anne Davis does."
Anne reached home before tho children.
They found her with her wet
clothes changcd, the kitchen fire crack- 1
ling, and the table set. Sammy was nine j
years old and Polly seven, and their realization
of trouble was small. They
loved and trusted their elder sister, and
took no worry to their small selves.
To-day they were fuil to the brim of a 1
fascinating subject. "We're going to
the fair!" said Sammy. "Mrs. Baldwin's
going to take us all in the two-seated 1
buggy to-morrow afternoon."
It was the county fair, ten miles away.
They had been once, and had magnified
memories, and their good fortune overwhelmed
them.
Their happiness was Anne's, and their
?ood times were not many. She kissed
lem as she bundled them up for school
again. Polly's shoes were too large and
Sammy's coat too small. They had been
givon them by neighbors, and Anne had
not the false pride to refuse the help she
gravely needed.
Sammy stopped in the door. "Anne,
there's Uncle Elias," he faltered. A little
old mau with a bundle was coming
through the gate.
Sammy and Polly, meeting him, hurried
on. They could never rid them-~i
;/]? ???
Dvi > is ui iuu iiAca mao uuuic xjuto ?uoyi
the bugaboo "codger"species; but Anne
met him on the step and took his bundle.
"Toler'ble, child," he responded to
her querry as to his health, and they had
no more conversation till he had dried
himself, eaten his dinner and filled his
pipe, and Anne had cleared the table and
sat down with some work.
The old man puffed away sleepily in
his hot corner. lie wa3 nearing eighty,
and had lived for some years on the charity
of his sister, Anne's great-aunt, who
helped Anno little and grudgingly. His
visits to Dorsey were the bright spots in
his life.
"Jim, you l:now," said Anne?she
had been barely able to wait before beginning
the subject?"Jim is in Ingleby.
He's got a good place in the tool factory;
he's sent me some money once."
"I'm glad on't," said the old man. "I
guess he's a good boy."
Anne dropped her work. All her soul
was in her facc as she looked at him. It
was not hard to see that here was touched
her greatest love and her greatest hope,
v. "He's a good boy, Uncle Elias," she
said. "He would never have done any
wrong if he hadn't been led into it."
"Nor nobody," said the old man, solelmly.
"But Jim?I wish you could know
how "^rood-hearted he is, Uncle Elias!"
a ffi?l r?rl UITa ttoo cr\ rrnnrl f n
VUV ?}*** VilUUi i.lW ?T CVJ ij J 0uyu bC
mother! lie never meant to hurt her. It
was Iliram Sleeker and that bad set; he
got to going up town with thorn evenings,
and doing what they did. O Uncle
Elias, I can't forget it?that worst night,
vrhca they'd all been up to the saloon
and came home late?1 can't forget!"
"No. Your poor ma!"
"It was that that stopped him; lie
didn't want to hurt mother. He was
better after that, and ever since." But
a shadow on her facc found expression.
"I'm afraid, Unclc Elias. They're a
rough set in the factory; I've always
heard so. It won't be Hiram Meeker,
but it might be somebody else. Do you
thiuk so?" she said, wistfully.
"Nobody's going to make him do
wrong if he wants to behave himself,"
Baid the old man.
"He'll mean to," said Anne. "Ho
promised mother."
Uncle Elias, his withered face red with
the comforting heat, blinked at her.
"Ycur heart's sot oa him," he said.
Somebody outride was calling her; it
bad sto] ped rain ng. It was Mrs. Bald
wia ia her buggy. Shs talked about
the fair; she "knew the children would
be tickled to go," and it would do Anne .
good. Then, with an unwilling cough, '
she produced a newspaper.
"I don't s'pose there's a thing to worry
about," she said. "If you go to fret- <
ting, I'll be sorry I spoke. It's an Ingle-, i
by paper. There's a fuss at the factory; i
the hands are on a strike, but I don't <
s'pose Jim's mixed up in it."
"A man shot!" Anne gasped. J
"A foreman. Shot, but ain't dead. I >.
shouldn't wonder if Jim had kep' out of i
it; he wouldn't been likely to throw up <
a good place the minute he got it."
"No," said Anne, but her hand, hold* 1
ing the paper, trembled. <
"If we hear any more we'll let you 1
know, but don't you go to fretting," 1
Mrs. Baldwin repeated. She drove away, 1
and Anne, remembering her fire as she
- " ' ' J -t- - J
turned back, went to tue woou-sueu.
The clouds had broken over an autumnal
yellow sky, and a cold wind was 1
spriuging up. She had piled her strong
arms full, and was turning, when some- <
thing crouched in a coiner rose. i
"You needn't be seared," it said. "I ']
ain't going to touch you." t
It was a boy, under-sized and slight, i
but a look at his face showed Anne that s
he was older than herself. He looked i
like a tramp, with his bundle done up in i
a handkerchief and mud-drabbled
clothes. 8
' 'Do you want anything?something to S
cat?" she said, gently, for she thought of
Jim. "Come in and I'll give you some- i
thing. You're cold." His teeth chat- s
tered. 1
He followed her in, and she drew a 1
chair and brought him food. He pressed t
forward to warm his chilled hands, but
ate little. His eyes roved uneasily, and j
at an abrupt movement of Uncle Elias in
his sleep he started. 8
"Every woman so far's been afraid of t
me," he said, in sullen tones. "They <
needn't be. I ain't a tramp, nor a thief, c
nor a murderer. That's what they say I t
am," he ended, narrowly eyeing her. c
Her first thought was tnac cms was i
strange, foolish bravado, but the boy sat j
bitterly smiling. His face was a weak p
and yet a bad one; his eyes had a shal- t
low yet a hardened look. i
"I can prove it easy enough," he went t
on. Desperation and a pitiful wistfulnes3
mingled in his face. "Do you know t
how far I've tramped since yesterday?" \
be demanded. '-From Ingleby. Thirty 3
miles." r
"Ingleby?" a
"I've had a job in the tool-factory over
there." Whatever his confession was, t
he wavered on the verge of it, in dread s
of its effect.
"Did you know the other hands? Did
you know Jim Davis?" Anae questioned,
Eagerly. s
The boy gaped at her, his face chang- t
ing. "Do you?" he demanded. "I t
heard he come from round here. You t
know him?"
"Yes." Something held Anne from t
saying more, and the boy went on bur- a
riedly: v
"They think I shot McCormick 1 They 4
1 1 * L 1 ofnoirrVif
DC116VC 1L, UUCJUbC 1 iiaiuu jvcpu oua^uv
incc I been there. Well, there's others ^
beea bad as me, and worse, and Jim I
Davis is one. I know Jim Davis. We s
was thick enough one time. Now he c
turns on mc; sneaks out of this, and lays j"
it on to me. I'lllivctogct it back on 1
him 1" said the boy fiercely. a
uThcy think 'twas meat the bottom of
the strike," he went on. "It was Jim c
Davis more'n anybody. He said we was 3
slaving for starvation waged, and he'd 5
put in for more and see it through, and
he stuck to it. I'd backed out more'n s
oncc if Jim Davis hadn't kep' us to it. It *
was him heading us when it happened. r
He wanted to go up to McCormick's and *
get a fuss going; he thought 'twas Mc- 3
Cormick holding the bosses against us, '
and he was down on him. He wa'n't
quite sober, you see. He was the one 1
that called McCormick out and went at 1
him about leaving town or getting hurt, *
and then when McCormick talked back 1
and showed ho wa'n't afraid, Jim was <
crazy. He took out his pistol and fired, 1
and it bit him in the side and he fell 1
over. Didn't I see him I I didn't have
a pistol; any of the fellows knew that. *
mrrL 1.1 1.^1- 1-! Zt
mey coiuu provu a ij^uy " tucji na u ?
a set of cowards! Well, he settled things s
for me, Jim Davis did. He said I shot 1
him, and the whole town thinks so. I \
might's well done it, I wouldn't been no j
worse. I was right up with Jim Davis '
all through, like a fool. Seeing I didn't," J
said the boy, his voice hoarsened by his
dreary monologue, "I hadn't ought to *
pay for it. I shall, if they get hold of 1
me. Some of 'em said I better get out t
the way and I did. They'll be after me (
fast enough, and then, Lord knows!" )
The poor girl who had heard him sat
still, benumbed when he had done. The 1
fire's crackling and Uncle Elias's peace- *
ful breathing were all that broke the t
silence. t
Jim, whom her love and hope had .
been centred in! How much she had 1
loved him and hoped from him she had
not realized till now; now that her ten- !
der trust was betrayed as she had never J
dreamed it could be. Jim! kind-hearted '
Jim, with his honest eyes so like his j *
mother's, the mother lie had promised J
never a?ain to hurt. That he had for- J
gotten! This, if she had been alive, 1
would have killed her. 1
What had led to it? It was strangely j s
unlike Jim?this awful thing. He hud I *
never becu riotous and bad: never a lead- (
% ' A
cr in wrong-doing, only a follower. 1
Cutoff in that rough place alone, with ?
bad companions and conrsc influences? '
it had, she felt, transformed him, and so I
soon, into something different from the
brother she had known.
Yet she could not doubt the boy. lie
was a poor little specimen of humanity
?a coward now, that had lately been !
a ruffian and bully. But one look into
his miserable face assured her that he
told the truth.
"What are you going to do?'' she said
at lust, in a voice which did not sound
like hers.
"I'm going to get caught and took
back to Iugleby/' he answered, "and if
McCormick dies"?lie stopped with n
store, "I'm used up now; I can't get
much further. They'll track mo easy "
enough. Jim Davis '11 put out, and
they'll have rac back to pay for what he's
done."
"lie may tell them," said Anne. But L
the boy*3 reply was a sneering laugh. t
IIow long she sat, looking down at the t
floor, bright from her yesterday's scrub- r
biug, she did not know. She hardly I
knew the train of her thoughts. All s
that seemed plain co her was the duty i
which was forcing itself upon her. [
Was it a duty? If it was, had she t
strength to do it? Sho had found s
strength so far for all that had come to s
her hand, aad it had not been little. Her j
mother's words, almost her last, had never
left her: "Do what you know is right,
Anne. Be strong enough, and do it.
There is no happiness for us but in doing
Dur duty."
But this was like nothing she had
ever known. He was her brother,
though he had sunk so far from her as to
:lo this thing. Ho was Jim, and she
:ould love him no less, nor ever would.
What was this boy to her? He was innocent
and Jim was guilty, and he would
suffer and Jim would go free. She pitied
the boy. But could she? O Jim!
0 Jim!
Finally she went and stood before tho
joy. "If they don't find you when they
lome after you," she said, her voice
trembling, "that will give you a chance,
won't it? Then they might find out?
.vho did it!"
"They'll find me," he returned.
"You don't as>k me to help you."
"I didn't think you would," he said,
jlankly.
<<T will " Anns said, slowly. "You
didn't do it, and you shouldn't suffer for
t; it couldn't be right! I could hide
jou here till they have come and gone,
md then you can go home. You must
lot pay for what he did. If I can
tave you from it I will. There is a gar et
room nobody goes into, and nobody
,vill know."
Uncle Elias was stiiring wakefully and
ihc could hear the children's voices.
She opened the stair door hurriedly.
The boy looked at her as he passed
lp. She was feeling chilled and strange,
io long had the tension been and so great
ler effort, but the boy's face, with its
lalf-abashed glow, sent a warm thrill
;hrough her.
"I'll never forget you for this," he
.aid.
Her decision and her deed gave her
itrength, of a kind. 8he went through
he day as she would otherwise have
lone. She got supper, attended to the
ihildren's wants, and all the evening
alked with Uncle Elias. When the
:hildren were in bed and she had helped
Jncle Elias up stairs, she made up a
jlateful of food and took it up to the
farrct room, 'me Doy was asicep, wica
he hard lines smoothed out of his face,
ts badness softened, She left the plate
?cside him and stole away.
Early next morning, as she bent over '
he fire cooking the breakfast, she heard
vheels, and saw Sammy run through the
rard iu answer to the call of a man in a
nud-splashed buggy. He drove away
ifter a word, and Sammy ran in.
"He wanted to know if we'd seen a
>oy tramping through here yesterday, "he
aid, round-eyed. "I told him no."
His tlster looked away from him.
Vhere was Jim?
It was not till the children had gone to
chool and Unclc Elias out for an airing
hat she could go to the garret. She
ook the remains of the breakfast, and
old the boy of the man in the buggy.
"I'll go, then," he said, with a long
>reath. "I'll cut over to the north road
nd keep on there, and he'll go back
rithout me. Me! they'd better get after
he right one."
She stood in the door, a few minutc3
ater, and watched him go. Then sho
>ut on her mail-carrying uniform of
hort skirt and boots, and went on her
lally journey. Yesterday it had been
aining, but she had been happy; to-day
t was fragrantly warm and sunny, but
.11 the light was gone out of her life.
Suddenly at a turn in the road she saw
oming toward her rapidly a figure, the
ight of which made her gasp and stand
still.
"Well, Anne! I thought I'd meet you
oraewhere along," a hearty voice called
o her. "I got into Calhoun on the
norning freight and I started right
lomc. I'll turn round and go back with
ou, Anne. Here, let me have the mail)ag."
Her brother kis3ed her. Without a
vord or a question she knew, as she
ft*. omiltnrt fmah faPO fVinf. ftll
UUA.CU Uli UIO OUilUU^i iiviju <uvw v**m?
hat had been cruelly weighing her down
,vas the nightmare it had seemed. Her
jyes filled with tears as she looked at him,
;ears of thanksgiving so great that her
leart seemed to stand still with it.
"What have you come home for, Jim?"
?he whispered; they walked on together.
"There's a strike at the factory," he
laid. "There's been a rough time?one
nan's been hurt. I wasn't in it, Anne,
ibout twenty of us wasn't. "We didn't
ioin in. The foreman and manager know
t, and they've promised us work right
ilong and first chance for more wages.
There aint anything doing just now,
:hings are so stirred up, and the. ones
;hat lived near enough have gone home
;ill to-morrow. I started the minute I
:ould; I've been homesick enough for
rou and the children, Anne."
He turned to her, lifting his hat from
lis warm forehead and eagerly smiling,
she took his hand in hers tightly, and
;old him all her strange story in ono
xembling breath.
"0 Jim!" she said. "And I believed
tall!"
He paused for a little, blankly. "Anne,
le wasn't lyiug," he said. "It was Jim
"inviu clinf him nnrl nuprvhfldv knOWS it l
w ""*w" J
low. Anne, I wish you could see tho
>ther Jim Davis. Its been a sort of u
oke with the fellows, our name being
ilike?it ain't so uncommon?and us
>eing so different. lie's six feet, and the
oughest-looking you ever saw. He
ihot McCormick, and he laid it on Mat
)emming; that was Mat Damming that
:ame here. I know him, but I don't
rain with him. But McCormick's better,
tnd Jim Davis ain't so seared, and
ic let out that he did the shooting. He's
irrested, but he'll get off, that's what
hey say. I'm sorry for little Mat Dcmning,
it was rough on him. But it's the
>ad compauy he's been in, and?
"Anne," he broke off, "I don't havo
mything to do with that crowd. I've
cept straight, and twill! You needn't
lave believed it. I know why; but you
leedn't have, Anne. I'm done with it.
)on't you think I've got a spark of man
mess m me, to seo you wonting ucru
iko this, doing things no girl ever (lid
>efore, and not do iny part?
"Didn't I promise mother? Anne, you
leedn't be afraid. You won't ever have
o worry about mc again?never!''?
Youth's Companion.
Riparian Accretions
The rule that the owners of land
)ounded by running streams arc entitled
o the additions to their land formed by
he current of the river is not changed or
nodificd by the peculiar character of the
Missouri Biver, which frequently causes
udden and sometimes material changes
n the adjoining land. The rule is ap>licable
to lands adjoining that river aud
o changes suddenly made the same as if
uch changes were the result of slow
md '"raporcoptible accretions.? PrairU
Farmer* ... J, . |
" 'IV- '* - ~.
CUK10US FACTS.
Envelopes were first used in 1839.
Telescopes were invented in 15 90.
A barrel of rice weighs 600 pounds.
The first lucifer match was made in
1829.
A Chicago Judge has discovered a law
which forbids firemen to enter a burning
building.
Guttcnbcrg, the iuveutor of printing,
is said to have had a lawsuit over his
trade mark.
The present national colors of the
United States were not adopted by Congress
until 1777.
France has half as many people as the
United States, but her national debt is
twice as great as ours.
Cannon cast for the British Government
are now fitted with a devise by
which the guns can be aimed at night.
An odd freak of nature is exposed in
some of the bananas lately received.
Some are noticed where a part of the
nnrofl in fnnt H
U UULUU3 iO ^icgu auu uutb A vv. , *..* *.
single banaua is sometimes divided in
color.
A giant named Catoni, who wa3 more
than seven feet high and proportionately
stout, has just died in Italy after having
collected two thousand dollars from a
museum in Rome for the right to his
skeleton.
The dog-house of Colonel North, the
South American nitrate king, at London,
is a perfect canine palace, filled with
costly animals. The best dog co3t $5250.
There is a dressing-room and a cloakroom
filled with dogs' coats, and fresh
shoulders of mutton make the dogs' daily
dinner.
The Piince of "Wales, Albert Edward,
recently ordered an Axminster carpet
made in one solid piece, with twentyseven
irregular projections. The manufacturer
who received the order was in
despair, but succeeded so well that when
it was laid it fitted like the traditional
"paper on the wall."
A curious fact is noticed in connection
with the formation of barnacles on ships'
bottoms. In the majority of casee there
is a much heavier growth of grass and
barnacles on one side than on the other,
and in numerous instances one side will
be almost free from marine growths,
while the other is as foul as possible.
The ancients placed an immense value
on their gems. In looking up the subjects
one finds the following quotations:
The pearl given to Servillia by Julius
Ccesar was valued at $24,000; the gems
on the scabbard of Mithridates were valued
at $37,SCO; the value of the pearl
swallowed by Cleopatra is placed at
$25,000; the gems worn by Lollia Paulina,
wife of Caligula, wore valued at$l,600,000.
Baldness and Its Causes.
There are many different opinions as
to the cause of baldness. Some of the
eminent -medical authorities state that it
is caused by a form of dandruff. This,
it is claimed, has been verified by taking
the hair which has fallen off in such
nunj rnKKinrr if nn with Tiiwlinfi. find
-r 1 I
after applying the ointment so made to
the fur of rabbits baldness has rapidly
made it appearance on the part3 so
treated. When vaseline alone was used
this result did not follow. The same authority
says that the disease is spr?ad by
I hair dressers, who employ comb3 and
brushes on their customers, one after
another, without regard to the cleanliness
of those articlc3. Women are less
I liable to be effected by this form of baldness,
for the reason that their hair is
usually dressed at home.
On the other hand some claim that too
frequent cutting of the hair is detrimental.
The hair in some respects resembles
a tree. Suppose the gardener
were to clip all the limbs from a tree, regardless
of the season of the year, as
soon as they were two or three feet in
length. How long could the tree be expected
to survive? There is a fluid substance
in each hair from which the hair
*1 A. i.1 IU*
gCCS lis Dourisuaiuuu mi; sumi; aa lug hcc
gets its life and growth from the sap
which is conducted from its root3. Break
the bark of a tree and you will aoon see
the sap running down ?he trunk. The
same thing is believed to take place when
a hair is cut, only it is not visible to the
naked eye. A number of the better class
of barbers are endeavoring to overcome
this evil by singeing the ends of the hair
after cutting. This hermetically seals
the ends and prevents the escape of any
fluid. This operation is performed with
the aid of a small wax taper. The hair
i9 raised from the head with a comb and
the lighted taper passed rapidly across
the ends. The operation is neither tedious
nor unpleasant. Those that practicc
this style of treating the hair state !
that much good ha3 resulted from the i
process,? Washington Star. <
? i
riowing with Sticks. l
l
It would make an hone3t American i
farmer smile out loud to sec the way the I
land is plowed by Peruviana. From
six to a dozen teams of oxen are put at t
work in a field of twenty or thirty acres. ^
The oxen arc yoked by tying a heavy c
beam across their forehead and in front I
of the horns. To this beam the plow a
is attached, nil the forcc being applied c
by the head iustead of the shoulders. ^
The plow is a crooked stick or [
branch of a tree, the point faced with o
iron. Peruviaus contend that they dc J
not need to plow more than two or 0
three inches deep, simply enough to loosen
the soil so as to enable the seed to J
take root. The water used in irragatiug *
is said to be rich in plant food, further a
obviating the necessity of deep plow
ing. ~ s
Improved plows suitable for the a
country are uow manufactured in Europe ii
and the United States, but they arc very ii
different from the plows used by an
American farmer. They are light and ?
small, haviHg a close resemblance to the I
original crooked stick. s
Every Peruvian plow has but one ?
handle. The driver carries in one hand ii
a huge goad twelve or fifteen feet in P
length, with which to touch up his team,
and he manages the plow with the v
other hand. The irrigating ditches must d
then be connected with the canal which 0
brings the water from the river and ^
which traverse the field at a distance of t
three to four feet apart and are six to d
eight inches deep. a
They are so arranged that the whole ^
field can be instantly flooded by turning E
on the water, aud every hill of corn or v
potatoes or sugar cane will be thorough- "
ly soaked. Of course, the fields must ?
elope in the right direction, and if t
nature has so made it the level is reduced I
Bufficieuth before it is Dlowed. .. j
REV. DR. TALMAUJi.
THE BROOKLYN DIVINE'S SUN
DAY SERMON.
Subject: "Tlie Prodigal Son."
Text: " Whcnhe was yet a great way off,
his father saw him, and had compassion
on him, and ran, and fell on his neck, and
Iqssed him,"?Luke xv., 20.
One of the deepest welJs that inspiration
ver opened is this well of a parable whica
wo can never exhaust. The parable, I suppose,
wa3 founded on facts. 1 have described
to you the goiug away of this prodigal
son from his father's house, and I have
snown you what a hard time he had down in
the wilderness, and what a very great
mistake it was for him to leave so beautiful
a home for such a miserable desert.
But he did not always stay in tho wilderness;
ho came back after a while. We do
not read that his mother came to greet bim.
I suppose she was dead. Sho would have
been the first to come out. The father
would have given the second kiss to the returning
prodigal; the mother tho first. It
mav have been for the lack of her example
and prayers that he became a prodigal
Sometimes the father does not know how
to manage the children of the hous3hold.
The chief work cornea upon the mother.
Indeed, no ono ever gets over the calamity
of losing a mother in early life. Still this
young man was not ungrooted when he came
back.
However well appareled wo may be in the
morning when wa start out on a journey, before
night, what with the dust and tucjostling,
we have lost all cleanliness of appearance.
But this prodigal, whan ha started
from the swine trough^ was ragged and
wretched, and his appearance, after ho had
gone through days of journeying and exposure,
you can more easily imagine than
describe. As the people see this prodigal
coming on homeward, they wonder who he
is. They say: "I wonder what prison ho
has broken out of. I wonder what lazaretto
he has escaped from. I wonder with what
plague he will smite jthe air." Although
these people may have been well acquainted
with the family, yet they do not imagine
that this is the very young man who wentofT
only a little while ago with quick step, and
ruddy cheek, and beautiful apparel. The
young man, I think, walks very fast. He
looks as though ho were intent upon something
very important. The peoplo stop.
They look at him. Thoy wonder where he
came from. They wonaer whero he is going
to.
You have heard of a son who went ofif to
sea and never returned. All the peoplo in
the neighborhood thought the son would
never return, but the parents camo to no
such conclusion. They would go by the
nour ana uay ana sic upon iuo uuuuu, ??&
ing off upon the water, expecting to see tho
sail that would bring home the long absent
boy. And so I think this father of my text
sat upon the vino looking out toward tho
road on which his son had departed; but
the lather has changed very much since
we saw him last. His hair has become
white, his cheeks are furrowed, his heart
is broken. What is all his bountiful table
to him whon his son may be lackiug bread?
What is all the splendor of the wardrobe
of that homestead when the sou may not
have a decent coat? What are all the sheep
on that hillside to that father when his pet
lamb is gone? Still be sits and watches,
looking out on the road, and one day he beholds
a foot traveler. He sees him rise above
the hill; first the head and after awhile the
entire body; aud as soon as he gets a, fair
glance of him ho knows it is his recreant son.
He forgets tho crutch, and the cane, and the
stiffness of tho ioints. and bounds away. I
think the people all around are amazad.
They said: "It is ouly a footpad. It is only
some old tramp of the road. Don't go out to
meet him." The father knew better.
The change in the son's appsarance could
not hide the marks by which the father
knew the boy. You know that persons of a
great deal of independence of character are
apt to indicate it in their walk. For that
reason tho sailor always has a peculiar step,
not only because tie stands much on shipboard
amid the rocking of the sea, and he has to
balance himself, but he has for the most uark
an independent character, which would snow
in his gait, even if he never went on the sea;
and we know from what transpired afterward,
and from what transpired before, that
this prodigal son was of an independent and
frank nature; and I suppose that the characteristics
of his mind and heart were the
characteristics of hi3 walk. And so the
father know him. Ho puts out his witherod
arms toward him; he brings his withered
face against the pale cheek of his son; ho
kisses the wan lips; he thanks God that the
long agony is over. "When he was yet a
great way off, his father saw him, aud had
compassion, and rail, and fell on his neck,
and kissed him."
Oh, do you not recognize that Father?
Who was it? It is God! I have no sympathy
with that cast-iron theology which
represents God as hard, severe and vindictive.
God is a Father?kind, loving, lenient,
gentle, long-suffering, patient, and He flies
to our immortal rescue. Oh, that we might
realize it. A wealthy lady in one of the
eastern countries was going off for some
time, and she asked her daughters for soma
memento to carry with her. One of the
daughters brought a marble tablet, beautifully
inscribed, and another daughter
brought a beautiful wreath of flowers.
The third daughter came and said: "Mother,
I brought neither flowers nor tablet, but
here is my heart. I have inscribed itallover
with your name, and wherever you go it will
go with you." The mother recognized it as
tii? hiwt nf nil lhf? mAimnntnes f)h. thatAur
30ula might go oat toward our Father; that
our hearts might be written all over with
the evidences of His loving kiadne*3, and
that we might never again forsake Him.
In the first place, I notice in this text the
father's eyesight; in tha second place, I notice
the father's haste; anl, in the third
place, I notice tha father's kiss.
To begin: The father's eyesight. "Whan
ho was a great way off his father saw him."
You have noticed how oil peoplo sometimes
put a book off on the otaer side of the light.
They can see at a distance a great deal easier
than they can close by. I do not know
Whether this father could see well that whicli
was noar by, hut I do know ha could sea
jreat way off.. "His father saw him." Porlaps
he had baen looking for the return of
lhat boy especially that day. 1 do not know
jut that he hid been in prayer, and that Go J
lad told him that that day the recreant boy
ivould come home. "Tha father saw him a
jreat way off."
I wonder if God's eyesight can descry us
vhen wo are coming back to Him? The
ext pictures our condition?we are a great
vuy off. That young man wa9 not farther
iff from his father's housa, siu is not farther
>ff from holiness, hall is not farther off from
loaveu, than we have bean by our sin; away
iff from our God, aye, so far off that we
?.1.1 ..~i tlic r.iioi HirviTh vslm-n^nfclir
(JUIU HJJ 1-lO.Vl UM .w.vw, - .^v.0.. f
I'j has called u-? year after year. I do not
:now what bad habits you may have
orined, or i? wlntovil pla333 you have beau,
ir what false notions you may havo oatarained;
but you are ready to acknowledge,
f your heart ha3 not been changed by the
jaeo of God, that you are a great way off
-aye, so far that you cannot get back of
'ourselves. You would like to come back.
iye, this moment you would start, if it were
lot for this sin, and that habit, and tab dLsidvantage.
But I am to tell you of the Fatlnr's eye*
ight. "He saw him a great way o.T." He
ias seen all your frailties, all your struggle,
11 your disadvantages. He has been lougig
for your coming. Hj has not beju loo'cng
at you with a critic's eye or a bailiffs eye,
ut with a fathers eye; and if a parent ever
itied a child, God pities you. You say:
'Oli, I had so many evil surrouadiugi when
* * 1 " " -*r T7?- i.U
SDal'Cea me." _ I our r?ma aotn 11/. .iuu
ay: "I have so many bad surroundin g now,
ad it is very difficult for me to break away
rom evil associations." Your Father seo3
t, and if you should start lnavenward?as I
iray you may?your Father would not sit
llydown and allow you to struggle on up
o ward Him. Oh.no! Seeing you a great
ray off He would fly to the rescue. How long
loos it tako a father to leap into the middle
f the highway if his child bo there and a
wift vehicle is coming aud may destroy
iim? Five hundred times longer than it
akos our heavenly Father to spring to the
sliveranca of n lost child. "Whan ho was
, great way off his father saw him."
And this brings mo to notice the father's
aste. The Bible says he ran. No wonder!
Ie did not know but that the younjj man
rould change his ruind aud go back. Ho did
lot know but that he would drop down from
xhaustion. Ho did not know but that somehiiig
fatal might overtake him before he got
ip to thedoorsill; and so the father ran. Tho
Bible, for the most part, speaks of God as i
talking. "In the fourth watch of the night,"
t says, "Jesus came uuto them walking oa 1
> ss?
the sea." "He walketh upon the wings of
the wind." Our first parents heard the voice
of the Lord, walking in the garden in the
cool of the day; but when a sinner starts
out for God the father runs to meet him. Oh t
If a man ever wants help it i3 when he tries
to become a Christian. The world says to
him: "Back with you. Have more spirit.
Don't be hampered with religion. Time
enough yet. Wait until you get sick. Wait
uiftilyougetold." Satan jays: "Back with
you; you aro so oad that viod will have nothing
to do with you;" or, "You are good
enough and need no Redeemer. Take thine
ease, eat, drink and be merry." Ten thousand
voices say: "Back with you. Goi is a
hard master. The church is a collection of
hypocrites. Back into your sins; back to
vour evil indulgences; back to your prayerless
pillow. The silliest thing that a young
man ever does is to come home after he has
been waudering." (JIi, how much help a man
does want when ho tries to become a Christian
! Indeed, the prodigal cannot find hi3
way home to Ills father's house alone. Unless
some one comes to meet him he had better
have stayed by the swine troughs.
When the tido comes in you might more
easily with your broom sweep back tin
surges than you could drive back the ocean
of your unforgiven transgressions. What
are we to do? Are we to fight the battlo
alone, and trudge on with no ons to aid us,
and no rock to shelter U3, and no word of
encouragement to cheer U3? Glory be to
God, we have in the text the announcement:
"When he was yet a great way off his father
ran." When the sinner starts for God, God
starts for the sinner. God doe3 not como
out with a slow and hesitating pace. The
inGnite spaces slip beneath His feet and He
takes worlds at a bound. "The father ran."
Oh. wonderful meeting wheu GoJ and the
soul coma together. ~ "The father ran."
You start for Goi and God starts for yoo,
and you maet; and while the angels rejoica
over the masting your long injuroi Father
falls upon your neck with attestations of compassion
and pardon. Your poor, wandering,
sinful, polluted soul and the loving, eternal
Father nave met.
I remark upon the father's kiss. "He fell
on his neck," ray text says, "and kissed
him." It is not every father that would
have done that way. Some would have
scolded him, and said: "Here, you went off
with beautiful clothes, but now you are all
in tatters. You went off healthy, and coma
back sick and wasted with your dissipations."
He did not say that. The son, all haggard and
ragged and filthy and wretched, stood before
his father. The father charged him with
none of his wanderings. He just racaived
him. He just kissed him. Hid wretchedness
was a recommendation to that father's
love. Oh, that father's kiss! How shall I
describe tho love of God??the ardor with
which He receives a sinnar back again?
Give ma a plummet, with which I miy
fathom this sea. Give raa a ladder with
which I can scale this height. Give ma
words with which I can dascriba this love.
The apostl93 say in one placa, "unsaarohI
able;" in another, "past finding out."
I TT.J-.Lt L ~I1 u~:~u_
ELeigUb uvorujwnug on uaiguu, u^>u
ing boneath all doptti; breadth co:npa33in?
all immansity.
Oh, this lore! God so loved tha world, He
love3 you. Don't you believe it? Ha? He
not done everything to make you think so?
He has given you life, health, frienis,
home?the use of your hand, the sight of
your eye, the hearing of your ear. He has
screven your path with mercies. He has fel
you, clothed you, sheltered you, defended
Sou, loved you, importuned you all your
felong. Don't you believe He loves yoa?
Why, if now you should start up from the
wilderness of your sin Ha would throw both
arms around you. To make you baliove that
Ho love3 you He stoopad to mangw aui cross
and sapulchre. With all the passions of Hi*
holy nature roused He stands before you today,
and would coax you to happiness au I
heaven. Oh, this Fataar's kiss! There is so
much meanlnz and love and comoas3ionin it:
so muca pardon in It; so much heaven in it.
I proclaim Him the Lord God, meroifal,
gracious and long suffering, abundant in
goodness and truth. Lest you would not bilieve
Him He goes up Golgotha, and while the
rocks are rending, and the graves aro opening,
and the mobs are howling, and the sun
is hiding, He dies for you. See Him! See
Him on the Mount of Crucifixion, the sweat
| on ms Drow nngea wita iaa oiooa exuauig
from His lacerated temples I See His oyes
swimming in death I Hear the loud breathing
of the suffeoer as He pants with a world
on His heart! Hark to tae fall of the blood
from brow and hand and foot on the rocks
beneath?drop I drop! drop! Look at the
nails! How wide the wounds are I Wider do
they gape as His body comes down upon
them. Oh I this crucifixion agony! Tears
melting into tears. Blood flowing into blood.
Darkness dropping on darkness. Hands of
men joined with bands of devils to tear apart
the quivering heart of the Son of God!
Oh. will Ho never speak again? Will that
crimson face never light up again? He will
speak again; while the blood is suffusing His
brow, and reddening His cheek, and gathering
on nostril and lip, and you think He is
exhausted and cannot speak. He cries out until
all the ages hear Him: ''Father, forgive
thorn, they know not what they do!" Iv'
there no emphasis in such a scene as that to
make your dry eves weep ani your hard
heart break? Will you turn your back upon
it, and say by your actions what the Jews
said by their words: "His blood be onus,
and on our children?" What does it all
mean, my brother, my sister? Why, it means
that for our lost race there was a Father's
kiss. Love brought Him down. Love opened
the gate. Love led to the sacrifice. Love
shattered the gra^e. Love lifte 1 Him up in
rocurrAcrtrin Sovereign love? Omnipotent
lore I Infinite love! Bleeding love! Everlasting
love!
Oil. for thU tore lot roiks and bUl]
Their listing sileaco break;
And all harmonloaa human tongues
The Savioir'a praise; apsak.
Now, will yon accept that Father's kiss?
The Holy Spirit comes to you with His arousing,
melting, alarming, Inviting, vivifying
influence. Hearer, what creates in thee that
unrest? It is the Holy Ghost. What influence
now tells thee that it is time to fly, that
to-morrow may be too late; that there is one
door, one road, one cross, one sacrifice, one
Jesus? It is the Holy Ghost.
My most urgont word is to those who. like
the young man of my text, are a great way
off, and they will start for home, and they
will get home. They will yet preach the Gospel,
and on communion days carry around
the consecrated bread, acceptable to everybody,
because of their holy life and their
consecrated behavior. The Lord is going to
save you. Your homo has got to be rebuilt.
Your physical health has got to bo restored.
Your worldly business has got to be reconstructed.
The Church of God is going to rejoice
over your, discipleship. You are not
Gospel hardeneJ. You nave not heard
or read many sermons during the last few
years. You do not weep, but the shower is
not far off. You sigh, and you have noticed
that there is always a sigh in the wind before
the rain falls. |
There are those who would give anything
if they could find relief in tears. They say:
"Oh, my wasted life! Oh, tho bitter past!
Ob, the graves over which I have stumbled!
Whither shall I fly? Alas for the future!
Everything is dark?so dark, so dark. God
help me! God pity ine!" Thank the Lord !
for that last utterance. You have begun to j
pray,and when a man begins to petition, that '
sats all heaven flying this way, and GoJ step3 1
in and beats back th3 bounds of temptation
to their kennel, and around about the poor
wounded soul puts the cover of His pardoning
mercy. Hark! I hear something fall.
HTiat was that? It is the bars of the fence 1
around the sheepfold. The shepherd lets 1
them down, and the hunted sheep of the 1
mouutain bound in; some of them their fleece '
torn with the brambles, some of them their J
feet lamo with the dogs; but bounding in. 1
Thank Qotil Saved for tuns, and saved for J
eternity, J
A member of tlie Stanley expedition ;
was asked what was the first news they ;
had froir Europe after their "wander- i
ings i:i the wilderness." "It was con- ;
taiaed," he replied, "in a letter from (
the English consul at Zanzibar, and I J
well remember his words. 'The Emperor
William of Germany,' he wrote, 'is
dead; his soV Frederick, who succeeded
him, is dead; his grandson,
William, is now on the throne. But,
thank God, Queen Victoria still lives,
and is well, and reigus over dear old
England.^
Senator Beck made his will D?arly
thirty-five years ago, and most of those
mentioned in it are dead. One feature!
of it is that the husbands of his daughters
should have no right to spend any '
part of the bequests Jo the daughters. I 1
.
?
j RELIG10US_READINO. I
CARED FOR. *!lS!( ""}.
I know not where my path may lie
Atoss life's trackless deep; , v
I trust my way to One on high,
Who promises to kceD. Wt
"Where'er it be He taketh me, H
'Neath clouded skies or fair;
Full well' 1 know I cannot drift
.Beyond His love and care."
-1
The dark'ning clouds, the rising wave, ?,
For me can have.no dread; ; :j
My Father's presence makes me brave,
While by His wisdom led; _
He's close'at hand, at my command,
Attentive to my prayer;
Full w ell '*1 know I cannot drift
Bcyoud His love and care."
I know not when the stormy sea
My fragile bark may toss;
I know not what in store may be,
Of suffering?or loss;
"Whate'er befall, I shall through ait
His constant goodness share;
Full well "I know I cannot drift
Beyond Ills love and care."
WHAT IS WANTED.
This is not an age of heroic Christianity. ^ :
There is more pulp than pluck in the average
Christian professor when self-denial to
required. The men and women who not
only rejoice in doing their duty for Christ,
but even rejoice in overcoming uncomfort- :
able obstacles in doing it, are quite too
scarce. The piety that is most needed is ft
m'olir mill .. ?l..t
iuai mil oiauu a puiv.ii, a iuov
would rather eat an lionest crust than fare H
sumptuously 011 fraud; a piety that can work &
up stream agaiust currents; a piety that sets J
its face like a flint in the straight and narrow v
road of righteousness. We "need more of
the Christianity that steadfi?stly Si ts its face
toward Christ's Word and holy will. An
ungodly world will be compelled to look at
such Christly living as at "the sun shining in <
its strength." God loves to look at those
who carry Jesus in their fices. Of such is X
the kingdom of heaven.?[Dr. T. L. Cuyler. v
? '
WHAT IS BEAUTY. JH
A young gentleman, describing a young
girl to some of his friends, said that she irufl
beautiful. They naturally expected to aee^B
some radiaut creature with whom theyiSS
would be instantly charmed. This, how- >f
ever, was not the case, for they found tha .
girl extremely plain, and a laugh was in-,
dulged in at the young man's expense. *Bu*
in a very short time his friends found that
they had laughed too soon. The young lady aj
was one of a large pleasure party which a
went off on a week's outing; and wnen the
party returned there was not one among.
them who did not think her beautiful. It'
was she who had responded most quickly to'
the requests of her elders, rendering sweefc'vj
service in a charming way which can be better
understood by the delighted recipient
than by any pen-picture, however vivid. It
was she who had run with gentle helpfulness
to the rescue of every troubled child,
she who had given up her scat to an older ?
and a more wearied Derson. with a tact not
always shown even by kindly disposed persons*
In fact, she had uno6tentatIou?ly
done the countless loving little acts which ?r
stamp the doer as a follower of the "One ,
altogether lovely."? [Presbyterian.
"WIHI.E WE HAVE TIBIE."
Once there was a man wbo had been made
a minister, and he wanted to go as a missionary
to some far-ort' country, that he ii
might teach poet heathen people all about
the Lord Jesus Christ.
He was not very strong, and hia frienda j
were afraid he might soon die in the heathen
land, which was hot and unhealthy, so they '
tried to persuade him to stay at home.
He asked his physician how loDg he
thought he might live in India.
"Perhaps," said the doctor, "you may lire
seven years."
' Then I will go," said h??, "for in seven
years, by God's nelp, I may do.much work
for h-m!"
So he went, and, ?s be knew that his time
must be short, he tried to snend every moment
cf it in serving God.
Even before he sailed away for India hl8
friends used to call him "the man who nesew
lo?t an hour," because he was so careful itot~
to waste any of his precious time; but now
he felt it to "be still more precious.
In those seven years he did a great work "
for God indeed. . .'.yj
lie preached to the poor heathen people.Vs
and taught them about the Lord Jesus; and
he wrote the prayer book and the New Testament
in their language, so tbat they could
read and understand it.?I Young ctir.scian h
Soldier. B
A GOOD CUSTOM DYIXC. OCT. H
The excellent custom of having the cbil- Hj
drcti and young people of our church com- flfl
mit portions of script urc and hymns to mem- H
ory aeems to have utterly died but. Jt is true H
they are asked for the golden text at Sabbath H
school, but even that Is rarely ever thor- H
oughly committed. It is more often read 9
from the lesson paper. Some people dt* H
courage the practice, claiming that the child I
should not be filled with what it caDnot H
understand and digest, etc. This is certainly H
a mistake. We fuliy believe the former cob; h
torn of having children commit portions of H
the Bible, anij cnolcc hymns of the church, B
to be wholesome menta'l discipline, as well as B
spiritually profitable. The youthful mind, B
stored with divine truth so tersely expressed B
in the English Bible, has a storehouse of
comfort to draw from in time of need.
These verses are the weapons of the Holy
Spirit to combat Satan. Should misfortune jfl
or sickness overtake an individual whose
mind is stored with this prccious truth, hovr |B
comforting to have such to meditate upon, U
when perhaps his strength will not allow a
friend to read to him! A man is frequently
in situations where he has no reading, no
one to converse with, nothing but his own H|
thoflfehts. How happy if, like David, be |B
can have the truth of God to meditate upon
in the watches of the night!?[New York
Evangelist Mj
"TAKE IT TO THE LOHD IX PBAYER." ' t.1H
Worry hurts us more than work, and u
Christiaus we have r.o right to he the vio^^H
tims of worry, anxious care, dcpressIoi^H^B
and forebodings. Instead of complaints.
us try supplications; instead of brooding WM
over aifficultios let us tell them to Jesus,
and spread out our needs within "the prea- K
ence chamber of the Almightv," where
alone peace and strength abide. Some
Christian people hold that we are invariably H|
bound to be stoical, and express no sorrow HH
or regret whatever, because God chooses K9
all; but He who was all human as well as
all Divine knows th:it the floods overwhelm |H
us sometimes, and that when we seem in
the lowest depths. He who wept with the |H
troubled hearts of Bethany docs not bid us
remain stoics in the hour of tribulation.
Let the tears have their course if need be?
probe the troubles to their depths?but do
not attempt to do so alone. Why stay
away from the mercy-seat at the shadowLime?
Whv not seek the onlv Heait that
i?an comfort, and help, and guide? U|
We remember once bearing a speaker tell
how in his youth he and a young companion IK
became lost in the maze at Hampton Court;
they wandered about, tired, discouraged, but
they felt sure tbey would lind their way out
presently, and they thought it would seem
foolish to nsk direction, though they saw an
Did man working not far off*. All their efforts,
however, proved unavailing, and at
last tliev came with red faces to ask the old
man if he could possibly tell them how to get
jut of the maze. "Why," he answered,
'that's just what I ainhere for; whv did
..j ?. ...i
t on not say you wanieu 10 fsii, uui unutvi
mil lie put them nt once on tlie right track.
riiose voting men learned that day not to
rely so absolutely on their own wisdom and
li.ility; tin-re is One who stands ready to be
>nr Counsellor, our Guide, our Ligbtia^^fl
?very labyrinth: instead or yielding to^^l
n-orrv, let us simply ask Him to take us by
the hand and lead us through -[Quiver. HH|
James Sparks, of Dahlonega, Ga.,^fl[
the ditch-walker on the lower section^^B
of the hand-ditch, has been walking^M
this line daily for eleven years, a
tance of sixteen miles. At this rate
has walked 416 miles per month, 4,992^^H
miles per year, or a total of 54,912^^9
miles, or nearly two and one-half time^^H
the distance aiound the world. Mr^^H
Sparks is now some seventy-odd yeari^^H
old, and is stiil apparently as acbiv6
a young man. ? 9H|