The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, August 06, 1903, Image 2
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'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. -