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The king { _^honf A NOVEL OF AMERICAN LIFE EY MAURICE Qoprright, ISSSanc 1K*3 i CHAPTER IV. 1 CONTINUED. The writer of this story has become the owner of a carious and singularly interesting collection of papers, labeled "The 1'earl River Records," and it is from these and from Dick Becket's stories that he has obtained the main facts in connection with Rev. Max Burns's sojourn in the region of Honey Island. The information is meager enough touching the old man's motive; but this lack naturally came of his reticence and caution in communicating with the people who treated him so kindly. Supplementing the fiddler's reminiscences and the "Records"?most of which have to do with the exploits of various outlaws, from Rameau, Lafitte, Murrell and Copeland, down to Rube Burrow and Eugene Bunch?the recollections of Orlando Favre, a very old halfbreed Indian, who died some fifteen years ago, have been relied upon; but, after all, the facts are meager and scattering. Indeed, what has already been told in tne present cuapiei t>unot bo added to. The further adventures of Max Burns, in so far as they will be fouud of importance in this story, will be looked for at another stage of our progress. We must now return to the bpy of Saint Louis, where we left Vasseur and Fairfax enduring as best they could a situation at once .iwkward and trying in the extreme. To be bound and gagged could be borne after a , fashiou, so long as the evil was enforced by an irresistible enemy; moreover, since every moment added the ! torture of cruelly tight-drawn ccrds ; to wrists and ankles, the first ])art of the ordeal was much milder than the latter part; but when it came tc lying prone, stiff and speechless while a ereat lire raced almost over them it was tho unbearable that bail to be borne; it was torture too exasperating for even the temper of Fairfax. He too gave way to violent "paroxysms of silence," as be afterward expressed it. "When Yasseur was at length released, be was too weak and benumbed by the pressure of the bonds and by the exhaustive wrath-passion that he had indulged in for his cuffs to do much harm; but be distributed both with unstinted liberality as he limped and hopped wildly about amongst the negroes. The house aud nearly everything in it were burned to ashes in au incredibly short' time. Fairfax could not repress a smile when be found that his traveling-bag containing his clothes had boen saved, while bis sketches and his weapons?bis pistols and his gun, a rifle of great valuehad been overlooked and left to be destroyed. As for Vasseur, his mind, what little of it was presently available, raged with the memory of his lost treasure of jewels. He screamed j in French, he screeched in Italian, i anil through it all ran something about having been betrayed anil robbed l>y an individual who owed liitn au eternal debt of gratitude. All this, considering that the man was still in his night-clothes, of which a red night-cap was a most conspicuous garment, would have been highly auius-j ing at any other time; and even now, j at its worst, it was weirdly, almost demoniacally, comical. Fairfax dressed himself forthwith, auil then stood, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the scene, as one does when one feels especially perplexed and helpless in the midst of Budden disaster. He turned quickly, however, when Vasseur came ?aear. The little fellow could scarcely speak intelligibly, and the froth of excitement was clotted on his lips. "It was zat Pierre Rameau!" he cried, not forgetting to air his English even in this extremity. "Zat villaine, zat robbaire! He steal nvovafinnrt TTo Knrn m01 arm liP care off my propriety!" Usually it was not hard for Fairfax to find words; but now he could frame no suitable comment on this occasion. He stood looking at his swarthy little host, and smiliug half mechanically, without moving his lip3 to make him a respouse. There was pathos as well as comedy in the situation. The negroes, men, women and children, gathered in awe-struck groups to gaze on the fire, making their remarks in undertones, the women crying and the little ones clinging to the skirts of their mothers. "Ah! Ze villaine! Ze scoun'rel! Ze robbaire! Oh! Ah! Ah! Ah! My jewels! My pretty jewols!" still wailed Vasseur, after the house was white ashes and the sun had come up from the sea like a great round flower of flame. "My precious stones! My beautiful cross! My money! Zey are all goue?gone! He took zem! Oh! Ze perfi.lo vagabone!" When Fairfax had pulled himself A iZ a IUqCvUUI DUillUll'UUjr IU CUUMUCL IL*V situation calmly, bis lirat effort was toward reducing Vas3ear to a rational state of inind, a task by no means easy to accomplish. He succeeded in ft measure at leugth, and when the poor little mau had found some clothes aud a pipe, the whole matter was talked over; aud so it happened *,hat Fairfax heard a strange story. Eight years prior to the robbery at Vaseeur's, the two men, Vasseu'r and liamenu, had beeu comrades and equal sharers in the dangers and the profits of a daring piece of piracy done in the far East. [u dividing the spoils, Vassenr gladly accepted a, large quantity of jewels, some of them the personal property of Ruuieau, in lieu of their value iu money, his passion for precious stones controlling his greed for gold; but a goodly pile of money fell to his share also, and he abandoned the sea forthwith to settle himself on a plantation in San Domingo, whence, when disturbances came, he lied to his present abode on the beautiful bluffs of the bay of Saint Louis i o f.v;Y ISLAND : DURING THE WAR OF 1812. THOMRSON. >j Robert Bonner's Sons. 1 Vasseur gave the details of his story without reserve. He was boiling over with indignation, and his passion made him recklessly communicative; indeed, he was almost crazed, and seemed to find vent for his overcharge of nervous excitement in laying bare the innermost secrets of his past experience. Under ordinary circumstances and in a normal.mood, Fairfax most probably would have refused to hear these terrible confessions; and yet they were of a kind of enthrall the imagination of a young man, himself passionately fond of adventure; and when he was told that the daring and villainous oct just perpetrated by the riders from Honey Island had been directed by Pierre Rameau in person, he felt that, no matter what had been Vasseur's grimes, the little man was justifiable in considering himself atrociously betrayed and outraged by his former partner in felony. It was a revelation to Fairfax thus to find himself the companion and comrade in misfortune of a whilom pirate; but, strange as it may seem, he did not recoil from the discovery. Doubtless he recognized it as a necessary part of the life around him;at all events, he found a certain exhilaration possessing him, and as he walked up to the Yernon place that same morning he could not cast off a sense of the linkwhich connected him with some great chain of picturesque events past, present and to come. When he neared the house he heard the noisy mocking-birds in the oaks and magnolias, and the first person ho saw was Mile. Pauline Vernon standing, tall, bright and beautiful, on the veranda under the vines. ' * ? " --I L - Something in ner iorm ana iace ?cui> u tender thrill through him, and in a moment he was strangely happy. Youth casts out the evil spirit of misfortune so easily in the worse case; and, after all, what had happened to Fairfax was no more than a stimulating bit of experience in the rougher current of the wild life into which he had voluntarily thrown himself. He had seen Pierre Pvameau in one of his most picturesque attitudes, and the apparition was of itself worth all that he had paid for it in submitting to the gag and to imminent danger of being roasted alive. The artist within him was complacently happy over the whole affair. In truth, he could not have denied that the robber's face had its fasciuation. Soma day he would paint it from memory, or mayhap he ' might yet see those strange, terrible, magnetio eyes again. CHAPTER Y. A BREAKFAST AX VEHN'ON PLACE. As Fairfax approached the veranda, Mr. Ycrnon carao out of the hall, J booted as if for a ride; at the earne time a servant led a horse around from the rear of the house. Father and daughter both smiled at the sight of the young mau. and Mr. Vernon welcomed him with a hearty, loud "Good morning," his voice ringiug out pleasantly: "Glad to see yon, my boy?glad to see you. Hope you slept well last * ? -? ' .t ? ?1. a. r mgnt. 11 was a grauu ujgut iur sound. refreshing sleep!" Fairfax lifted his hat and shook hands with them both. For the single moraeut that his fingers closed over those of Mile. Pauline he looked into her shy but friendly eyes and forgot all that had passed during the night. "And how are they down at Yasscur's?" continued Mr. Vernon. "Is my little neighbor well?" He always spoke of Vasseur in the diminutive. The iaquiry caused Fairfax to start perceptibly. It was a rude transition from the mood of the moment to a thought of what had come to pass during the night. At first ho had no words ready. Like an abashed boy, he stood looking now at Mile. Pauline aud then at her father. There was little enough of shyness or hesitation Ill HIS LIU bill C y UUt OUUiOUytT tub IjUVOtian threw him into confusion. Just then the subject called up was not welcome to him; it would have been so much pleasanter could he have been left alone with Mille. Pauliue to forget that there ever was a Vasseur. He hesitated but a moment, however, seeing that his change of countenance had stirred up some sort of uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Vernon, who had observed it. "Vasseur was robbed last night," he bluntly said, "aud his house was burned." "Robbed! Burned!" exclaimed Mr. Veruou, whoso turn was was now to be taken by surprise. "What do you mean to say, Mr. Fairfax!" pllle. Pauline drowj'close to her stalwart, shaggy lather, and put an arm over his immense shoulder. The blood had left lier face, so that it was as white as a lily petal. It did not give Fairfax any pleasure to tell the story. Perhaps, being a very young man, he was aware that his part in the affair had been neither heroic nor picturesque, and that he must at best appear to have been an easy victim to a bold assault. This | WUfJ UU ^AUllUlUUU^ uuijotiuuoutoii, i Mr. Vernon's brow grew dark as bo I listened, find be combed his beard i with his fingers. "I will ride down and see Yasseur," he said. "It may be that I can bo of service to him. Go in, Mr. Fairfax; the ladies will ask you r thousand questions; T will return immediately " "But it is dreadful! It is daugevj ous! You will bo killed!" cried j Pauline, clinging to him, nervously. I "Don't go, father! ricase, don't." j He hissed her, laughing meantime : to pooh-pooh her fears, then wont i down the steps and vaulted with a | superb show of muscuiar energy into j the Baddle. Before he rode away, he | sat for a iimo stroking the glossy neck [ of his horse, while tho groom fetched A J a pair of heavy holster pistols and hung them at the pommel of the sad* die; then his gun was also handed to him. Mrs. Vernon made her appeara; je at this poiut. She saw forthwith that something unusual had happened, and began to ask questions, growing excited as she proceeded. The groom stood listening with openi moath and rolling eyes. / "Mr. Fairfax will tell you everything," said Mr. Vernon; "it's noth; ing so terrible, after all. The danger is past, if there ever was any, and I'm only going down to console poor little Vasseur." "And, say, dear," ho turned and orldof? tr? wifp nft.ftr hfl had ridden to some distance, "ask Mr. Fairfax to have some breakfast; I don't think he has taken any this morning. I may return in time to have coffee with you; but don't wait." Mrs. Vernon made a gesiure of despair and began to cry hysterically. "I will not stay in this terrible place any longer!" she exclaimed with vehemence. "Wo must go back to the city at once. Oh, but this is unbearable! Robbers down there?only r. mile or so away! What if?if?what if they had come here!" This vr/A addressed to Mr. Vernon, but he did not hear; his horse was already galloping briskly away. The three, Mrs. Vernon, Pauline end Fairfas, stood looking after him until ho had passed out of sight amid the fringe of trees along tho bluff of the bay shore. What to them was a reality, quite in keeping with the time and the place, must appear to us, at this distance and with our surroundings, like an illustration torn from some old novel. Even in that day, however, when every inhabitant of the gulf coast was more or lees familiar with lawlessness and violence in their most picturesque forms, there was something startling in each new phase of the reckless life that throbbed along the old creole borders. It is impossible for men and women to live in the midst of romance and not realize it in some degree. "He ought to havelived in the days of Richard the Lionheart." said Fairfax. turning his gaze from where -Mr. Vernon had disappeared in the wood to the pale face of Pauline. "He would have been a knight of iron with that frame of his." He spoke lightly, more to break up the situation and call the ladies back to themselves than to give expression to the fancy of the moment, suggested by the superb horsemanship just witnessed. "But the robbers! They will kill him!" insisted Mrs. Vernon. "He is going right to them!" "Never feer, madam," said Fairfax with an assuring smile; "there isn't the slightest danger. Those gallant knights of the road aro many miles from here at present. It appears they knew too much about Vasseur's treasure, and eo planned a successful raid on it. There is no more danger from them; they are gone." "But we have jewelo, too," said Mrs. Vernon with a quic? look at Pauline. "They might want our diamonds;" s Fairfax laughed outright, and the ladies joined him timidly, as if under protesr. "If I may speak of it," he said, "you ure forgetting to make further mention of breakfast. I am preposterously huugry after my night's adventures." "A.thousand pardons!" exclaimed Mrs. Vernon. "Wo will go in at once." 1 Tbo appeal to her hospitality was with her, as it has always * been with tho Southern hostess, sufficient to drive almost anything else from her mind. Pauline led tho way to the breakfast-room, where the table was I spread near a rude alcove in the soft light of vine-colored windows. Although he felt it necessary to I hido from tho ladies every doubt ho I might have as to their perfect securi ty, he found himself tingling witn pleasure, to know that his presence gave them a sense of safety. It now seemed to him inexplicable that Mr. Vernon should have brought bis wife and daughter to this lonely and exposed place. If the bay of Saint Louis is a sccluded, dreamy, far-withdrawn spot even now, what was it at the beginning of our century? "I shall insist on going back to our house in New Orleans at onco," said Mrs. Vornon, as they took their places at the table, and sho signaled for a servant. "I am not willing to live here any longer." (to be continued.) "The Noee is th? Man." Nasography is the latest branch ol scientific research to occupy the attention of savanto. There is a movement cn foot to held a grand "noso convention" yearly. The study of the nose as an indication of character has made rapid strides abroad of late, although the devotees of the new science have been miiiionfe:! to much ridicule. The adept holds that "th9 no6e is the mau." Historical characters with prominent nasal crgana have besn carefully studied with a view to the promulgation of cartain fundamental principles of tbo n9w scicnce. Thus, for instance, Catherine ds Lledici and Elizabeth cf England are frequently cited to show that tb9 archod nose is a mark of crulety; St. Vincent d9 Paul to prove i that tbo ciov9n nasal organ i3 a sign of benevolence; C:csar and Napoleon to show that tha long nose ia the mark of military genius; and so on down tiia list. nis Dotsariinsnt. Sir John Adva, who was governor of Gibraltar fortress, always made himself closely acquainted with tbo work of whatever happened to bo his department. Meeting a person once coniinp into tba office iatc, the general asked him what iicn ho was supposed to bo on duty. "Oh!" was the reply, "I usually stroll in about 11 or 13 o'clock."' "Stroll in?" oaid Sir John, is a rising tone; "then I presume yon Jo not leavo till late?" "w'ell, I usually slip off about 2 o'clock." "Slip off at 2?" excleimorl the veteran, ia j his topmost note; "pray, may J ask what department tou bolong to?'" "Oh," said the stranger, "I come every fiaturday to uttcuil to the clocks."?Argonaut. Small forkn wcro not introduced into use until the seventeenth cen*' tury. j / _ if.;': THE REALM < New York City.?In no garments do tlie tucks of tlie season appear to greater advantage than the dainty gowns designed for little girls. The very styl anu/s aUIUPE DRESS. ish little May Manton model here illus trated is singplarly effective in white Tersian lawu, orgamly or dimity, but is well siiited to nil summer goods and such lightweight wool stuffs as men's suitings, cashmere and the like. The skirt is straight, the fulness h*d in tine tuck6, which run down a few inches below the waist. The waist is also straight and simple, and is also tucked at the neck. The sleeves are short and puffed, gathered into a needlework band. Over the shoulders are bretelles of needlework, and finishing them and the low nefck and covering the narrow waistband are bands of heading, through which velvet ribbon is run. To make this dress for a girl of six years of age three and a quarter yards of material thirty-two inches wide, or two nnd a nuarter vards. fortv-two inches wide, will be required, with one and a quarter yards of embroidered edging, two and a quarter yards of ; heading, and four yards of velvet ribbon. T-rvo Dre??y W&bt*. The simple but dressy**May Manton waist of black dotted net shown on POINTED YOKE WAI3T. the left of the largo engraving is styl- : ishly combined with eirfbroidered cliif- i fon applique and trimmed with inser:ion to match, through which turquoise blue ribon is run The waist is mounted on glove fitting linings of blue taffeta that with the full fronts close in- ] visibly in centre front. The yoke is permanently attached to the right I front and closes over on the left, meeting the shoulder, arm's eye and under j arm seams. The full fronts blouso . softly, and the hack is gathered and drawn smoothly over the lining. The fancy stock collar that points high behind the ears is comfortably shaped to the neck by tiny darts taken up Jn the foundation. Over this the lace is J smoothly drawn, and the dosing is made Invisibly in centre back. The j close fitting sleeve linings are twoseamed, and over these the mosque- . taire sleeves are arranged. The de- ! sign is adapted to many combinations 1 of material and coloring, spangled net over Liberty satin trimmed with jet bauds being a pioasing suggc-suuu iui i a dressy black waist. \ To make this waist in the medium size will take three and one-eighth 1 pards of material twenty inches wide, 3r two yards, thirty-two inches wide, three-quarters cr a yard of all over lace or embroidered ihifTon fo- yoke ind collar, and four and one-half yards )f band trimming. The second design shown has the merit of being equal); well adapted o ?ntire costumes and to the convenient uld waist. It is well suited to silk and fine wool goods, and, indeed, to any material that requires to be lined and fitted. The glove fitted lining consists of the usual pieces, and opens at the centre "root. Over it is arranged the yoke and plastron that closes invisibly at the left shoulder, and the waist proper, which is lilted with the underarm pores only and is drawn down at the ; ivaist line in back and pouches slightly t the front. The high standing collar tits smoothly and terminates in points at the back. The bertha is seamed to the waist, and outlines the lower edge of yoke. The two seamed sleeves lit smoothly and are finished with points i over the hands. DoT^n fcach front and across the top of each sleeve is stitched a group of three tucks, the tucked sleeve being placed over a smooth lining. To cut this waist in the medium size three and one-half yards of material v twenty-one inches wide, two and a n quarter yards thirty-two inches wide or oue and a quarter yards fifty inches o wide will be required, with one and a y i_L mmmmsmsmi OF FASHION. I i nt 1 in in rr thirtV-SiV inPhPS quarter ymuo ui wide. To trim as illustrated seveneighths of a yard of inserted tucking, sixteen inches wire, will be needed for yoke, plastron and collar, one-half yard panne velvet for the bertha, and three and three-q larter yards ribbon or chiffon quilling for decoration. For ltainy Weather. Rough weather gowns are superseding waterproofs nnd rain ,cloaks .foi those who can afford to keep a duncolored tailor coat and skirt exclusively for bad weather. Of course,, one looks better dressed. No matter" Low smart a rain cloak is, ii has a "utility", aspect which makes the wearer 1q&k distinctly dowdy. In fact, smart>f>eo- | pie never wear a rain cloak. . -Should the weather clear up, one always looks the right thing if one wears a smartly built tailor gown, no matter how dingy the color may be. Of course,only good mnet 1-,/j QC-lapt0<1 AS SllCh J i J < l IC I ill 1 UIUOl %j\. .71 alone can defy the action of r$in aivJ mud. Tho Now Lingerie. >> Tho special point in the tieW lin? gerie is the fit. The set of a gown1 depends largely upon the accurateshape of the lingerie over which if is worn, especially now. in this much, bepleated era of fashion." Skirts.both long and short, are <*htito fit the htpfe, quite smoothly, and, although fancifulness is indulged in sometimes to an almost exaggerated degree.the flare and the fluff are all confined to the lower pert of the skirt. Felt nml Velvet Hnts For Winter. For a time, at least, plain, soft felts are likely to have the advantage, but later on it is possible different sorts of hairy and rough felts may take the fancy of the Parisian public. Velvet ? * - K ~ Will ue USl'U ilS llJUCli lUl <l luuuuauvu as a trimming. In its latter application it will have as rivals soft satin and panne, a material tvhieli is not to be put aside yet a while, as seemed rather probable at the close of last season."-Tlie New Vei'p. Tile new veils are very clear and havejquite small spots, not too closely; 6et. Fine white and flesh pink tulle' is strewed with small black spots, and the all-white veilings are exceedingly thin and the spots small. They are still tied beneath the chin, the old fashion of wearing thorn only to the lips not having found many admirers. On toques the veil is cut onlj to the . FANCY WAIST. required length and not turned in at ill. so as to be barely noticeable over the brim. . For tlie Small lioy. An attractive suit for boys, reproduced from Modi's, is here represented made of dark blue diagonal serge. It consists of short trousers, double* breasted eoat and vest. The coat is shaped by shoulder and under-arm ; seams, the fronts being faced and re- ! versed at the top to l'onn lapels that . meet the collar in notches. Pockets j ire ir.seited in the fronts in regulation joat style. Tho vest is shaped with shoulder ioii under-arm seams, closing in double-breasted style. The back may be id justed by meaus of straps that iwckle in the centre. The knee trousers are shaped with nside and outside leg seams, and close n troul with a lly; inside hands at :lse top being provided with button icics to attacne to uunons on 'no ;hirt waist. Jaunty suits can bo made of sorgo, weed, cheviot or diagonal, c-aro being a ken in making that the garments are EOT'S DOUBLE-BBEASTED SUIT. roll pressed anil linished neatly witli aaeliine-stitching. To make a suit for a boy ei^ht years Id will require one and five-eiglitbs ards of flfty-four-incb material. DR TALMAGFS SEBMON. j SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED DIVINE. Subject: The Minion of Chrlut ? How Divine Power Will Heal the World? Je?u? the 8argeon Who AVill Extirpate tho Disease of Sin* [Copyright 1*00.1 Washington, D. C.?In this discourse Dr. Talmage puts ifa an unusual light the mission of Christj and shows how divine pewor will yet make the illnesses of the woid {all back*; text; Matthew xi, 5, "The iknif* mftlif on 1 n m n L/Iiuy 1WWIT V WUV4A PlQUWj ?UU buv muiv walk, the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear." * ' ? "Doctdr/' I said to jr distinguished surgeon. *d<* y?u not get -worn out with constantly seeing to many wounds and broken bones and distortions of the human body?" "Qhc&p," he answered; "all that is ojoy in curing them." Ji. 8ubtiHMw4?S more merciful art never came from heaven than that of surgery. Catastrophe and disease entered the earth so early that one of the first wasfti ot the worn-was a doctor. Our crippled and agnized human race called | for surgeon anoTamily -physician for many i years before they came. The first surgeons who amwered. this oul.were ministers of | relipion?namely, 'the 'Egyptian priests. ! And what a grand thine if all clergymen I were also doc tops/ all D. D.'s were M. D.'b, I for ther^??'e so many'cases where body and booI'nBs&treatment at the same time. consolati<m?mjd , medicine, theology ana therapeuti?Lj_*As the"first surgeons of the world- wet*P!flo ministers of religion, may these two 'profession*, always be in full sympathy! But 'under what disadranta gea the early surgeons worked, from the vfact that dissection of the human body iwaa forbidden, first by the pagans and thai by the earljr-Christiana! Apes being the brutes moit like.-the human race, -were moved the e.ve and U6ed the, Spanish fly; and Heliodorns arrested djjp ease of the throat, and Alexander of TralH? treated the eye, and Rhazas cauterized figs the prevention of hydrophobia, and Pai&; val Pott came to combif diseases-CHK spine, and in our own^cenflilj^ vmH had, among others, a-Rous and a Ban-ay" in r'rance, an Astfaey-jj^flboper and BH Abernethy in Great BraRRor.d a Valentine Mott and Willard Parker and Sanulel D. Gross in America, aid: a galaxy of firing sureeons as brillianfeis tbeir predeceM sors. What mighty pogxess in the bar fling of disease since uw.crippled.iiid sick of ancient cities w^ Wp along tho streets, that people :irbff.fflad$ever be?* hurt or disordered inmight suggest what had better-be doner for the patients! jF . But notwithstanding all {be st&icaland medical skill of the world, witb-what tenacity the old diseases hiflfr dn .to %be hm4 man race, and most of ' ihein are Itliousands of vears old, and in our Bibles wq read of them?the carbuncles of Job ana Hezekiah, the palpitation of the heart spoken of in Deuteronomy, the sunstroke of , a child carried from the fields of Shunem, crying, "My head! my head!" King Asa's disease of the feet. waich was nothing but gout; defection of teeth, that called for dental surgery, the skill of which, almost equal to any tiling modern, is stui seen m the filled molars of the unrolled Egyptian mummies: the ophthalmia caused oy the juice of the newly ripe fig, leaving^fr jj|onle blind bv the roadside; epilepiy, a#in the case of the young man oitaffiMnng into the fire and oft^ into- the J^g^gfhypochondria, r.s of Nebuchtd^MMMMfhc imagined h.imself an ox and'linHBflMO the fields to pasture; the-witb^wBHpd, which in Bibie times, as now, Clfflwi the destruction of the main artery or-Wftii paralysis of the eiiief 'nerve; tie W0?ta0> of the man whom the thiej|W-<9$zU?or dead on tlie road to Jericho^^^Hmom. the good Samaritan nursed, pourmjj in oil and wine?wine to cleanse the ifround aid oil to soothe it. Thartk Ood for frhat surgery hrrs done for the alleviation and cure of human suffering! But the world wants a surgery without pain. Drs. Parre and Hickman and Simpson and Warner and Jackson, with their amazing genius, came forward, and with their anaesthetics benumbed the patient with narcotics and ethers as the ancient:) did with hasheesh and mandrake, and quieted him for awhile, but at the return of consciousness distress returned. The world has never seen but one surgeon who eould straighten the crooked limb, cure the blind eye or reconstruct the drum of a soundless car or reduce a dropsy without pain, and that surgeon was Jesus Christ, the mightiest, grandest, gentlest and most sympathetic surgeon the world ever saw or ever will sec: an*' He deserves the confidence and love and worship and hosanna of all the earth and halleluiahs of all heaven. "The blind receive ; ir sight and the lame walk: the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear." I notice this Burgeon had a fondness for chronic cas?s. Many a surgeon, when he has had a patient brought to him, has said: "Why w.:s not this attended to five years ago? You bring him to me after all power of recuperation is gone. You have waited until there is a complete contraction of the muscles, and false ligatures arc formed, and ossification has taken place. It ought to have been attended to long ago." But Christ the Surgeon seemed to prefer inveterate eases. One waa a hemorrhage of twelve years, and He stopped it. Another was a curvature of eighteen years, and He straightened it. Another was a eripnle of thirty-eight years, r.nd he walked out well. The eighteen-year patient was a woman bsnt aTinost double. If you could call a convention of .all the surgeons of all the centuries, their combined skill could not cure that body so drawn out of shape. Perhaps they might stop it from getting any worse, perhaps they might contrive braces by winch slie miulit be mtule more comfortnb'e. but it is, humbly speaking, inenrable. Yet this divine surgeon put both Ilis hands on her. and from that doubled up posture she began to take on a healthier hue, a-id the muscles began to relax from their ricidity, and the spinal column began to adjust itBelt". and the cords of the neck began to be more supple, and the eyes, that could see only the ground before, now looked into the face of Christ with gratitude and up toward heaven in transport. Straight! After eighteen weary and exhausting years, straight! The poise, the gracefulness, the beauty of healthv womanhood reinstated. The thirty-eight yc.uv" ease was a man who lay 0:1 a mattress near the mineral baths at Jerusalem. There were five apartments where lame people were brought, m> that they could gi t the advantage of these mineral baths. The stone basin of the bath is still visible, although the waters have disappeared, probably through some convulsion of nature. The bath. 12(1 feet lone, forty feet wide and eight foot deep. -\h. poor man. if you have been lr.nio and helpless thirty-eight years, that mineral lt.itIt cannot lestore you. Why, twenty-eight years is more than tlie average of human lite. Nothing hut the grave will cure you. But Christ the Surgeon walks along those baths, anil 1 have no doubt passes by some patients who have been only six months disordered or a year or five years, and comes to the mattress of the man who had I icon nearly four decades helpless, and to this thirtyeight years' invalid said. ".Wilt thoa be madejvhcle?" ^ V ? - ???????? * >3 In speaking of Christ as a surgeon il must consider Him as an oculist or eyej doctor and an aurist or ear doctor. Was. there ever such another oculist? That Hewas particularly sorry for the blind folk* I tAe from the fact "that the mo9t of Ilia works were with the diseased optic nerves. I have not time to count up t he number of blind people mentioned who got His cure.' Two blind men in one house: also one who was born blind; so that it was not re- * moval . 6f a visual obstruction, but the creation of the cornea and ciliary muscle and crystalline lens and retina and optionerve and tear gland: also the blind man of Bethsaida, cured by the saliva which the Surgeon took from" the tip of His own tongue and put upon the eyelids; also twoblind men wno sat by the wayside. In our civilized lands we have blindness enough, the ratio fearfully increasing, according to the statement of European and American' oculists, because of the reading of moraine and evening newspapers on the jolting cars by the multitudes who live out ot tnecity and come in to business. But in the lands where this Divine Surgeon operated, the cases of blindness were multiplied beyond everything by the particles of sand floating in the air and the night dew? falling on the evelids of those who slept 4 on the top of their houses, and in some J of these lands it is estimated that twenty, 'J out of 100 neonle are totally blind. Amid " 1 all that crowd of visionlcss people, what .i work for an oculist! And I do not believe that more than one out of a hundred of that Surgeon's cures was reported. He went up and down among those people 'f. who were feeling slowly their way by staff, or led by the hand of man or rope of do?, ' and introducing them to the faces of their ' own household, to the sunrise and the sunset and the evening star. He just ran | His hand-over the expressionless face, and * the shutters of both windows were swung1 1 open, and the restored went home crying: nl see! I fiee! Thank God. I see!" i The migh^st scientists have put their skill to itsjr^uning, and sometimes they stop the progress of its decadence or remove temporary obstructions, but not more than one really deaf ear out of 100,- OGO is ever cured. It took a God to make the ear, and it takes a God to mend it. That makes me curious to see how Christ the Surgeon sucI~>Hs as an aurist. re are told of only two cases He oper1 on as an ear surgeon. His friend ;r, naturally n^fi tempered, saw Christ lted by a man by the name of Mr.ni, and Peter let his sword fly, aiming ( he man's head, but the sword clipped hewed off the outside ear, and our ;eon touched the laceration and anr ear bloomed in the place of the one had been slashed away. But it i? , the outside ear that hears. That is a funnel for leathering sound and ing it into the hidden and more elab; ear. On the beach of Lake Galilee Snnrefra found a man deaf and dumb. i patient dwelt in perpetual silence [ was speechless. He could not hear a , ndte of music or a clap of thunder. He could not call father or mother or wife or children by name. What power can waken lAhAt dull tympataum or rcach that chain f6f .-small bones or revive fhat auditgtr .nerve or open the gate between the brain .arid the outside-world? The Surgeon put fffis^fofrers in the deaf ears and agitated tftCjpMnd kept on agitating them until thea vibration gave vtoJ^energy to all the .dead* , pajjgj pnd thev responded, and when our ' Surgeon withdrew His fingers from the ein the two tunnels of sound were clear ; for all sweet voices of music and friendship. jPbr the first time in his life he Heard the jjjjttssh of the waves of Galilee. Through the l?sert of Dainful silence had bees bu^t a tjlaog's highway of resonance an^-feeclama. But yet he was dumb." Vd word lonnpr? from his liD. Sofcech was LjMwfcd under his tongue^ T^agliiiat ion kind, accentuation were to him afijmpossijFtutftyHe could express neithef$ove ncr iiWWBifction nor worship. OutfSurjreon, havjinc unbarred his ear, wiUjww' unloose the* shaclde of his tongue. The Surgeon 'wjlFuflB the same liniment or salve that He natation, two occasions' for the cure of tlindi-peoptej?'namely, the moisture of His mrn month'. The application is made, ' andjp. the rigidity of the dumb tongue is rela*d, and between the tongue and te^th wadflborn a whole vocabulary and words flew into expression. He not onlv heard, bufhe talked. One gr.te of his body ?wung in ,io let, sound enter, and the other gate ( swung out to let sound depart. ? j Why*js it that, v.-hile other surgeons used teives and forceps and probes and | stethoscopes, this Surceon used only the ^ ointment of His own lips? To show that rII* the curative power we ever feel comes -v straight from Christ. And if He touches us nq$ we shall be deaf as a rock and dumb as a tomb. Oh. Thou greatest of all artists, compel us to hear and help us to i flS"! i J Bht what were the Surgeon's fees for all Brthese curc3 of eyes and ears and tongues T'and withered hands and crooked backs? I The skill and the painlessness of the op erations were worth hundreds arid thousands of dollars. Do not think that the eases He took were all moneyless. Did He not treat the nobleman's son? Did He not doctor the ruler's daughter? Did He not effect a cure in the house of a centurian of great *,venlth who had out of his own pocket built a J synagogue? They would Ijare paid Him largo fees, and there were hundreds of wealthy people in Jerusalem and among the merchant } castles along Lake Tiberias who would . i have given this Surgeon houses and lands .and all they had for such cures as He could For critical eases in our time great surgeons have received $1000, $.5000. and in one case I know of 630,000, but the Surgeon of whom I speak received not a shekel, not a penny, not a farthing. In His whole earthly life we know of j His having hnd but 62V-> cents. When His taxes were due. by Hi9 omniscience He knew of a fish in the sea which had swallowed a piece of silver money, as fish are apt to swallow anything bright, and He sent Peter with a hook which brought up that fish, and from its mouth was extracted a Roman stater, or cents, This greatest Surgeon of all the centuries cave all His services then ant' offers all His services now free of all charge. "Without money and without price" you may spiritually have blind eyes opened and your dumb ears unbarred, and your dumb tongues loosened, and your wounds j hen led, and your soul saved. If Clmstinn , people pet hurt of body, mind or soul, let them remember that surgery is apt to hurt, but it cures, and you can afford present pain for future glory. Besides that, there are powerful anaes- . 1 tlsetics in the divine promises that soothe , and alleviate. * No ether or chloroform or > coccaine ever made one so superior to distress ns a few drops of that magnificent anodyne: "All thincrs work together for good to those who love God." "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." What a grand thing for our poor human race vhen thi$> Surgeon shall have completed the treatment of the world's wounds! The day will come when there will be eo more hospitals, for there will ' be no more sick, and no more eye and ear infirmaries, for there will be no more blind or deaf, and no more deserts, for the round \ earth shall be brought under arboriculture, and r.o more blizzards or sunstrokes, for the atmosphere will be expurgated of scorch and chill, and no more war. for the swords shall come out of the foundry bent into pruning hooks, while in the heavenly - ~L-.11 fir>+tma nf am* .-] couuiry wf muui t*?v ?... . dc-nt or malformation or hereditary ills on em-th become the athletes in Elysian fields. 1 Who is that mnn with such brilliant eyes j close briore the throne? Why. that is the man who, near Jericho, was blind and our ) Surgeon cured his ophthalmia! Who is ; that ereet and graceful and queenly woman before the throne? That was the one whom our Surgeon found bent almost double and could in nowise lift up herself, and He made her straight. Who is that listening with such rapture to the music j of heaven, solo melting into chorus, cym- | bal responding to trumpet, and then him- I self joining in the anthem? Why. that is I the man whom our Surgeon found deaf j and dumb on the beach of Galilee, and by I touches opened ear gate and mouth gate. J Who i* tint around whom the crowds are I gathering with admiring looks and thanks- J giving and cries of "Oh, what He did for I mo! O'i. what He did for my family! Oh, what He did for the world!" That is the fi Surgeon of all the centuries, the oculist, I th?.? aurist, the emancipator, the Saviour. I No pay He took on earth. Come, no-.v, and let all i.eaven pay Ilim with worship that H shft!l never end and a love t'.iat shall never fl die. On His head be all the crowns, in His hands be all the sceptera aad at ^ia 9 feet be.all the worlds! ^