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. k-. ? * v ' L 'I HE KINC 1 _^HONi A NOVEL Or AMERICAN LIF # DV MAURICE Copxrljht, 18(2 tad 1892 ^haftes iz. CONTINUED. purpose of our history yriL ^ejuiit us ftt prt 'eut to follow Vassear in his pursuit of Ratneau, but the reader will understand the stitc of society prevailing in the gulf coast at tli? time of which we write if wo sketch here a scene or two in the byplay we are now in view of?a by-play fairly characteristic of the time end the place, and at the same time important as a foundation for some later developments of our drama. Among the acquai itances made by 1- D?._l r? V ftsstur 1U IUC A Ck XI XklVCl ?I was. the preacher Burns. These two men, after a casual meeting, held together as if by the force of some hidden, sympathetic attraction. The fact was that Yasseur's instinct discovered in Burns a trustworthy spirit as well as a valuable store of information touching the country, its topography aud its inhabitants. Moreover, the little Frenchman quickly made out that the preacher was not all preacher?that the old man bad some important object in view other than the comforting and saving of the souls of men. Burns read more of Yasscur's true character than the latter suspected, but.he did not reach his secret. Bach man, indeed, kept his innermost purpose well shrouded. ^wA/ln fAflPAfKfil* VllQflATir 1UCJ Vibca ivug iv^vnuvt) t xvwvm- | i on bis stanch, muscular pony, and Burns astride of a large, bony animal, presented to him by a group of his rough but generous frontier admirers, who had agreed that his preaching was "wo'th a hoss, saddle an' bridlo;" . . and in these somewhat eccentric journeys they met many strangers whose movements and purposes were more or less mysterions, and many others whose open faces and frank speech proclaimed them honest men. Vasseur qnickly noticed that Burns made his way by the point of his piety and with the wedge of religious sentiment. The hint was not lost on the ready .'.4 Frenchman. He, too. was,apparently, i wery religious, very devoted to prayer I and pious reflection. He even let it | t>e understood that preachiug was a j part of his life work. If Burns saw through this shrewd use of an impious ham. he did not appear to notice it. i In the rode but comfortable cabins 4 of the settlers the itinerants were1 given wploome to shelter and food in | return for their songs and prayers. Hfton ATioncli the familv would ioin in the hymn-singing; always the members. would kneel during prayers. It was a persistent, universal element of the American pioneer life, this reverenco for the simplest forms of worship. Even among the most lawless and desperate classes the influence of religious sentiment went a long way, j and the minister of the gospel was treated as a sort of privileged charac- ; ter, to go and come at will and to be protected and cared for by everybody. One fine morning in April, as Yass ceur and Burns rode along a bridlepath, a little way from the east bank of Pearl Itiver, going in a direction that would intersect tlio Black-wolf Trail a mile or two farther on, they fell in with a short, well-built, blackeyed young mau, who informed them that he was a Methodist preacher on his way to Xew Orleans. This comely youth was indeed a typical fledgling minister in appear- ' ance and was rather showily dressed -- : 1 U iu clerical j,ai u. He was a pleasing conversationalist, - * coft-voiced, versatile in expression, j .? of ready hnmor and apparently wcl) | * acquainted with the country. His age j I could not have been much beyond 1 twenty-one years, though something i lurking iu tho lines of his mobile fea- I tures suggested deep and porhaps iianreesive experiences. t C?bc horse that he was riding was poor, apparently old and certainly j quite lame; but his saddlo was a costly one, silver-mounted aud beautifully ; finished; bis bridle was likewise very j fine. A pair of heavy, silver-mounted ! 0 Jiolster pistols hung at his saddlef l)OW. ? "They were given to no along with t the saddle," he explained, "and '* though I have not tho slightest use for them, I could not well refuse * them." "I suppose," ho added interrogatively, after a moment's reilection, 'there would be no harm in selling the weapous and using the money when I arrive in New Orleans?" Mr. Burns cud Yaosour both said that they could see no impropriety. The three theu discussed tho peculiar hardships, vexatious and ludicrous ad ventures iu the ministerial Hie 01 I the frontier. They rode slowly along, on account of t L_e .mneness of theyonug stranger's horse,. their way leading t'ueui through a wild, semi-tropical forest. The dense foliage of the trees net over their heads and shut out tho sky, while on cither hand the giant trunks stood so thick that the eye could penetrate but the shortest distance from the irregular roadway, save vliero here and there little glades opened and let the sunshine iu ou crowded and bristling clumps of dwarf palmetto; and but for the conghiug of a brisk breeze through the frondcus boughs on high, the silence would have been unbroken by any sound ol the wilderness. \ ' } OFii_ BY ISLAND E DURING THE WAR OF 1SI2. : THOMPSON, by Kobart Bonstr'a Son*. "I presume that one or the other of you, brethren, will be glad to swap horses with me," said the stranger, with a humorous twinkle iu his sharp, black eyes; "mine is, as you see, a most dosirable beast, especially as to his gait." "I am sure that if you consider him desirable you had better keep him," romarked Mr. Burns, his own grave and wrinkled face relaxing a little; "I should not wish to rolieve you of him." "Me, I no wish ze good 'orse at all; dis one suit me var' well," 6aid Vasscur. The voaag preacher chuckled and turned a quarter about In his saddle, so that his weight was all on his left stirrup. Suddenly he let fall the bridle-reins and, with lightning celerity, snatched both the pistols from the saddle-bow. Burns and Vasseur found themselves looking each into the yawning muzzle of a weapon held by a hand as * 5 ?. ?.11 Bieauy as hsiuus nun. "Dismount?both on the same side there, gentlemen," came the cold, determined order, "and hold np jour hands, or I'll bore jou, center through, before you can wink!" Then and there the young preacher robbed Vasseurol his money, a dagger and his horse; and, after placing the fine bridle and saddle upon the latter, mounted, and, with a mocking laugh, a rakish bow and a kiss of the fingers, rode away. He had touched nothing belonging to Mr. Burns. It is not known whether or not Mr. Burns was taken by surprise when Yasscur began to rage and swear and curse like a buccaneer, his expletives ranging through the scale of three or four languages; but that he stood quietly by, his face inscrutably mournful in its expression, his thin, bony hands hanging at his sides, is well authenticated. Yasseur exhausted himself of profanity, and then was fain to put his own saddle and bridle on the stranger's lame horse in order to prooeed on the journey. Burns objected to this. "Take my beast," be said, "it win serve your purpose better, brother. The lame one will be good enough for mo." Vasseur looked abashed, for the thought had dashed into his mind that very second to do for Burns what the other preacher had done for him. "You need this strong beast of mine," Eurns urged, "to carry out your plans. Do not hesitate; he is I yours, tako him and welcome. I can get on with the other." The little Frenchman was inwardly startled. What did Burns know of his plaus? Had he suddeuly divined them? "You have undertaken a difficult, an almost impossible thing, brother, and you cannot afford to be poorly mounted in case of need," went on "1.1 ??? io (i rrnrir} fifrvnniY ! and baited a rod distant, forming a finely picturesque group set against I the dull, gray trunks and dusky interj spaces of the wood. Pierre Rarneau was in front, mounted on a bold, proud horse, whose nostrils breathed the air of the wilderness with savage delight. Vasseur, with the air of a wild beast caught in a close place, looked this way and that and was ou the point of running oflanioug the trees as fast as his legs could carry him, when ltameau leveled a pistol on Liu and bade him stand. "What arc you, g-ntlemen, doing here?" inquired the cavalier; but neither liurns U'?r Vr. ."Hnr could t.3 lliiC KJ i VI Ui ilUi JL. UAO AS* M |^vv\* f w w?k vx ^ horse, and, although he does not look so, is u very swift one. Take him; I give him to you." It was while they were parleying on this subject, Vasseur pretending that he was objecting to Burns's generosity, that the old man stooped aud picked up a folded letter, the Real of which had been broken. He opened it without hesitation, and found it to be a short note addressed to John A. Murrell?a name which, a few years later, was that of the most desperate and enterprising outlaw ever known in America. It would have been better for Va3scur had he accepted the proffered horse at once; then he might have ercaped tho unpleasant experience which soon followed. Like many auother pretender he lingered too long to accentuate and coilaterally reinforce his assumed sincerity. It may have been the steady, searching gaze that Burns bent upon him, it may have been the old man's singular expression of kindliness, or it may have been the peculiar turn of the adventure just passed through; at all events, influenced by some pewer, Vasseur stood hesitating and demurring until three galloping horsemen armed to the teeth were close upon them. Bnrns saw the new-comers first and <"ith a s^aim-lik"! movement he fixed his eyes upon the leader, his face iiriveling and blanching in a startling manner. Vasseur turned quickly as the sound of horses' feet behind him shook him oat of his insincerity, and it was no^ his turn to show amazement, surprise 3nd despair all condensed in a singlo stare. The riders reined in their horses ewer promptly, so dry were thctr throats and so stiffened their tongues. Not that either wauted courage. But the situation under the circumstances was absolutely overpowering. "Are you deaf, you frogeater?" continued P.amcau, as he recognized Vasseur. "Speal: instantly or I'll-?" Evidently llaineau was astouished, although his face retained its calm, cold, almost indifferent expression. He had not expected ever to meet vasseur again; taking it for a certainty that the little fellow had been burned to ashes in the tire of his own house. Here he wa3, however, evidently intent on revenge, Rameau felt sure, and a most dangerous man he was to be hunted by. "I was hunting my lost cattle," quickly responded the little Frenchman in his own tongue; "a man robbed us just now." "Don't lie to me, half-breed; I know what you are up to; I can read you as if your face were a book. You are up here dogging my tracks?I have heard of you prowling around for some time." Rameau's look and voice were cold, hard, cruel And Vasseur well knew that it was not worth while to mabe any further attempt to deceive him. Burns stood beside his horse in an attitude which betrayed his intense excitement as much as did the extreme gray pallor and the almost distorted contraction of his face; but Rameau was too mucn occupied wna vsssear to give the old man more than a passing glance. "Tie that fellow to a tree, Newkirk,** said the leader of the cavaliers to one of his followers. "Tie him up and give him forty with a good gad." The man at once obeyed the order. Vasseur began to whine and beg; he saw that resistance wonld be madness; bat the thought of a whipping was torture itself. When a boy he had known, on a plantation in San Domingo, what the lash felt like, falling on the bare back. The recollection coming to him suddenly drew up his limbs as if with rheumatio agony. He pleaded in the name of all the saints he oould think of and prayed in polyglot profusion. Newkirk, aided byone'of his fellows, seized him and, despite his straggles, placed him in a hugging attitude against a tree, where they bound him securely. "Now cut some switches and give him a sound basting," said Rameau. "After he has been thoroughly tickled, maybe he won't-be so auxious to hunt lost cattle in these woods!" Then, while the men were selecting their gads, he turned to Burns. "And are you a cattle-hunter, too?" he inquired with sarcastio intonation. "What have you got to say for yourself?" The old man made a great effort, but his lips moved without giving forth a sound. Three times he tried to speak, his parched tongue crispiug in his mouth like a frost-dried leaf. "Qnmo tinfl trnt TOHT tnnCTTie. tOO. eli? Perhaps you would like a few lashes before speaking to a gentleman. Is that it?" Eameau said these words while looking hard into the old man's writhing face. As he did so, he felt a vague uneasiness, as of something forgotten or of something strange about to happen, and he almost shrank from the flaring yet aged-dulled eyes that gazed so fixedly at him. When, at last, Barns found his voice, he leaned forward, and in a hoarse, rasping half-whisper, that *- * ^hvAn/vli + V? TVAArla I113&CU DUUUquj j bui vuqu vuv hvvuw| exclaimed: "At last, Kirk MaoCollonrb, I have found you!" CHAPTER X. BURKS ANP MAC COLLOUOII. "When the man Newkirk began to lay on blows with a long switch across Vasseur's back, the little fellow begged and screamed and swore indiscriminately; bat all to no effect. The time had come for him to receive a ommrl liastinn. &g Rameau had ordered, and it was delivered with right good will, the full forty lashes ringing out keen and loud. "Who are you?" demanded Rameau, half recoiling from the name that Burns had spoken, though his face showed no ?i??ns of surprise. "What do you mean by your crazy words?" At the same time he rode close tip beside the old man and, loaning forward, looked eearchingly into his fuce. "Kirk MacCo'.longk, where?where is my child?" came from the dry, withered lips. "Ah, I see you are crazy, poor old man!" muttered the outlaw; but be did not deceive Burns, who knew that be was recognized. J* I might well-be'crazy, Kirk MacCollongh, with all that I have borne from you; but I am not?I am not." He lifted bin hands, shaking as if with a palsy. "Kirk MacCollough, take me to my child !" he quavered. " Take me to her! Let me see her once more and die!" There was no intimation of recognition in Bameau's eyes. He straightened up in his saddle aud made an impatient gesture. " Hold you tongue," he said, speaking in an undertone; " I will listen to you presently." Meanwhile, the scourging of Yasseur had been proceeding, evidently much to the amusement of the onlooking cavaliers, and now the dust was rising from the littlo victim's jacket in thin smoke-like puffs at every blow. Newkirk was a strong man; he made the pad chirrup on its way through the air; tho jacket and undergarments wero but slender protection against his vigorous strokes. Rameau turned aud coolly looked on until tho punishment was ended. "Untio the cow-hunter now an4 let him gol" he said. A (TO BE cotrnjsUED.l SPIRITUAL UPLIFTING I OUR REGULAR SUNDAY SERMON. ' Principles Which Abide With Those Who Constantly Walk With GodPleasure in Christian Suffering:. New Yohk City.?YL^hen Rev.Dr. D. i Adams, the new pastor of the First Baptist Church, l.ee avenue and Keap street, i preached his first sermon as pastor of the 1 church, he selected for his textr^ Hebrews I xii: 1 and 2: "Therefore, let us also, seeing ' we are compassed about wun so great a i cloud of witnesses, lav aside every weight i and the sin which is admired by many and 1 let us run with patience the race that is i set before us, looking unto Jesus, the au- i thor and perfecter of our faith; who, for 1 the joy that was before Him, endured the < cross, desoised the shame and hath sat i down at the right hand of the throne of 1 God'' (N. V.), and said: A very casual observer could easily tell ! that many Christians have lost the joy of 3 the Christian service which they once nad. It takes no scholar, nor. indeed, a critic, of Christian life or human living to see that 1 many, who one day rejoiced with "un- ' speakable joy" in the service of Jesus I Christ, are to-day indifferent. Indeed, we < ourselves find some times, when to come to j the house of God is a burden, and we drag s a weary body or reluctant soul into the < presence of the Almighty and try to wor- 1 shin Him in the "beauty of holiness." We I find again and again, if we should follow t the inclination of our hearts and minds 1 that we should stay at home. But those 1 are new experiences comparatively. Once I we could give up any pleasure for ar hour I with liod, ana wnen 10 nave _een in jti? ? presence and feel that He was hearing us; I to enjoy the touch of kindred spirits; to have enjoyed the song and the prayer and the service, out of God's heart, would have been better to us than riches and more precious than fine gold. But that is gone. We find ourselves sometimes coming beer.use we think we ought; doing this or that service because it is customary; entering into this form or that because it is a habit to do so, and in the saner moments of our conscience we come sometimes, to say: "Why is this so?" Has God changed? Has the power of the old gospel <to alleviate human life of its brudens and sufferings gone? Is there less of power and efficacy in the saving grace of Jesus Christ now than once? After all, is God's service really and truly at bottom nothing but a drudgery? Or, has something taken place with us? Have we left behind something we once had and have we passed beyond that moment of exultant spirit when in the presence of Jesus our heart bounded with the joy of a new faith and the experience a of salvation? Well, we are perfectly sure \ God has not changed. We are perfectly < ?o '"ttio eamo VMtpr(i*V. tO-daV C and forever." We have not a doubt that r the old gospel will save men to-day, and J when we come to think of it after all is Jj not the matter of being saved a subject of I just as much joy in the twentieth century * as in the first century? Has there been s any change in the attitude of the gospel? o We are bound to confess there has been F none, and if that is true, then the trouble <| is with us Somewhere we have lost some- c thing, nnd I am looking into faces this morning that know better than I do, in J their experience, that that something is n the priceless treasure of Christian hope, t Now. to get that back. When I was a s bov I wept when first I saw the wrinkles n coming on my mother's face. I wanted f her to remain always young, and there are r thousands of Christian hearts, some repre- a sented here, doubtless, that have wept at t flxTMofian avr?r?ripnPP it is t I lie iuna ui lucii vti ia\iu.? v.^v....... .. dead, joy is gone. Oh, what would we give to get it back! I am persuaded that we o would give a great deal to get it back, but ii I am more thoroughly persuaded that the li way to get it back is to get into the atti- v tude of life that makes it constant. The c best thing is not to get back the Christian j> experience of years ago. but to get into the attitude of life that makes that experience ? perennial. n I am going, therefore, to discuss the " sources of joy. The thing that most lies behind that experience and the first thing ? that confronts the Christian in the mat- r1 ter is duty. We do not like that word , duty. We associate with 'he word duty. " sacrifice, and are surprised when we find * that it is in itself a term of freedom. v When I say to you, "I want vou to do ? your duty," you sav. "Don t taw; 10 me , about dktfy; I don't like that word." That " is largely because the word has com to you J1 to mean a matter of bondage, when in rcality it ought to mean a matter of freedom. S1, Why it was duty * ehind the text: "Let us, 1 therefore, seeing we are compassed about 2 with so great a cloud of witnesses lay aside . every weight and the sin which is admired J1 bv many (or so delight in?rome special sin ' of the age. I suppose) and let us run with j1. Iiatienee the race that is set before us, " ooking unto .Tesus, the author and perfect- " er of our faith, who. for the joy that was " set before Him, endured the cross, de- | spised the shame, and hath sat down at the " right hand of the throne of God." That * is duty. In the light with which Jesus despised the cross we ought not to stop and a reason about duty. I want you to notice P that duty is an ethical term, not a legal. J? 'there is a kind of doctrine abroad to-day which is called the ethical religious idea. I ? do not mean that at all. Duty is ethical. ? * -c 11 not legal, liutv resie.es in trie recesses ui a man's character, not in the external legislation concerning him. I am a moral ^ being, therefore I ought. A dog or a v horse can never be called upon because of V oughtness?they are not mora! beings. They s are within the restrictions of a master and s_ that is legal. There is something in man V that is an oughtness. "I ought, therefore * I must." Because I am a moral being I j' ought, therefore duty is ethical. Many a * man fulfills the law and breaks every pos- < sible moral duty. The saloonkeeper is keeping the letter of the law. but he is doing an immoral thing. It is not a matter . of legality or politics, but of moral oughtness. Until that moral oughtness is obeyed v I am in bondage, but when I obey the r moral oughtness I am free. I passed s through a great sewing machine works in v Belviderc, HI., and saw the machine called c the automatic screw. The ordinary ma- * chine knows more than a lot of men. Men -1 can't do a thing as you tell them to. You ? set a man on a job of work and he will ? change the way of doing it just as sure as a he lives?that is, if he is an American. If e he is a Chinaman or a Russian he won't. u That is why corporations hire that kind of P man, because he will do no more nor less 1 than he is told. But you tell an American 1 to do a thing precisely in a certain way; P he won't do it: vou can't hire him to do it. a But a machine will. You say that is re- Jj stricted. No, it is not. It will take the pig iron and turn it out perfect screws as ' small as a piece in your watch, and do it *all day long. That is liberty. The iron was restricted in the pig iron, it? is at liberty in the screw shape Decause it is doing its intended work, and man is at liberty 1 only when he is doing his God-intended 0 service. Morally speaking, duty is ethical, s then. I do my duty before God. not be- 0 cause I must, out because I ought. I am f less a man and less free when 1 refuse to " do a thing I was made to do. The chief f end of man, says the catechism, is to wor- k ship God and enjoy Him. Exactly. So that duty is a part of joy in service. Selfishness is incompatible with service, c The servant is not the servant when thinking more of the wage than the business. Yon cannot serve and be selfish. The sin of this age is selfishness, my friends. 1 11 am thankful that I live in the age of elec- t tricity. wireless telegraphy and automo- 0 biles, but let me tell you, the sin of the v age is pure, unadulterated selfishness. Ten 1 tnousand people to-day in this great city a are seeking absolutely their own selfish d pleasure, and when self dethrones God and * enthrones itself the sin of all sin in this 9 age is committed. "Son, give me thina heart." "Xo," you say, "you cannot have it; it is mine. I am going to keep my heart to myself." I was reminded as I came down from Binghamton through the mountains on Saturday ? I love those mountains. (I have been hungry out on the Western plains to see a lull. You j would be surprised to see what they call a hill out there. Why, an Irishman with a wheelbarrow could build a bigger mountain in a day than some of those mountains). 1 looked over those mountains and remembered an experience some years ago in the Adirondack*. We started out early one i morninp to climb a mountain. The valley was fufi of light, and as we looked back from the top of one of the foothills in the valley at our feet the beautiful verdure seemed to throw back the beauties of the sunlight. Then we entered a fog, where we could not see more than live or six feet iway. Where was the beauty gone? Our : ittention became riveted upon our efforts to climb out of the fog. Presently we emerged from it and were on the mountain Lop. My. what a scene! There lay the i . alley at our feet, like an extensive world; i towns, rivers and railways?the great Vai"* TWo it was neariv [50 miles away, but we were looking at it. Tliat was like the Christian experience. iVlien you came to the seat that day you tvere on the foothill. You forgot all be'ause Jesus was everything ana you saw :iie little landscape. You thought, "The i Christian life is beautiful. I am full ef ioy." And a few weeks passed and you said, "But to live as a Cshirtian is not so :asy; I do not see the joy. The little valey, where is it? \\ bat a tremendous ' :hing it is to be climbing up to God." And :he cloud settles and you get to be seltish. j Hut if you persevered and climbed upvard you have come to the mountain peak. . Experience, and you feel that all vour lowers and love ought to be settled on inc effort to climb still further and further in the vision of the Eternal. I wonler if some of us are not still in the cloud, lecause we have lost the joy of service. Suffering is only incident to sendee. I im perfectly aware, when I ask you to en:er with greater zeal in the service of God hat I am asking you to suffer. You will tot be killed, or asked to move out of the United States or persecuted because you ire a Christian, but vou will have to sufer, and when you suffer you will begin to snjoy. No man laughs so heartily as the nan who weeps most bitterly. No laugher rings so in heaven as that which comes hrougn the tears down here. By suffering I mean you will be asked to endure the :ross. Jesus endured the cross. Now, ight here let me say that suffering is not lervice. Some one says: "See here, do you nean to say that when I suffer for Jesus nAf com-ino^' Thnt i?s PVUPt y what I mean to any. God has no pieasire in your pain, but if your service for lim demands it, and you bear it lieroicilly. He has pleasure in the attitude of . our life. Jesus Christ endured the cross. 1 iVby? Because it was incident to the work f saving this race. Somebody will call ue heretic, but I am not. I believe, and , ou believe, that Jesus Christ came to this vorld to save this race. I believe and you J elieve that without Christ there is no salation. The key note of all my ministry hall ever be that Jesus is the divine Son if God. If He is not divine let us stop our reaching, sell our property and be inti- 1 lets. If Jesus is a mere man let us all quit usiness. I may be an old fogy, but as ong as this tongue preaches the gospel i ^esus Christ will be the divine Christ in ay message. Do I mean that Jesus came o His cross by accident? Not at all. He aw the cross standing at the end of His aission. and for the joy that was set he- t ore Him endured and came to save this ace, and that meant the bearing of a cross nd He bore it. But the real mission was he saving of the race, not the bearing of j he cross His mission was to save men. j God so loved the world that He gave His nlv begotten Son that whosover believeth * a Him might not perish, but have everisting life.' When the cross stood in the ray of the perfection of salvation .Jesus ndured it divinely, heroically and unflinchfigly died upon it to save us. Suffering is * ncident to service, and when I call you to 1 erve God you will have your cross. The ] ten you work with will say you are too luch of a crank and a fanatic. It will hurt nd pain and go deep, and you will flinch. ? lometimcs you will try to apologize for eing a crank and fanatic, and you will hank God there is something you can enure. It is part of service and behind the offering comes a joy, deep and profound, hen you are true. Yes, you will have hamc to bear. too. Two or three young S ulies where I have been holding meetings < itely and baptizing some have said. "I do ot like to think of getting up before all ho*e people and being baptized " I won- 8 er if we are going into the joy of fulfilling \ lod's command. If we are we have got to ndure some of that shame He endured. ,et me tell you if you had administered aptism and you saw as a minister sees in I he face of the believer buried out of sight f A nojiirrn/itiiin tyf nhUTlPJi flf fe?if vou saw what he sees just once you onId drop your quibbling now. Shame on s if wo cannot bear in the twentieth cen- t urv light of Christian truth all that fol- ? nving Jesus demands of us. A writer in he British Weekly in an article entitled Beating to Windward," says sailing gainst the wind by steam power was op- \ osing one force to another, and was simly a matter of victory for the stronger jrce. but to sail to windward in a sailing 8 essel was a matter of skill for here forces that oppose are not opposed but j scd." Brethren, we must "beat to windard." Christian living that meet with no pnosition is not Christian living at all. If I ou are beating to windward tor Jesus this orld will oppose you. It is a matter of kill, then, to take the opposing forces of uffering and sin and use them to advance I our life in the kingdom of heaven. When i begin to sacrifice I begin to enjoy. Be- , n*ed. if you would have the joy of Chrisian service you must have the heart of ! 'hristian sacrifice. ^ The Last Sabbath. When that last Sabbath comes?the Sab- ' ath of all creation?the heart, wearied } rith its tumultuous beatings, shall have j: est: the soul, fevered with its anxieties, hall enjoy peace. The sun of the Sabbath i rill never set or hide its splendors in a loud. The flowers that grow in its light rill never fade. Our earthly Sabbaths are ut dim reflections of the heavenly Sabath. cast down upon the earth, dimmed y the transit of their rays from so great height and so distant a world. The fair* st landscapes, or combinations of scenery pon earth, are nut tr.e ouisKirm ui mc aradise of God. fore-earnests and intimaions of that which lies beyond them, and he happiest Sabbath-heart, whose very tilse ?s a Sabbath bell, hears but a very indequate echo of the chimes and hannoies of that Sabbath, that rest, where we rest not day and night," in which the ong is never new, and yet ever sung.? umming. What We Can Give. One of the bravest things in the world is o give to others out of one's deepest pov rty, whatever tifcit may be?cheer out of U orrow, hope out of disappointment, help ut of weariness, courage out of defeat, the irecious mite out of the slender store. It j a brave thing to do this, and vet not of?x - e en an unrewarded thing. We do not j ? now that the recording angel keeps any | c pccial account of such heroic benevolences, j( iut surely they do not escape the loving ognizance of God.?Wcllspring. ^ Tvne Conrage. The world and the church need to-rtay n aen of true courage, men who dare to lmva he courage of their conviction; men who re not afraid to do what is right; men s rho will stand up for the right. We have n oo many cowards in the church, and they " re a reproach to Christianity, l'he world 0 lespises a cowardly Christian and God has n 10 use for such.?Ihe Rev. Dr. Houlerby, tl Ulanti, Ga. . ? . s. t Ovr Budget f of Humor. How It Oc-card. Hie milk of human kindness sours And family ties are rent Whenever family lawyers read The letters testament. And this is why the poets say. "Whore there's a will there must b? w hey." ?New York Herald. Doesn't Reciprocate. "Mis'ry likes coiup'ny, dou't It?" "Yes, but w'eu I see It comin', dat's de day I dou't feel sociable."?Atlanta Constitution. Rather Dome. Wlgg?"He's rather douse, isn't he?** Wagg?"Yes; he wouldn't recoguize the point of a joke if he sat down on it."?Philadelphia Record. A Floodtlme Incident. Teacher?"Can you tell me where the Mississippi River rises. Johnnie?" Jwhnnie?'"Along its entire length, ma'am."?Cleveland Plaindealer. Accepted. * I 'i The Editor?"Yes, we found an open# ng for you sonnets." The Poet?"That's good." The Editor?"Yep. Some vandal >roke a pane in our sanctum and it |u?t fits."?New York Journal. Intanrlble. As little Robert was leaving hia mntla'o elm <;fl M "Give mamma my regards." "Well, where are they?" inquired the ittle fellow.?Little Chronicle. A Conversation Overheard. "Gooddess gracious! Maude, where ire you going with that big bunch of oses and those boxes of candy?" "Why, haven't you heard? They've tot just one of the loveliest murderers n the county Jail that ever was"'-* ialtimore News. Hla rartienlar Line. "That new roan of yours," snid the >roprietor of the store to the departncnt manager, "seems to be a mighty lard worker." "Yes," replied the latter, "that is bis ;pecialty." "What?working?" "No?seeming to."?Syracuse Herald. The Abnurdlty of It. ^ Mrs SkraDn?"It seems to roe to be io ridiculous to refer to a tugboat as she'." Mr. Skrapp?"That's so; tugboats do ictually accomplish some good In the vorld." Mrs. Skrnpp?"Yes, and they pnff md blow about it so."?Philadelphia *ress. All For the Beat. "Yes," said Mr. Cumrox, "my dangher's commencement essay was verj iue." "Did you enjoy it?" "I should say so. I wish I could vrite something like it," Vn,i rarrrnt lint h.irin^ flnnlied TOUr elf to literary pursuits?" "No. If I had. I probably couldn't lave afforded to give Ethelinda the ducatlon which produced this niastertiCce."?Washington Star. Th? Skect. "Come on, fellers, here's just like ndlng money."?New York Sun. The Secret of SneceM. "What have you ever done to de? erve the confidence of your fellow itizens?" asked the man of severe leals. "Vnt miieli I'm afraid." said Senator orghum, remorsefully. "Aren't you afraid of being dialaced?" "No. Tbey sent a man to this poition some time ago who failed to ive satisfaction. Then they sent anther who was worse. Then they sent le, and they say I'm still worse, but bey are afraid to take any mom bances."?Washington Star. -