The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, April 12, 1889, Image 1
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VK MW? CttANDLBg , |
tti* ikn atreamed from her lovoly, aoftbliiq ;
TN, 1
Floe bed were her cheek a and bowod bor ?)en- ;
der framo ,
Aa a great goat of bitter anguish cargo .
And bold bor In Its grasp; it slowly dioa.
Hut only a* the wind a do, aoon to rtaa 1
With greater fury, fanning all the flap
Of her wild Borrow, til aho could not tauie .
The Cro that raged within hor. I. grown wlaa )
And old and weary, board bor Robbing aoro, *
And wptobed hor with compaaalou, whore aha
Tbon came a andden cry aa thla trnth
Flaahod through my heart that pitlgd her nc '
mora? <
Only the Tory young oan grlore liko that? ?
Ana I would take her eorruw with her youth I j
PBBB UTTLE EMILY, j
........ i '
The History of a Prudent ,
Marriage. ,
?
UHAPTOK Y1L X
"What John Rteuhonse said to his wife ?
When he got Mrs. Knowle's letter?a very *
brief, simple letter dictatod by Lady Bow- 1
erbank at her bedside, and merely stating T
that sho wished to see her old friend again, u
m she did not think she w s long for ibis
world?what bo said, or what he felt, this b
history cannot telL Ho was not a man b
likely to have confided much of his own *
Srovions history to h s wife, nor, when 0
Irs. Knowle afterward saw the lody, did
that acnte matron think Ler a person likoly k
to havo eviuood much interest concerning ?
her husband's early fortunes or lost love?
a nice, protty-faced, gentle creature, lan- r
Gid, and a little uninteresting, besides p
ing a little lazy, as Indian ladieB are apt b
to be. Doubtless the marrirge bad grown, o
as so many marriages do grow, out of mere d
oireumstonoes, ana after it the husband fc
had gone back very mnoh to his own old a
life?the life of action, or business, or, at ?
best, of generally kindly benevolence?a i
life in vh-oli hi* aire tv-otr IHtlo part, or, d
indeed, was capable of taking it.
"Whon John Btenhouse visited Liverpool u
?for, after showing the letter to Mrs. a
Slenuouso, in whom it did not excite the h
least curiosity, he started north at once, a
every ono of his old aoqnaintanoes. es- ?
peoially tbo Knowlee, noticed a visible n
change in him?a oorlain hardness, reti- h
eonce and self-containednoss, deeper than li
evon the reservo of his baobolor days?as ri
If the man had withdrawn into himself, si
went his own ways, and carried oat his own U
life with a grave and sad independence. f(
He spoke of his home and of his wife with *
a caroful tenderness, but his eyo d-d not tl
moisten nor his face kindle when naming s<
either, and there was nothing of that total o
change from frosty coldness to sunshiny h
warmth which is often seen in tbo lrw>V?
end manner of a man who marries ever so _
late In life, if he marries with all his [
. heart in the union In ihi? mnn'a fcnr.-i. ! .
good and true as it was, and would always a
, . remain faithful till death, for honor's and rj
oonsoicnoo'i sako, to the woman he liad
taken to himself, still, as an* one who
knew the difference could plainly soe, and u
at a ^
But Stonhouse had always been a silent j
and undemonstratiVo man; and his experisnee
abroad had made him more so, and .
more sedulous than even in his youth
over the keeping up of all outward ob- .
eorvnucos. Even when he Bat listening to
lira. Knowle's account of Lady Bower- 0
bank's fulling health and the hopelessness y
of her recovery, and again to that other ,,
story, which it had been arranged sbo n
should tell him, and not Emily, or tho oiroumstances
of her marriage to Sir John, *
sud the letter found in Mr. Kendal's desk
afterward, he exhibited outwardly nothing _
more tban a sad gravity; in fact, he hardly
poke six consocutive words. ?
"80 like a manl" said Mrs. Knowle,' half d
bitterly, when she was retailing the con- J<
venation to her husband. "
"I think it was like a man,"said honest *
Edward Knowle; and his wife, woman as D
he was, quiok, impnlsive, and hard to believe
in what she did not clearly see. rooog- ?
uieed dimly-what her husband meant. 8he ?
respected, and in yean to come lepraod
daily to respect more, the manly endnranoe
whioh, beholding the absolute and inev- J
(table, accepts, it, and, whatever the man
suffers, makes no sign, 8
"Thank you," Mr. 8tollhouse had eald, 6
holding out his band to Mrs. Knowle, n
"thank you for all your kindness; to me ?
myself?and?to her! Is she able to see J
mo? If so, had we not better go at ?
once?" J
Mrs. Knowle ordered the carriage, and *
they drove across the oountry?the miles *
upon miles of flat oountry whtoh mark tho "
Liverpool shore?a long level of roads, *~
fields, and hedges?sometimes green, per- n
baps, and not ugly, but tome and uninter
sting as a loveless life?as the life which ?
hod been meted out to these two human
creatures, who. left to their own holy m- b
fUncts, would have met and mingled to- b
gather, and flowed on harmoniously as one
perfect existence now. f
Mr. Btenhouss and Mrs. Knowle oon- b
. versed versed very little during their drive, b
and then-not concerning anything of the 1
nut Onlv nnM wiiti nnnuuiun ??? 1
mnilit ?i?. iuMTHM 50*o?OU UU iwl cCufUlTO
to its almost pitch, and mid: n
"Perhaps it would be better if yon did not t
peek to Emily about her father." John a
Btenhouso's face turned purple-red, and t!
his eyes darned. o
"No, I will remember that he Is dead? dead."
And within a minute or two be said
?the bitterest thing he was eves known to B
ay?"Mrs. Knowle, my father died a f
month before I was born, and my mother
seven years afterward. Perhaps it's true
what a cynical friend of mine used to de- /
elare, 4 that when he chose a wife, he c
would take oaro she was a miserable or- ]
phan,4" ]
But they were reaching the door, where c
scarcely any visitors now entered except t
good Mrs. Knowle. Boon they passed i
through the splendid empty bouse, where f
the mistress had been missing so long that t
her absence was scarcely noticed. The j
large drawing-room was just as bright, j
even though the sofa in the corner where l
Emily used to lie was vaoeted, and bad i
been for some days. She now oooupiod a
small room much quieter and farther re- 1
w.. . moved, which had been hastily tttted up i
for bar oomfort. la a few days mors the 1
would Tapish from that into her own chain, j
bar and bed, never to be carried thence <
till carried away in that narrow coach of
eternal rest where we aH shall be laid some t
day. And that day was not very far ofl i
now to the weary soul and wonf-out body
of Emily BoWerbank. Ae she said many* 1
time, life had been too hard for her; an# 1
was gladto go to sleep.
When the strong, hearty, healthy man, ,
still young in years, and with all nia life (
before him, passed out of the bright, cheer* |
. ful drawing-room; full of all sights and ]
sounds, rich furniture, the soent of exotics, <
and the shrill note of cage-bird singing? ,
to that small inner chamber where the i
light was subdued, and there was a faint, i
oppressive perfume to apako up for the hot
oi zrwui tor; wane * www oia vrawn. uw i >
mute of Ex^OytjtfiUdlth days, ut jmwing
at the window, but taming every moment
M the slightest cough or movement of the
motion!ess flour? on the sofa, John St?nhoute
drew back involuntarily. He had
not realized till now all that he had lost?
til that he was losing. Though he had
been told it over and over again, he never
really reoognized that the woman he onoe
Loved so passionately?the pretty, bright
girl, with her rosy cheeks, ner laughing
tyes, and her heart full of the fondest,
most Innocent love, was dying,
He was married" now?andthor woman
owned his duty, and possessed a groat deal
?f the tenderness that no honorable man
son fail to give to a croature so utterly deKdent
on him as his wife is?but Emily
?dal had been his first love. All the
memories of it, and of her, rushed upon
lim with an agony irrepressible. Ho
{rasped Mrs. Knowlo by tho arm as she
was going into the sick-room.
"Wait a minute?stay!?say I'll oome
Mesently."
And no rushed away, right down the
itairoase, and through the first open door
?for it was high suumor, and tho air was
'all of snnshinoandrosos? into the garden.
Jit was half an hour before ho returned,
nei*ls over whom hong tho snored shadow
f the eternal parting -at least the parting
rhioh we call eternal in this world ?though',
t often makes closer and noorer, for the
est of life, those who otherwise would
nve been forevor divided.
Perhaps Emily felt this; for as she raised
erself a littlo from her sofa, and hold out
or hand to Mr. Btcnhouso, thore was not
traoe of agitation or confusion in her
lonner.
"i am very glad to seo you. It was so
ind of you to como. Did you leave your
rife quite well? and all the children?''
Commonplace, eimplo words thoy were
-the simplest, most natural, that eould
ossibly be ohosen?and yet they were the
est and safest. They took off the edgo
f that sharp agony whieh was thrilliDg
irough ovory fiber of the strong man's
eart. They brought him back to the comlonplaco
daily world, to his daily duties,
nd his ordinary ways. The wholesome,
ttving prosout came between him aud the
elirious past. And though it was Emily's
Id smile, her very tone of voice, and a
rick of manner she had?how well ho resiled
it, of half extending her hand, drawlg
it back, and then putting it forward
gain, with tho uncertainty that was the
reak point in her character?still he had
0 desire to snatch hor to his arms, and
old her there, in her old, familiar place,
ko any mortal woman. 11 o felt inolinoa
sther to stand apart and gaze at hor, as
ho l&j, consecrated from oarthly emotion,
1 her almost superhuman peace, or else to
ill on his knees and worship her, as Danto
rorshiped his Beatrice when ho met her in
lie fields of Paradise. And he fonnd himolf
powerless to say any other words than
ne or two, as brief and inexpressive as
er own.
" niv virA nnri thfl nhiidi-hn am waii i#
ras very good of you to send for me, after
had bees so rude, so ungratofnl almost,
3 your husband."
I Emily bent her head, acquiescing; and
ien, as if with a great effort:
MI had something to say to you? someling
I thought you would listen to, from
ae, now. I entreat you to accept this
ohn and Mr. Kuowlo. xou would like Sir
ohn very muoh if you knew him very well.
Ie knew nothing about you and mo till
dely. And he has been suoh a good, good
usband to mo."
"Thank God for that!- If?if ho had
eon anything else than good to you "
And then, shocked by the sound of his
wn harsh voice jarring on the stillness of
ie room, and still rnoro so by perceiving
10 sudden tremor that oame over Lady
ioworbank, he stopped, recognising the
nnotity of siokness?of near advancing
cath.
"Yes," ho added, almost iu a whisper, "I
sol very grateful to Sir John Boworbnnk;
am not ashamed of his knowing?bleed,
I have been asking Mrs. Knowle to
>11 him?how vory poor we ere, and are
koly to remain; and that if ho really still
ishea me to aocept his offer, I will do my
tmost to prove deserving of it."
"Will yon? oh, will yon?" clasping her
ands in her old, pretty childish way at
nything she was very glad of.
John Stanbouso tamed away.
"It 14 not easy, but I will do it because
ou wish it?for yonr sake."
"No, do it for yonr own," said Emily,
olemnly, with nil the old childish manner
one. "Do it, that yon may take a wise
ion's advantage of this chance of getting
n in the world, and living folly the life
hat is before yon. Think, a life of twenty,
hirty years, with work to do, and money
> nse, and influence to make the most of,
or the good of yonrself and all that belong
9 yon. That is what I want. I want yon
9 lead yonr own noble, active, nsefnl life
-jnst as I once planned it?though it was
tot to be besido me, and though I shall not
ven see it; for I am going away, John?
on know that?"
Ho collid not denv it: he did not even
ttemot to do so; he just moved his lips,
ut they would not form a sound.
"Yes, going away?in a few days, or a
aw weeks more, to where I know I shall
e quite happy?happier than I ever could
? here. 1 only wished before I went to
et yon know the truth. She," glancing to
rlrs. Knowle, "she has told yon all?*
* x ?," he muttered, out aiiempiea not,
ior did Emily offer, any farther explanniou.
One a husband, the other a wife,
rlth the shadow of the dead f a( her betwoen
bom?it was impossible. The past won
( er and done. But the present was peace
-all peaoe.
"And now good-by, and God bless you!"
aid Emily, faintly. "Give my love to your
rife. Does she know anything about me?"
"No: I never told her.
"Ah! well, let that be as you choose,
tna one thing?l know a have xorgottea
>ne thing that I had to say to you?Mrs.
Cnowle, what is it? Oh, my head. Please,
lira. Knowle, will you help me?" with the
luerulous tone and wandering eye whioh
old at onoe how fast her sand of life was
wining. "Yes, I remember now; it was (o
[ive yon this!" taking a valuable diamond
irooch from under her pillow, "and to ask
rou if you ever have a little daughter of
roar oV?n, to giro it to her from mo. And I
jerhaps, if yonr wife did not objoct, yoa
vouldn't mind calling her Kmily?
Nobody answered or stirrod, not even
lira. Knowle, who stood at the window
n narse's vacant place, and John Btenloose,
who sat opposite the sofa where
Lady Bowerbonk lav?sat, with his hand
ilasped tightly on hts knee, looking at her,
is if he wished to carry away the last picture
of her, vivid tm life and yonth, permanent
aa love and death.
At length he moved, and, taking the
brooch from her hand, kissed both, and so
bade her farewell.
"If yon come soon to settle in Liverpool,
Derhapn I may eee you oitoo more,'- mid
the gently. and with a eort of compasiion
In her roioe, for she eaw that be wee absolutely
dumb with eorrow. But both knew
that thi? wis only a Action to hide the last
geod-by; and when the door r'osed between
them, both felt that they would
never see one Mother again.
They never did, though Lady Bowerkank
lived lor eeverel week* longer, and even
toTsetlieShe heardall about
them from Mrs. Knowle, who, in bar customary
mUt? way. wan exceedingly helpful
to the rather helpless Indian lady; ana she '
teemed to take a faint flickering interest
,?the last interest of her fading life?In
the bonte they fixed on, the manner thnJ
furnished it, and their general household '
ways. Nay, she sent many little gifts-to
them?harmless, domestlo gifts, each as
not even the proudest man could reject, and
which, witbont making any external show
of giving, greatly added to the comfort of
Mr. Btonhouse's home. But she never ]
askod to see him again. She seemed to '
feel that the last meeting had been a peace- {
fnl closing of everything that bound her
to life, and everything that made death
painful; apparently she did not wish to re- ,
vive either, but lay perfeotly at reet, watt- ,
tng patlontlv for tho sunreine call.
It otme hi last, qnito suddenly; as often
happens in consumption, when both the
watchers and the pauent are lolled.into s
hope that is still far distant. She had no
one with her, and no time to say fafbwell
to anybody; only the nurse, running to her
and bcnding^rer hor, fancied there oame
troths had*been hor husband's name. Hobody
oontradietod the faet.
It may be thought a proof of the hardnoss
of John Stenhouso's heart to state
that except the one day of Lady Bowerbank's
funeral, when, out of respect to her
memory, the office of Bowerbank A Co.
was closed, and the clerks had liberty to
enjov themselves as they pleased?and she
tirould have been glad of it, dear, kindly
heart!?exoept on tlittf occasion the junior
partner of the firm was never an hour ab?ent
from his desk. He came early?he
went late?ho filled the place of both his
enior partners?Mr. Knowle, who was laid
op with an attaok of rheumatism, and Sir
John, from whom, of coarse, little could
bo expected just now. In every way he
did Ins duty like a man; and not one of
those excellent men on 'Change, with whom
he daily transacted business, giving promise
that the now blood which had come into
the firm would moke the house of Bowerbank
<fc Co. higher than ovor among Liverpool
merchants?not one of them ever
inspected that within the week a light had i
gone oat or this young man's life which ]
nothing in tha world could ever relumo.
Nevertheless, John StenhouBe's life has
neither been useless nor Bad. Moderately
prosperous, and widely honorod by all who
know him, externally he may be considered
a happy and successful man. And
his home, if a little dull sometimes, is always
quiet and comfortable. In course of
time it was brightened by a little daughter
?his very own little daughter?ana he
called her Emily. In compliment?and
very right, too, everybody said?to the head
of the firm ana his deceased wife, poor
Lady lloworbauk...
Emily s instinct?true woman's instinct
?was correct. Sir John and Mr. Stenkouso
became fast friends. Suoh strange
likings ofton occur under circumstances
which, in meaner natures, produce only
jealousy and aversion. But these threesdie
two men left living and the sweet
woman happily dead?were all good people,
none of whom had intentionally
wronged the other, but had all been sinned '
(gaihst by'tho ond ttatUsh, tardheatf that
wus now a mere handful of dust. Still,
by the merciful ordinance of Providence,
evil itself is limited in its power against
good, especially when After it oomos the
lolemn, healing hand of inevitable fate,
which the foolish and bad resist, bnt by
which the wise and good are oalmed ana
toothed.
When Emily was dead, the two honest
men who had loved and mourned her?one
with tho wild, angry passion of loss, the
other with a half-remorseful tenderness?
wero unconsciously drawn to one another
in a way neithor could have explained or
desired to oxplain, but both felt it was so.
They sought one another's company shyly
snd doubtfully at first; afterward with a
yearning curiosity; finally, out of warm regard.
The great difference of ago between
them, which might hare been that
of father and son, and the fact that the one
had novor had a father nor tho other a son,
slso combined to prevent all feeling of rivalry,
and to form a bond of mutual attraction
and mutual usefulness. And she
who was gone, though her name was never
once named between them till Mr. titenhouso
asked Sir John's permission to give
it to his baby daughter, constituted a tie
stronger than anything external.
. Mr. Knowle was a little surprised, and
so was Mrs. Knowlo, to see tho great cordiality
and even intimacy whion, in tho
course of a year, sprang up between the
senior and junior partners. But the
Knowles were both suoh kindly people
that, though they did not understand it?
indeed, would have oxpeoted things to be
altogether different?they were exceedingly
glad it was so; exceedingly tender, too, in
a half-sad sort of way, over the baby Emily,
whom good Mrs. Knowle took to with
a warmth-surpassing even her universal
and ardent affection for all babies.
And so the three households of the firm
of John Bowerbank A Co. still subsist?
two rich and childless, one much poorer.
J 1 ? ? ? ? rrvA.A 1.*
DUl ilUb WIUIUUI UIOUJT uicnsiu^o* xumoin9
t all oventa, wherewithal to pat food into
the little mouths, and olothoe on the Utile
bodies, and inetraotion into (he little
f minde: and John Stenhousp is a good
father, who, <n a inerai sense, "makes no
step-bairns," but is equally just and tender
with his own and his wife's daughters. As
a parent of yonng children he has been
also faultless; what he may be when the
little maidens grow up and take to marrying.
Heaven knows I But the sharp exCrienoe
of his own life may be all the
t'er for theirs.
People do say that one of them is not
likely to be poor nil her life, but will be
ohosen by Sir John Bowerbank as his
heiress, at least so far as regards the late
Lady Bowerbank's fortune; bis own, Sir
John openly declares, he means to divide
among charitable institutions. Poor little
Emily, now tanning about under the ahady
alleys of Birkenhead Park in her cotton
frock, and with occasional hole* in ber
shoos, she knows not what may be her destiny!
Nor does her father- good man?
who watches her and guards her. and is
both father and mother to her, for Mrs.
Stenbonse, though sweet as ever, has sunk. J
into oonflrmed laziness and elegant invalidism.
Her girls me good children, but the
apple of the father's eye Is his own little
daughter; and no doubt, oven now, he
thinks with a certain vague dread of the
young man wbo may be coming some day
to suat h her from him.
Still, under all circumstances, even the
alarming catastrophe of Emily's marriage.
I think John Btenhouse will prove himself
a just, an unselfish, and a loving father.
And if?hnman nature being weak at best
?be is ever tempted to be otherwise, he
will think, as he does think, in many a
wakoful midnight, with bis wife fast asleep
beside him, of that quiet grave, within
sound of the waves on Waterloo shore,
where Hes buried the love of his youth the
one woman who would have msde bim
really happy and been happy herself -who.
Instead of dying thns, might have lived to
be the light of his home and the mother of
his children poor Emily Kendal.; : |
[TSDSSNaJ F. 3?|
mfsavnatioi^i^ tjSbson for j
OoMon Texts 'TTh^RcJcctcd. Son,''
Mark xlL, 1-12- (eldcn Text:
* Johni., 11?ConVientary.
1. "And He bogon to spoc\unto themby
parables." This to one of ttac%iany parables
uxi dtoooums which He polAin the tomplo
sod On the Mount of Olives oAWednasday,
tho fourth day in Passion weekAOur loeson
Kxiay to one of the last memagetpf Christ to
Israel ere they crucify Him, in yach He tolls
them of God's grofct core of thon\and their
iwful treatOusut of His servants \><l finally
sf Hto own Sen. ' \
"A certain man planted a vineyard, * so
asy Mark and Luke, while Matthew dills him
rrOui til lxxx., 8-lvi lsa. v., 1-7: wouearn
thai the ^e^do^li^ lord of^ HwUtJ^a^e
rata*. who ought tojavo cared for the vinepard
and rondcAd toe owner the fruit thereof.
God Mpaimled Israel from other nations,
iellvered them from' Egypt, brought them
near to Himself and nuulo them His peculiar
treasure, giving ihcra prophets and priests
and dwelling Himself in their midst, that
they might glorifr Him and mako Him
known to other nations as tho only living and
fcruo God.
2. "Ho sent a servant that Ho might receive
tho fruit." Surely this was reasonable,
liter Ho hod bestowed such loving core upon
them. Tho servants were tho prophets, as it
is written: "I sont unto you all My servants,
tho prophets" (Jar. xliv., 4); and tho fruit Ho
expected was righteousness and obedience
sua some gratitude for mercies bestowed.
6. "They caught and beat him and sont
him away empty." Micaioh was smitten,
imprisoned and fed on broad and water (II
Chron. xviii., 28, 2f>); Jeremiah was smitten
and put in the stocks (Jcr. xx., 2), and was
told that ho spoko falsely and that God hod
not sent him (Jer. xlilL, 2).
4. "Again He sent unto then another servant."
Wo would think that the ill-treatment
of one servant would load the owner of
vineyard to punish Jho husbandmen and remove
thorn from THh coro of tho vineyard,
but the name of tho owner is "tho Lord, tho
Lord God. merciful and gracious, long suffering,
and abundant in goodness and truth"
(Ex. xxxiv, 5, Oh and it is written of Hbn
that though they believed not, hearkened not,
understood not. rememl>cred not, nevertheless
He saved tnem for His name's sake, and
many times did Ho deliver them, forgiving
them but taking vengeance upon their inventions.
(P? cvi., T, 8, 24, 25-48; xctx., 8.)
5. Tot another Ho sends in His love and
long suffering, only to be treated worse than
the former ones; 1 'they woro stoned, thoy
were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain
with tho sword; they wandered about in
sheepskins and goatskins; being destitute, af
uictvu, luiiunii?u; .ui whom tuo world was
not worthy; thoy wandered in dosorts, and
in mountains, and in dens and eaves of the
earth."
6. "Having yet, therefore, one Son, His
well beloved, Ho sent Him also last unto
theuLsaying thoy will reverence My Son."
Now Ho speaks of Himself as tho only begotten
of tho Father, tho prophet llko' unto
Moses, the antitype, of all priests and prophets
the truojaayvwYtof Jehovah (16a. xlii, 1).
f\-v~ *'TW?is tho ffcir, ebnre let us kill
Him." Instead of reverence and respect for
tho only Son of their gracious ana loving
Lord, this is their language. As when Joseph's
brethren saw him coming thoy said:
"Behold, this dreamer comoth, como now
thereforo and lot us slay him" (Gen. xxxvii.,
10, 20), so these Jewish brethren of Christ
conspire against Him and determine to kill
Him. lie is the true Joseph, separate from
His brethren, the qhepherd, the stono of Israel
(Gen. *]?., 22-20); but as Joseph's brethren
afterward bowed down to him and accepted
him as tlwir deliverer and the nourishes- of
them andthoir children, so Israel shall yet
bow down to this some Jesus and accept Him
as their deliverer, their own Messiah.
9. "Ho will come and destroy tho husbandmen,
and will givo tho vineyard unto others."
This is their adswer to His question: "What
shall thort fjQro the lord of tho vineyard do?'
(Matt, xxl., 41.) Jesus also adds: "Therefore
I say unto yw, tho Kingdom of God shall bo
taken from yeu, and given to a nation bringing
forth tho fruits theroof." (Matt, xxi., 4s.)
In order to understand this wo must distinguish
between the covenant with Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob, whith still holds good and
shall bo Mailed Am Israel notwitbanding
their disobedionco (file, vii., 20; Jer. xxxi., 3587),
and the spocial covenant with Israel at
Horeb, to mako them a kingdom of priests,
an holy nation, a peculiar treasure, if they
would only be obedient and keep God's covenant
(Ex. xix., 5. 6). This lgpti covenant was
not mode with their fathers, but with tliom
as a nation at Horeb (Duct, v., 2, 3), and it is
tius wnien by tne rejection or their Messiah
is now lost to them and given to the called
out ones from Jows to Gentiles; the church,
which Potcr calls "a royal oVicsthood, an
holy nation, a peculiar or purchased, pooplo"
(I. Pet. it, V); and who ore also called "luupi
and priests unto God" (Rev. 1., 0; v., 10).
From those called out ones, the body of
Christ, tho bronchos of tho truo vino, the
Lord of tho vinoyardnow expects much fruit,
and He has told us>that the way to bear fruit
is to obido in Him,, continue in His love, and
patiently submit to the purging or cmannhq;
which He sees that1 we from time to time
need.
10. "Have ye not rencj this Seripturef No
doubt they had read "t, .but they had not observed
it, they had Sof neeefrea it, they had
rend it blindly, just-os.we so often read the
Hcripturea, from a sense cIf doty, without
j^iws memn or wnac
11. "This was tlui^owPs. doings, and it is
marvelous in our oycat" God is quietly but
sorely working out His eternal purpose which
Ho purposed in ChristrJctus (Eph. I./d-ll: iiL,
11), ana when it is all complete wnshall say
concerning it all: "Tills is tho Lortrs doing;"
and not only shall it Ire wonderful in the eves
of tho church and in the eyes of Israel, but
also in the eyes of the whole world.
12. "They sought to lay hold on,Him, but
feared the people." His hour had not quite
fully come to give Himself np to them, and
therefore they could not touch Him. No one
can touch a child of Got! or harm a hair of
its head without His permission; and if we
aro found in tho way or dotjy we need fearno |
evil, ror wo Miall surely stay In thin mortal
lxxly till our work is done;{then glorious rent
with Christ fa Paradise, and at toe resurrection
of tho |ast a body just like Jesus's body
amiglory indoscritiablo.
"They loffc Jliin ium! went their way." That
is what the rtoh young man did, and all bofore
and stood<WDo havo not received Jesus.
Ho is tho only way to rest and truo happinosa;
those who prefer tiioir own way will
never And either. "What does your soul sayf
Self or Christ, your way or His way??Lw?aon
Helm,
i ? ' -"V.>' ,>^jjr''
WltX-tAtl^ l&WEi.M'hostof frionds
in all parte of-Hlie oountry will bo
grieved to leankuf- thg blow that liae
befallen hitn in t$e death of his oldest
daughter, Winifred* in the twonty-yixth
year of her ago. She hod boon an invalid
for several yewra, but such bereavements
are not mwah, if any, easier
to bear wltep thoy ooros for having beeu
foreseen and dreaded, Mr. lioxvoUa
has two children loft, * younger dangh
w -
Song of Drunkards.
"We come, we come with sad array,
And in procession long,
Tojeln the army of the lost,
Throe hundred thousand strong.
"Our banners beck'ning on to death,
Abroad we have unrolled;
And Famine, Care, and wan Despair
Are seen upon thoir fold.
"Ye heard what music ohoers us on?
The mother's cry that rang
80 wildly, and the babe that wailed
Above the trumpet's clang.
"We've taken spoil; and blighted joys
And ruined homes are here;
We've trampled on the throbbing hoart
And flouted sorrow's tear.
"We come, wo como?wo've searched the
land,
The rich and poor are ours.
Enlisted from the shrines of God,
From hovels and from towers.
"And who or what shall balk the bravo
That swear to drink and die?
What boots to such, man's muttered curse
Or this, that spans the sky?
Onward for ball?from rank to rank
Fkss we the cap again.
"Wo coma?of the world's scourges, who
Like us bavo overthrown J
What woe had ever 6arth like woo
To our stern prowess known!
"We come, wo come to fill our graves,
On whicn shall shine no star.
To glut tho worm that never dies,
Hurraht Hurrah! Hurrah!"
?National Advocate
Tho Poor Children.
Have we no pity for tho poor, miserable
children? Is there no voleo strong enough
to plead "like angels, trunipet-tongued,
against tho deep damnation of their taking
Dtr?"?of those children who. in the longuago
of Soathey, aro not so much born into the
world as damned into the world, damned,
predestined, as it were, to live lives of disease
and degradation, becauso of the drink
in tho midst of which they aro brought up
and of which they havo the hereditary
taint in their very veina? Canon Farrar.
A Radical Remedy Required.
Tho total abstinence movement Las made
many sober men, and it le not proposed to
abate any effort along that line; but, nevertheless,
tho fact must do recognized that the
total abstinence movement does not cure the
drink evil. Some other remedy must bo devised
to supplement the work of the church
and the temperance society. A physician
would not follow a mild method of treatment
if thft dispflta ?rr?w mnrn nmnnnn^l
virulent all tho while. He would try a
remedy that was radical and heroic. The
total abstinence movement is too mild for the
drink evil; it needs radical and heroic treatment.?Pioneer.
Civilization Will Not Always Mean
ltnm.
That the Indians are capable of civilisation
has been abundantly proved by the Cherokee*.
There are about 25,000 of them, of
whom half are full blood. Thirty-tive per
cent, of the national income is spent upon
schools, and fifteen par cent, upon asylums.
They have a written language, and claim
thnt every citizen can read and writo. Bosides
the common schools they have four excellent
academies, and each child is allowed
a large sum. .each year for its schooling.
Think of acity among us with 25,000 inhabitants
thus equipped 'or education I They lack
one mark of civilization, however, they have
no saloons, and boast of less drinking among
them than among a like number in any
other community. By this sad lack so mo of
our Btatesmeu may be discouraged with respect
to further attempts to civilize tho redmen.?Christian
Standard.
Tho Saloon a Deadly Cnrso.
No one can doubt that wo nood the church,
the school and the factory, but in the light of
our present civilization no one will set up a
claim for the saloon on its own merits. One
has said tho saloon is the heaviest clog in the
progress of our country. Every evil that
curses our nation to-day flows to a great extent
from the saloon. It is the prolific source
of most of our political corruption. It traffics
In tears, groans, blood, vice, misery and
death. It drags in dishonored graves a hundred
thousand human being annually.
Is it any wondor that Gladstone declares
the saloon to be a greater evil than war,
pestilence and famine combined* Why, in
the presence of such desolation as thiB, war is
a white-winger! tinsel ol peace, pestilence a
healing fountain ancf famine a table of plenty.
The saloon has been compared with tho
deadly Upas tree, which not only kills (hose
who touch it, but sends out its terrible p oison
even to those who endeavor to shun it.
If we consider the saloon from a moral
standpoint it is a curse. It is the direct cause
of three-fourths of the Sabbath breaking,
profanity and gambling. It desolates a
million homes, and transports men beyond
the bounds of reason into the seas of dissipation
and ruin. It makes 500 maniacs and
500,000 criminals every year. It is tho saloon
in which a million men have lost their
self-respect, their health, their character,
their all. Men with defiled clothing, wrecked
hopes, starving children, empty purses, lost'
manhood, the product and support of the
taloon. But yet this monster cries out for
State and National authority to ply its dreadful
work, saying: "License me to sow the
seeds of shame. License me to make widows
and orphans. License me to write disgrace
upon the fair forehead of helpless innocence.
License mo to befog the mind to paralyse
the reason, damn the soul. License me to
incite the red-handed murderer to his terrible
deeds of deadly violence." But the ealoon
gets all it asks for.
It is a financial curse. Nine hundred and
frtrtv rnj'llnn* -? dollar? arc- Spent OTST
tfafl till of th# r'imscllcr. Mom mon?v th*n
we spend as a nation for all civil service,
ftrrny, navy and Congress.? Itoneer.
Temperance News and Notes.
It is said that 30,0( 0 people go to bed drunk
in Olasgow every Saturday night.
Bands of Mercy ore being formed in connection
with the Loyal Temperanco Legions
of Ohio.
A Kentucky W. C. T. U. woman recently
told she had six unanswerable argumonte in
favor of prohibition?her six sons. *
In one court of London twenty-seven out
of twenty-eight cases of attempted suicide
within a short time were traced directly to
drink and the twenty-eighth was doubtful.
Dr. Daniel Dorchestor is responsible for
the statoxnent that a distillery tlrm within
three miles of the Massachusetts State
House has a contract to furnish 3000 gallons
of rum daily to the African trade for the
next seven years.
Professor Kovalevsky, of the Chair of
Mental Disease at the University of Khor<
koJT, Russia, has published a book in which
he strongly denounces the giving of alcobolio
beverages to ohildren and enlarges on the
propriety of not administering alcohol as a
medicine without first ascertaining whether
the patient has an alcohotiO diathesis.
The W. C. T. U. of Columbus, Misa, recently
sent an earnest request to every
eini ?yiimiB in OIIM m jn^uni a Harmon
on "The Evils of the Opan Saloon." The
plea was oonsidorod in the ministers' mooting,
and the chairman raado answer by a note
saying that the ministers, lifter prayerful
consideration of the request, deemed it "inexpedient
to comply."
Mrs. Mary A. Lathrop, of Michigan, who
has been dubbed by her admirers "the Daniel
Webster of the feminine world." has a poor
opinion of saloon keepers. In a lecture at
Iltttsburg she said: "OannlliaHsm is decent
compared with the saloon busings. I hare
more Aspect f >r a savage who will kill a
missionary, oook him and eat him, than for
MBSfHIF1
Tho Saviour's Sympathy.
Whilo UiO storm was fiercely blowing,
While tho sea was wildly flowing,
Angry wind nnd angry billow
Only rockod tho Saviour's billow,?
Jesus slept.
But when sudden grief was rending
Human hearts in sorrow bending;
When Ho saw tho sisters weeping
Whoro the brother's form was sleeping,
"Jesus w opt."
Lost in Sight of Homo.
A few months ago, during ouo of the eovero
storms thnt visited Colorado, a young
man perished in sight of homo. In his bo
wildorment ho passed and repassed liis own
cottagu, to lio down and die almost in range
with tho "light in tho window" which his
young wife luul plncod there to guido him
homo. All nlono she \VTrr-i-?<l thn lnnir nlirht
through, listening in vuln for the lovi-stops
th?t would come no more; for, long Iwlrftx
tho morning dawned, tho icy touch or death
had forover stilled that warm,
loving heart. Tho sad d'-nth was
made still sadder by tho foot that he wns lost
dMfeMww*|toniK*><fit)W"''iirin3r wanderers
from tho Father's house are lost in sight of
homo, in tho full glare of the Gospel light I
They have tho open Bible, overflowing with
its calls and promise?, tho faithful warnings
from tho pulpit, ihe manifestations of Goa's
providence, all tending to direct their stews
heavenward,and yet from all these they turn
away, wniting for tho more convenient sensin,
and arc lost in sight of tho many mansions.?Forward.
Human Judgments.
Jesus never mentioned any of earth's great
men (so-called) with words of praise. 1 hero
had boon great conuucrors before his time,
liko Alexander tho Great, but ho novi r alluded
to them. There had been philosophers,
liko Plato and Aristotle and Socrates
but ho never si>oko of them. Hich men had
received tho notico of their fellow mon, but
he novor mentioned them by name. None of
those of whom human history sjienks most
largely came in for a word of commendation
from him or his apostles in later years. This
should bid us pause, and make.?us stop to
tldnk whether our human judgments are not
totally faulty. Havo wo not put tho seal of
groatnoss wliero it does not belong.
In what respect is tho world better today
for the existence of tho rich man like Croesus,
of conuucrors liko Alexander, of i hflosophers
liko Pinto, of authors like Olivrnt 1
What really valuable thing should wo loso
had fcUCh men never existed? Gather all the
conquerors of the world together, and fay
whether they have been as useful to the
world as one John Bunvan or one John Wesley.
Put all your philosophical books together.
and deolaro whether they have accomplished
as much for humanity as the
epistle of Paul to the Galatians. Match Bismarck
and Luther, and judge whether i>oli1
ician or preacher has tlio best of it in the
long run. On the other hand, if you blot
out Abraham, Joseph, Moses, David the
singer, Elijah, Isaiah, John the Baptist,
Pt,nl, fro human history, you usher in
blackness of darkness*.?A. f\ Schavjflcr.
Practical Life.
Daily and hourly wo meet questions that
demand an immediate answer?questions
that relato to food and raunent, to the handto-hand
conflict with earthly necessities.
Perplexities arising from these sources are
sometimes the occasions of greatest peril to
Christian faith. Many a soul has overcome
in spiritual combat, only to full before the
enemy; assaul ing him through outward
and visible circumstances. They have forgotten
that Christ is tlioir Lord in mnterial
good as well as in spiritual. They have
failed to follow him in principles revealed
for proct'cal life, and have regard
(1 Christ a saviour only in
spiritual things. One has forcibly said,
" 'He that followeth mo shall not walk in
darkness.' That saying has a lower and u
higher fulfilment. In tlio 1 wer, it refers
to practical life and Its pernloxities. Nobody
who has not tried it would believe how many
difficulties are cleared out of a man's road
by the simple act of trying to follow Christ.
No doubt there will still remain obscurities
enough as to what wo ought to do to call for
the best exercise of patient wisdon; but an
enormous nronortion of ti>?m vnnto.
like mist when tho sun Icoks through
when onco we honestly set ourselves to
find out whoro the pillared Light is guiding.
It is a reluctant will nnd intrinsic likings and
disliking* that obscure the way for us, much
oftoner tlian real obscurity in the way itself.
It is seldom im]Kwsiblo to discern tho divine
will when wo only wish to know it that wo
may do it. And If ever it is impossible for
us, surely that impossibility is liko the cloud
resting on the tabernacle?a sign that for
tho present His will is that we should bo still,
nnd wait and watch."
Tho Anchor of tho Soul.
Wnlking, on n day 0110 summer, through
the vast navy yard of Portsmouth, England,
I came upon A street calks' Anchor street.
There, sido by side, in long lines, wero laid
multitudes of the liughcst anchors. You could
not look at Mure immense and grappling
flukes, nnd mighty iron s'.infts, without a
very real feeliiu of a restful mastery ovor
tid??s and storms. With her cable fastened
to one of those gro it anchors, and with that
anchor getting grip <n tho bottom of tho
sea, ro lee shore could threaten, or devnstat
nig urojiKt-r iiarm inoganant snip.
Do you remctnlier how in the Enistlo to the
Hebrews we nro told of the anchor of tho
soul? Tho anchor of the soul?what steady,
masterful word Is this, amid tho hissings and
the changes and the dashing uncertainties ot
our lives!
And will you notice a peculiarity of this
anchor ot the scul:/ We uro told it outcroth
into that wiuiin the > ell. Tlio veil in tlioold
Temple was the symbol of separation between
tlod and man. And in this scripture
nlmut tho anchor of tho soul, the veil stands
for whatever distance, or mystery or sinfulness
tuny divide and hinder us from God and
hide Him from us.
Tho great navigator Sir Francis Drake
nuuie a voyage round the world in the ship
Golden Hind,?A little vessel of but a hundred
and twenty tons. At last, after an al>senoo
of two years and ten months, ho
dropped his anchor in Doptford liarl>or.
Tho gnat Queen Elizabeth refused to
summon him to her palace to make
him knight; but went herself to
Deptford, and, stat ding with her royal feet
on the deck of his little but triumphant vessel,
laid tho sword upon his shoulders, and
hade him stand before her henceforth Kir
Francis Drake. The great queon knew how.
right royally, to reward those who added
glory to her crown. And she gavo him n
crest he might wear proudly over after?a
ship in full sail with a cable running up .to
Heaven, an emblem of tho Divine guidance
which had helned him to do the. till then im
heard-of deed.
Sir Franclrf crest Is a kind of nicture of
the Scripture word about this Alienor of the
soul. For this anchor of the soul is not
ib'-p into any ?oa-l)Ott<*n; does not go down
itW any shifting worhily place or thing,
out upward tn s anchor of the soul is oast.
The hawser which holds this anchor pan-os
up and through the celestial spaces, through
every veil of any tort hiding the faoo of God,
and there, in the place of ran s'lectost Divine
Presence, the flukoa of this anchor of
the soul anise and hold to the vor y buttresses
of God's Throne; and this anchor to God's
Throne koej* moored even a poor human
soul
Not like a ship driven of the storm, and
flung into the black jaws of cruel reefs,
where the breaker* dash and tear, need any
of us be. For we may have a hope which b
aa an anchor of the soul, bot h sure and steadfast,
and which cntereth into that within the
vaiL?'TAfl ttrook in thj Way," /fee.
Way land Heyf. y.
'.y
"yi"
mimneirr pbopubTV'*^*^
THE President has an offloe oat toy
Prutens Maurice of Hanan'ia dead. ,*< w
Kino Alexandria of Sarrla is thirteen. ' '*>.
General Boulanger will visit London In
June
Tub King of Denmark is the Czar's fatherin-law.
Miss Braddon has written over fifty
novels.
Cardinal Newman Is now in his eightyninth
year.
Postmaster-Dene hat, WanAMAKBR is a
Presbyterian.
Chief Justice Fuller is popular with
his colleagues.
A son of Charles Dickens is arising statesman
of Australia. t ^ ''v *j
The King of Greece is an enthusiastic and
successful tlshermon.
The Emperor William of Germany will
visit Constantinople in the fall.
qvviifan llv adqt rtf Poltf/rmfo lion tlrtrt -
umiAivin tt[<ni?ot| v* v?aiiiviui?| una w %wj000
invested in thoroughbred horses.
Mji. and Mrs. Gladstone are preparing
for the calobration of their golden wedding. S
A Texan jxwtess, Mrs. Elizabeth J. Hart- M
ford, is said to be a lineal descendant of Wal- ' ^
t"r Scott.
It Is noted {hat "President Harrison's Bun-"
dap mall lies unopened on his desk till Men- J ?
day morning." Pierre
Lorillard, the wealthy tobaooo*
niseis a greet birxl fancier and delights in %
raising pheasants. s ,
Only three of the War Governors are now
living?Blair, of Michigan; Curtin, of Pennsylvania,
and Kirkwood, of Iowa.
Caitain John Ericsson left an estate
valued at about $1-50,000, which is divided >
among his relatives and business associates.
The wedding of His Grace of Newcastle
leaves the Dukes of Portland and Somerset
the only bachelor Dukes in the English peerage.
William E. Boudinot, at whose suggestion
the Signal Service was establishedThas
just died at Pittsboro, N. C., at tho age of
seventy-five years. ^ A
Mr.Charles Johnson, aged twenty-three, j
son of a Kansas City grain dealer, has been
offered a situation as artist for Harper's /
Weekly at a salary of $10,000 a year. (
The famous French physician, Charcot,
the specialist in nervous diseases, has a royal
income from his practice. His fee from tho
Emperor of Brazil alone amounted to $S000.
The Emperor of Austria intends to visit
England this year in such strict iucugnito i
that no one but himself and his attendants (
will know anythiug about it till he is at ""
home again. ?
Bishop Lightfoot, of Durham, England,
makes it n rule to spend his Episcopal in- v J
come ($35,000 n year) on church "ana educational
work, and not a shilling of it has
gone into his own pocket.
Dr. Nathan Hazen, of Marshall, 111., is
Mmnrlfshln hAin? ^-^1.-1.1- 4.1.1 *1_ J
touiai aauio (U uoin^ |II UUttUIJ blltJ bU10 BUr*
ivor of the battle of l.ake Erio, fought
September 10, 1818. He served on Perry's
flagship, and is now ninety years old. ,
The annual sales in Marshall Field's great
dry-goods store in Chicago aggregate $80,
000,000. This vast business employs 8000 ^
people and is personally directed by Mr. ,~M
Field, who is at his desk from 8 o'clock until
5.
Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster, has accepted
the position of editor of Harper's
Bazar, made vacant by the death of Miss
Mary L. Booth. Mrs. Sangster has been for
several years the "postmistress" of Harper*s
Young People.
Dr. Richard M. Oatling, the inventor
of the famous gnu, is now oyer seventy -r (v
years old,- with a full, gray beard and such a
kindly face and mild pair of ayes that no M
one would ever suspect him as the inventor
of "murderous war weapons. a ^
Postmastkr:Gkneral Wanamaker lias
a special telegraph wire running from his
business establishment in Philadelphia directly
to bis office in the Fostoftlce Depart- <
ment , By this means he is kept informed of
what is being done in Philadelphia, and can
be consulted at any moment. His oorre- ' '
spondence has reached such immense proportions
that he still retains in the city bis confidential
clerk, who accompanied him from
Philadelphia. Tp
MUSICAL AND DKAMATIO.
Kate Field is lecturing on Prohibition.
Christine Nilsson was born in Sweden in
1843.
cr.ara Morius, the actress, is ill in St.
Louis.
Ada Rehan, Augustin Daly's leading lady,
is worth $150,000.
Booth and Barrett will pay Modjeeka i ?,
J eiouu a weoK tor next /tugusu
comedian Wll,mam j. florence was
bora in Albany, N. Y., in 1831.
Marie Van Zandt is having great success
[ in Italian ojtera at Kroll's Theatre, Berlin.
| "Tiik Mikado" has been produced with
much success at tho Gartnerplatz Theatre in
Munich.
A new theatre, to cost nearly $7,00(1000, is
to be built 011 the Champ de Mars, St. Petersburg,
Kussia.
Edward Scovel, the American tenor, has
met with distinct success in Chicago as Faust
and Don Jose.
Daniel & Maouinnis, tho well-known
comedian, died iu Boston a few days ago,
aged lifty-five. f
Mr. Dudley Buck's cantata called "The
Light of Asia," has been presented at St.
James's Hall, in London, with signal success.
? ,
Mr. Crotty, the leading baritone of Carl .. .
Rosa's operatic company, is a great, sprinter,
holding the championship of Ireland at 100
yards.
Andrew Carnkoie, tho millionaire Pennsylvania
ironmaster, is about to build a big
music hall in New Yo'k which is to cost $1.000,000.
La Bcai.A, the gteal111 MUan.trae -?WE
seats for 3000 persona Covent Garden, in
IiOndon, has 2o00 seats, and the Vienna
Opera, 2400
Beethoven's birthplace, at Bonn, for
years past a music hall and drinking bar, has
been purchased for $1300, and will be restored
to its former state.
It is reported that $1,500,000 has been subscribe!
in Wall street for the new amuse
inent structure to l>e built on the site of the
Madison Square Garden, NewYork.
Manager Daniel Frohman, of tho New
York Lyceum, lias engaged Elsie I-eslle, the
Little Ijord Fauutleroy, to play a dual role k
in "Prince and Pauper" next August.
A new play, "Corporal Jack," based upon
the American Revolution, has been produced
with great success at Amberg's Theatro, New
York city, with August Juukermann in the
titular role.
Count Von Moltkk, though eighty-elk
nis fullv ratains his love for tnusio,
and hardly ever mimes a court concert. He
used to l>e if frorpient performer on the piano,
too, but has given it up.
On the personal application of Fanny Jfe
Davenport, the actress, Governor Taylor, of
Tennessee, granted a pardon to Charles Talbot,
the Memphis hotel cleric who stole #&>,- gt
000 worth of her diamonds two years ago.
Durino a itooth and Barrett's performanoe
of "Julius C-wear" at Boston, a party of
Harvard College students volunteered to aek
at the "naoh." When the stage manager
gave the signal for them to cheer during the
scone between Brutus and Gassius, they re
sponded with a "Rah* rah I rah I Harvard,"
and that official fell limp on a chair.
Manaobr Abubv has had unusual hard
- - ?a *.1- si?Ma?i/Mis
IllCK WW BOlIlt w ?? * ?" T WIWV]
during the peat two iww. L*?t aeiwon *fl
Geretor hroko down at the very beginning of ;<$M
bar American tour, nn<l young HoCrnan do- JV|
aarted hi# manager }u#t u a aoUrtnalint >a? ?eJS?
turn for the preliminary outlay was betfin
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