The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, August 08, 1900, Image 6
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! ^