The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, November 09, 1905, Image 8
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y "TOD" ELKU
^ AUTOMOBIL!
* *
By Howard
E a aaaaaaaa
H R E E weeks before
J| __ JJ Thauksgiviug there was a
I 0 consultation among the iumates
of the Morrisville
>fflf poorbeuse. It was held in
* the common sittiug-room, where the
men and women were allowed to gather
when they were not eating or sleep,
' tng. About all the unfortunates in the
almshouse had to do was to eat and
* ' si^ep; a few worked about the iustituan
or iu the garden. The convention
opened rather unexpectedly, when
Sarah Tooker remarked:
"What d'ye s'pose we'll have for
Thanksglvin'?"
All the others turned and looked at
her. for Sarah was the latest arrival,
and consequently new to the regulations
governing the Morrisville poor"
? house.
"Do they feed us on turkey or chick7
en?" she continued. "I'm a little mite
fouder of turkey myself, but I s'pose
Trail eat chicken on a pinch."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Rodney Eckert.
4*Ho! lio!" aud his two remaining teeth
rattled together like corn in a parching-pan.
"Turkey! Chicken! Rand
love ye, Sarah 'looker! If it ain't roast
^ hfflE-it'Hrtrr lamb stew, and if it ain't
Hcij Iamb stew it'll be roast beef, an' ye
can take your choice. I kuow. I've
been here ni.ch onto fourteen year now.
Most likely it'll be lamb stew. 1 call
to miud how we had roast beef last
>; ?/.ar."
j& . f Eight other eld men and ten other
? old women nodded their heads in grave
assent. The.v also knew, from more
or less long experience, what the
Thanksgiving dinner would be. It was
only slightly different from the usual
meals of soup, bread and tea. served
i, . regularly at the poothouse. Only Sarah
hoped for a change. The others
y thought little about it.
' Lamb stew." said Sarrh. plaintively.
"Why, the ideal Thanksgiving, tool
Well, ail I've got to say is, that it ain't
? what I'm used to. not by a good deal,
y 1 don't sec why we can't have a chick- J
en potpie," she finished, with a little
I . ?igb"Don't
let Zeke Jedeil hear ye." cautioned
Dud Tunkert. "As long as he's
Deen superintendent of ttiis poornouse,
he eau't abide to have any one find
fault with the eatin'. Not that wo
need Mo, most times: but since ye 1
brought up the Tbanksgtvin' subject. !
ft kinder rnus in my bead. Turkey! '
-Ah! Urn!"
' ".HyToh. niy! Thanksgivin', an' lamb
' llfwr' repeated Sarah. "It doesn't 1
seem rdlsonabie. Before I had to '
rj come here I was used to a big turkey 1
for dinuer?a big. fat. brown turkey." '
"If ye'd just leave off mentioning '
such thjngs I'd be obliged to ye," said J
Tod Elknm, with a little quaver in his 1
voice. lie awoke from the doze he
had been in. "It makes a body feel s
hungry." lie went on. "'Specially *
wheu the feastij' time's so near. If '
It's all the same, ve might mention 1
m, soiuetbin' about bein* shipwrecked on |'
a desert island, with nothin' to eat but
i'V^ Iwot-legs an* seaweed. Tbat'li give
not; appetites for Jaiub stew," he con- 1
f' .?dudf*I. I
t A silence concluded, while each one <
-of the twenty inmates of the poor- '
Louse was busy with his or her own 1
sad thoughts. 1
Sarah 'looker wagged tier head de- >
-Jettedly. It was a new experience for '
Jter. for she had been in good circumstances
uutil failing fortunes and the <
dealh of all her relatives had obliged 1
iier to seek refuge in that place dread- 1
ed by all the aged. 1
1 "It dors stem a pity we can't cele >
_' lirate for once." mused Tod Elkum, as 1
lie-walked out into the yard. "I would
relish a nice, brown slice of turkey,
with plenty of gravy nu' lots of dressin*.
And I wouldn't mind some ernn- <
berry sauce, too. Kut I s'pose th'
i selectmen ain't got uaonev to waste
on such ?rjr,s."
rini <ji? iileasant eonntrv road a
V" ? jfreat
roil automobile rushed by. raislug
a cloud of dust. The State turnpike
passed through Morrisville.
"I'll bet those folks ain't worryin'
about where their turkey is coiuin'
from." went on Tod. "Well, we can't
all be rich, and maybe it's a good
- thing."
lie strolled toward the road, walklog
slowly, for his limbs were feeble
?frotn age. He enjoyed the crisp air
of November and the genial sun. which
tempered the rather cool afternoon.
There was the delightful smell of autumn.
coming from the brown earth,
and the dried leaves rattled as he trod
on them.
| He reached the road anil turned
toward the village. The dust from
the automobile was still Sying lazily
in the sunlight. A little way ahead
' Tod saw a ligure. It was that of a
man, and he was shaking his staff at
something in the distance. When Tod
came nearer he recognized Hank
Wright, the town marshal.
"What's the trouble?" asked Tod.
/ . "Somebody tryiu' to run over ye?"
"it's them pesky automobiles'." said
Hank.
"What did it do? Most nip ye?" inquired
Tod.
"No. But it was goin* twice ns fast
nc ?]?* low allows." i?r>:ied Hank, "and
I was' holleriuVto Aop it. The selectmen
have pass-- a law, limitiu' the
rate to ten mile .n hour, ami this one
yvas gojn' twen' if it was going one."
"And -e v- ^ eountin' on arrestin'
*ein ?"
"I was. and tinin' 'enj, too," said
Hank, firmly. "There's a penalty of
ten dollars for exceedin' the speed
I Jimit. Hilf of it goes to the town and
the other hi If is divided between the
( marshal making the arrest and Squire
Bascomb. There's a good two dollars
and a half 2 could have had just as
j^ell as not."
"It's somethin' like fisliln'," cousoled
Tod. "Better luck next time."
'?* 'Til warrant the next one don't get
ifray from mef threatened Hank. He
utrtrn uutTtrutrj:
NTS
L THAI*.
*
[ P.. Garis.
aannnnnnan
walked on, while Tod strolled slowly
after him
But the sturdy legs of the marshal ;
soou proved too fast for the older man,
and Tod dropped behind.
"If I see any of them autobilers goin*
too fast, shall I notify ye?" called out
Tod after the retreating marshal.
"Yes, or ye can arrest 'em yourself,
if ye want to," answered Hank. "Xo
law again' it. But ye'd better be careful.
It takes some one with a show
of authority to bring 'em to a halt."
"Well. I'll let ye know if I see any
of 'em." said Tod, as he kept on with 1
baiting pace.
The days came and wont. Life continued
the same in the Morrisville
poorhouse. There was the same soup
and tea and bread. The little excite- |
nient caused by the mention of a '
Thanksgiving feast had died out. A
week before the holiday Zeke Jedell.
the superintendent, called on Thomas
Jenkins, the chairman of the board of
town selectmen.
"What'll I give the inmates for
Thanksgiving?" asked Zeke.
"What did they have last year?" '
asked Mr. Jenkins.
"Roast beef and potatoes," answered ;
Zeke. 1
"Beefs high and funds are low."'
said Mr. Jenkins. "Lamb's cheaper. |
Give 'em lamb stew."
"They bad thai year before last,"
ventured Zeke.
"Well, they'll forget it bv this time,"
rejoined Mr. Jenkins.
"ITumph! You don't know 'em as
well as I do." said Zeke. But there 1
was no appealing from the decision of
the chairman, and the superintendent
prepared to give a big dinner of lamb 1
stew to his charges.
Thanksgiving was three days off.
Even SarahvTookcr, most hopeful of '
all, had given up. and resigned herself '
to lamb stew. The others, after the
brief delights of an almost wild antici- J
patiou', bad fallen back into their usual !
apathy.
But some new spirit seemed awak- 1
cned in Tod Elkurn. He slept less than 1
usual, and when True Kimball wanted (
bim to engage in the usual game of s
checkers one afternoon Tod declined.
"What ye goin* to do?" asked True. '
"I got a little matter o' business'to 1
lend to down the road," answered Tod.
and he hurried away as fast as his 1
legs would carry him. '
He was muttering to himself.
"If If works there ain't anv reason t
why wp' sha'n't all have turkey." he
was saying. softly. "If I've only pot *
sumption enough to do it. And I will 5
have! I will! Just to think?a Iamb
>tew for Thanksgivin'! I never re- 1
ilized before what it meant. It's all x
ilong o' Sarah Tooker's suggestin' it." 1
Toil walked along the State road. 1
scanning the fence closely. The weath- "
?r. although crisp, was clear, and there j'
was no sign of snow yet. The autumn |
was late that year, and coaching and "s
tutomobile parties from the cities near 1
Morrisville were frequent. 1
"I guess that'll do." said Tod. as he
:ook hold of a long, heavy rail. From
lis pocket he pulled some rope, and :hen
he fastened one end of the rail }
o a fence-post, loosely, so that it s
worked as if on a huge hinge. Then <
le hoisted the rail high ia the air, up- I
right, fastening it there by a light pole. 1
used as a brace. 1
rr'~ K??o/?a r a fla<l nimthpr nippo
1U lUlO VIUVC -IX. H\*?
>f rope, and then. holding tbe end of i
tbe cord in bis band, be took his posi
tion on tbe otber side of tbc road, near *
tbe fence.
"My spring trap's all complete now." :
lie said, with a chuckle. "I'm ready 1
for tbe game when it comes along." '
Any one who watched him might 1
have wondered what sort of game tbe |
old man hoped to catch. He sat frr 1
nearly an hour, resting bis weary back J
against tbe lowest fence-rail. Tbe dried |
leaves on tbe forest trees i:i tbe wood." j
to bis left rustled in the cod fall wind. |
In bis rather thin garments tbe old
man shivered.
Suddenly from down the road sounded
a cry, like a dock of wild geese in
flight:
Ilonk! Honk! Honk!
"There she blows!" eri the old i
man. jumping up. "Now for my trap!
If it only works!"
Around a bend in the road came a ]
big red automobile. It was speeding '
along, the gay party in it laughing and
talking.
"Fifteen mile an hour if it's a foot."
muttered Tod. He drew in liis breath
sharply. His bands trembled, but lie :
steadied tliem. and then be gave the
cord a sudden "yank." The long rail
fell with a clatter and bang ritrlit
across tbe road. Tbe path was effectually
blocked.
The man at the steering-wheel gave
a yell. He pulled some levers with a
suddenness that brought the big machine
up with a quiver of brakes.
"What do you mean?" asked tbe man
at the wheel, angrily. "We might
have smashed that rail if I hadn't
stonned."
"I calculated ye'd stop." said the old
man. coolly. "That's what I put the
rail there for."
"Well, you must be crazy." said the
man. lifting up his big goggles. "What
in the world did you want us to slop
for?"
"Exceedin' the speed limit," replied
Tod, sententiously. "Goiu* faster'u
ten mile an hour. I'm delegated by
tli' town marshal to 'rest ye," he went
on, simply. "Hank Wright; mebbe ye
know him."
"No, I don't," rejoined thecbnuffeucrossly,
"I'm s'prised," rejoined Ted. "Well,
it don't matter. He's delegated me to
look after such people's you. ridiu'
faster'n the law allows."
"Have you a badge?" asked the
chauffeur, suddenly.
Tod hesitated for an instant. He
thought of Hank Wright's big shining
nickel star, the emblem of his author :
=^^4 ~
[ty as twn marshal, ;^pd his^
"I aif't got any bad?e," W t .it
last, "^here ain't butjone b*. ge in
town, and Hank Wright wears that.
He's the town marshal. But he's give
me the authority to arrest ye. and so
I'd advise ye to submit peaceably.
"Ye see." be continued, feeling that
some explanation was necessarj, "I
ain't been long at this business. I live
over at the poorhouse. an' this is ray
own idea for raisin' funds for gettin'
a Thanksgivin' dinner."
"What in the world has stopping our
automobile got to do with a Thanksgiving
dinner?" asked the man with
ilie goggios.
"Why. there's ten dollars' fine for
coin' fnster'n the law allows." explained
Tod. "Half goes to the town,
an' the other half is divided 'tween
me an' Squire Rascomb. So ye'd better
come 'long peaceable and 'pear in
court, for I represent the law. that's
what I do." and his wrinkled and
seamed old face, kindly as it always
was. took on a queer, stern look.
There was a brief whispering among
the occupants of the automobile.
"I might add that all we was goin'
to have for Thnnksgiviu' dinner." said
Tod. "was lamb stew. I've as good as
earned two dollars and a lialf now. and
I'm goin' to stay here till I get enough
for a good turkey dinner. Re ye ready
to go to the justice's office?"
"Yes. we'll go along peaceably." said
(he man with the goggles. "Won't you
- . . ...
|pt in and ride witu us:'
"If ye'll promise not to go faster'n
the law allows," agreed the old man.
"We'll gu slowly," said the chauffeur.
Thereupon Tod removed the fencerail.
and gingerly climbed into the automobile.
There was a little flurry of
excitement when the big. puffing machine
drew up in the village before the
office of Squire Bascomb. although the
fining of drivers of the machines was
not infrequent in the town.
"I 'rested 'em," said Tod. proudly,
to the gaping crowd of villagers. "I
rested 'em, squire, with my patent
automobile-stopper." aud he chuckled
it the remembrance.
Squire Bascomb opened court gravely.
"Are you sure they were exceedin'
the speed limit? he asked Tod.
"Well " began the old man. slowly.
for he had not counted on having to
sive evidence, technical evidence at
ftat.
"Oh. yes. we were going rather fast."
tdmitted .he driver cf the machine, in
response to a nudge from one of the
tvouicn. "I think we will plead guilty."
uid ho pulled out his pocketbook and
laid ten dollars 011 the squire's desk.
"Don't do it again." cautioned the
magistrate, severely, as h# took the
? 1 * rr. u 1.'.
noney ana nar.aca ion uis >uuu-. mo
>ld man's fingers trembled so that be
ilmost dropped the money.
"Where r.r? you going now?" asked
>110 of the ladies in the automobile
jarty. ' ,
"I'm gcin' baek for more game." re- ;
)lied Tod. "I've got to have 'bout 1
ive dollars more before I'll have
Miough to buy turkey for all of us up
o the poorhouse." '
"(let in and we'll take you baek."
?aid the chauffeur, softly, and be .
teemed to have suddenly taken cold. (
Once more Tod rode in the big red ]
nacbine. This time it went straight 1
ip to tlie door of the almshouse, and i
vhen the man at the steering-wheel 1
lelped the old man down lie pressed !
tomething that was crisp and crinkly ,
nto Tod's band. ,
"It's for Thangsgiving." he said, as j
L'od gazed at the generous bill: and the i
lint: in goggles wrapped his coat about i
litn. for it was quite chilly. 1
Such a dinner as they had at thn '
dorrisville poorhouse three days later! !
k.", r\ln??n tnrL'nre
> r ? Vi SUVU |MUUI|/, UTAW*** iuta\j?t ^
lever .?uch rich gravy and dressing. }
lueli delicious cranberry sauce, such <
risp white celery! Never such mince ;
ues! Mrs. Zoke Jcdell fairly outdid t
lcrself on the meal. And such appeites
as everybody bad! J
"It's almost as good as bavin* a big '
ed automobile." said Tod. "I was
if raid I wouldn't licv the spunk to (
iton 'em. but I did." ,
"My. but that's certa!nly a fine tur;
e;*!" spoke Sarah Tooker. with a si;h
hat expressed the deepest conten'neat.
And all the others agreed with
ur.?Toi til's Companion.
WN^ifS |
Cell. in a 2-pcr-eent. nolrttrn. !s
rcco::mended by Pro'eesor Esmarcb. '
). CottiJgeu. as the best means of dis- .
hnecCnj eating utensils. ]
I"t o dust mixed thoroughly with a
mall portion of clay has bceu y.r"' 1
sueccssrnlly as fuel at the Jihnst
plant of the Cambria Steel ; oinp
The first telegraphic loagb
Hon in Labrador lias beer '
r.t Chateau Bay by Tr
Dominiou astronomer. /tTK
with Sir William MaeCrcgor^ ^vnor N
of Newfoundland.
It has been suggested that the exee'
lent showing made by steel cars
collision is due to the fact that t
wooden ears in the train with
acted as cushions and lessened, .the
force of shock.
At nu inquest in London, a medical
expert testified: "The man had a weak
digestion, and if mushrooms are not
quite fresh when eaten they are apt
to have serious effects in the cases of
persons with weak digestions."
Walter Rothschild, M F? who re???"*
4l?i.ao it PlUltPrOtS.
itriiijj dfcui imtc M t v?w v
in France, near the Pyreuees. brought
home to Eng^nd with him nearly 4000
specimens <f butterflies to add to the
million be. .1 ready has.
A storing of sun heat in some of the
small salt lakes of Hungary was observed
as far back as in 1901 by
Kaleesiusky. who recorded the results
of his investigations in a paper before
the Hungarian Academy of Sciences.
He showed the warm layer of the
Szovatn salt iakes. which lies at a pertain
depth below the surface between
two colder layers and which is several
meters in depth, to here neces
sarily derived its lieat from sua.
Tl^f
OUR REGULAR SUNDAY SERIiON
An Eloquent and Touching Discourse
by Dr. Frank 0. Hall.
x\ew iorK v,uy.?L>r. rranK unver
Hall, pastor of the Church of the Divine
Paternity, preached Sunday morning
on "The Spirit Beareth Witness."
He chose his text from Romans'viii:18:
"The spirit itself beareth witness with
our spnrit that we are the children of
God." Dr. Hall said:
It is easy to build an argument for
the existence of God. The process of
reasoning may be briefly stated thus:
We are compelled to think that there
can be 110 effect without a cause. Rut
if we trace an effect back to its cause
and And this in turn to be an effect,
then trace that back to its cause and
find that also to be an effect, we must
at length predicate the existence of an
adequate cause for all phenomena, ati
underlying and eternal reality.
Or you may put the argument in this
way:
No thought without a thinker.
There is thought in the universe.
Therefore there is a thinker in the
universe.
As the universe is practically infinite
we must believe that in and through i
the universe lives an Infinite Thinker,
and inasmuch as we cannot conceive
of an impersonal thinker we must ]
conceive of God as a personal being. 1
To be sure, our words are inadequate ,
to express the qualities of the Divine (
Life. As the heavens are high above ]
the oAth so are His thoughts higher ,
than'ur thoughts. The mode of His
existence may be infinitely higher than j
what we name personality. But these (
are the best words at our command. 1
"We are obliged to use them or nothing. ;
So we have a right to say that God is (
an intelligent personality. <
You may find such arguments elab- 1
orated at great length in scores of ,
learned books on theology and theism, j
But when you have read them and f
agreed with the conclusion, what does t
it amount to? Very likely men and j
women have come along this dreary .
pathway of logic to the more beautiful
realm of faith, but I am convinced t
that a mere intellectual belief in God .
is practically worthless. Ninety-nine ,
out of every hundred convicts in our r
states' prisons believe in God. James '
states the case still stronger. "Dost .
thou believe in God? The devils also (
believe and tremble." There is neither ,
comfort nor strength nor enthusiasm in '
a mere intellectual belief in the existence
of God. <
One may find an intellectual delight <
In listening to a clear and convincing ^
argument for theism as he might in ,
listening to some skilled mathematical
talk about geometry. But something ^
more is necessary. Every one of us .
knows what it is to long for the con- ?
sciousness of a personal relationship ^
with God the Father. "0 God." cried ^
Augustine. "Thou hast made me for
Thyself and I cannot rest until I rest r
in Thee." O. to know God personafly;
to|ronie into touch with Him; to feei
IIre love and His pity; to be able to
say, "Within, Thy circling arms I lie."
and feel the sentiment of the words;
to know that He is my Father and my
friend! O. to have His Spirit bear
witness with our spirits that we are
children of God! .
Now* one can to facre gain this consciousness
or the nBwer that comes
from this thought by a mere exercise
it -the reasoning faculties, than he can r
learn to love Tennyson by going c
through the process of counting the |
nnmhop s\f ?rnrH? nr lnttors in his mm -
plete works. One might gain a certain |
intellectual satisfaction in doing that, j
But if you are really to get good from (
Tennyson, then his spirit must hear >
witness with your spirit: that is. his j
thought and his sentiment must meet j
a response in you. So. if God is to t
in ever present help in trouble, a staff v
for the hand and a guide for weary s
feet, then one must have something "r
more than a mere intellectual belief J"
n His existence. What the world ,
needs, what each one of us needs, is r
not so much an intellectual assurance s
>f God's existence as spiritual assur- j,
nice of His personal relationship to t
lis as His children.
I know that I am appealing to com- ?
mon experience and a common longing, j
Sot one of us who does not know what ,
it is to desire with a mighty yearning {
for a personal assurance of the love of ,
[Jod. What are we, after all. but chil- ?
dren? i
But what am 1? c
An infant frvintr in thf* niffllt!
An infant crying for a light
And with no language but a err.
Tust as the child wakes in the night
and. feeling the blackness huge and f
empty about him. cries out into the t
elooiu for companionship and love, and t
the father comes and takps the child j
in his arms and. with confideut voice, ,
soothes away the childish fears, so of- ?
tentimes wo children of earth feel the j
darkness of life oppress our souls and s
cry out for the strong arms of a heav- .
pnly Father. Why should we b? t
ashamed to acknowledge this huuge:' -r
of the soul any more than we arc ,
ashamed to acknowledge the hunger of ,
the body? How. especially in the .
midst of trouble, the heart hungers for \
its Father. When the clods fall upon ,
the eo"in lid. how the soul cries. "My t
God?iny God." How. when the clouds s
*f adversity gather dense?when the f
erished ambitions of a lifetime prove j
when the fortune which was to v
he years of old age bright takes s
wings; how, when the familiar <
.fts up his heel against one? j
irt cries out. "Oh. God?my j
And even in the sunshine and j
S of life, when everything seems 1
bright and beautiful and full of ,
promise of future joy. there will come i
moments when it all seems empty and ,
ningless and the soul cries out /or j
J memory goes back to my own >
mannoou. ana i recan a uay inac i
was more than usually beautiful, when l
I stood alone by the sea. I had every i
reason to be happy. I had found my ]
place in the world: had a work to do
and the future seemed full of promise.
My health was perfect, aud I bad not
been disappointed, eren in mj boyish
dreams. And yet I recall the awful
loneliness and emptiness of the hour.
I had hut to walk a mile to be we!,
corned by true and tried friends. But
I stood there. lonely and homesick.
There flashed into mv mind the dreary
words:
0 we poor children of nothing, alone on
this lonely shore,
Born of a brainlets nature who knew not
that which she bore.
And I remember that I threw myself
on the grass there, with the sunshine
all over me and birds singing about
me. with everything, apparently, to
make ufe happy, in the depth of my
loneliness I felt like a child who had
lost its mother. What more did*I
want? I will tell you what I wanted?
what you want, what every man and
woman hungers for with a hunger
deeper than any physical longing. I
wanted His Spirit to bear witness
with ray spirit that I was a child of
Go. Nothing else could &atlsfy; notU-?
.ts. iflft-iiatfliN
ffv ever chn satisfy the deep hungoraf
the humfan heart,
jtfne might i say that such a youth
Was abnormal, insane. If this were an
extraordinary experience, but is an experience
common to us all. Here is a
song composed by some unknown singer
-KXH'Aears ago. a singer of a different
rafcv, in a far away iand. itnder entirely
different circumstances from
fli^ n in n 1?t.. 11 ?*rv 1!,.a !??? + K 5? o/*nrr
luusv in twuiu >> t: 11 * c. uuu iiiia n\jnn
has been taken up and repeated by
millions of human beings because the
words express the ever recurrent sentiment
of the human soul In all ages and
all lands. "As the hart panteth for
the water brooks so panteth my soul
after Thee, O God." You shall find
this sentiment expressed In ten thousand
hymns. In a million churches on
this Sunday morning it is being sung.
In a million mosques it is being chanted.
In a million Buddhist temples it
is being uttered. All around the earth
all classes and conditions of men. rich
and poor, wise and foolish, good and
bad. high and low. are longing and
praying to have His Spirit bear witness
with their spirits that they are
children of God.
And not only do the people who believe
in God testify to this. The most
remarkable and pathetic testimony
comes from those who intellectually
deny that there is sufficient reason to
believe in the existence of God. It
seems to me that almost the wreariest
words that ever fell trom human lips
were uttered by Professor Clifford
IvtlATI lin f nit l.itnl.
" ?vii uc iru iiiistnru cuiupcuvu iiui ?leetunlly
to take the atheistic position.
"I have seen the spring sun shine out
af the empty heavens upon a souliess
earth, and have felt with utter loneliness
that the great C'ompauion was
lead." And you will remember that
Professor Romanes, though at the last
lie saw a great light and went to his
leath full of trust "like one who wraps
the drapery of his couch about him
ind lies down to pleasant dreams." at
me time wrote a book called "A Canlid
Examination of Theism," and in
this examination found 110 rational
jround for a belief in God. He closed
lis book with these wordsr "I am not
ishamed to confess that with this virual
denial of God the universe has lost
ts soul and loveliness, and when at
imes I think, as think at times I
nust, of the appalling contrast beween
the hallowed glory of the creed
hat once was mine and the lonely
uystery of existence as now I find it,
it such times it will ever be impossible'
o avoid the sharpest pangs of which
ny nature is susceptible." Take note
>f these words of an absolutely sincere
md fearless man. "The sharpest pangs
if which my nature is susceptible.'
Now why should one feel like that?
Suppose there is no God. what of it?
Suppose it should be proved that this
vorld has been produced by the operaion
of physical forces working In nc'ordance
with blind anil heartless law,
vbat of it? Is not the sky just as blue,
lie irrnss as irrppn? Are not friends
is dear? Why should we not get along
vlthout God? Why should we care
vhether God is or is not?
A friend told me this incident the
ither day: There was a family consistng
of an aged man and woman, a
lumber of sons and daughters aud a
ittle group of grandchildren. The aged
rrandfather was enjoying a serene and
lappy old age, loved by all. and the
lome was one of peculiar brightness.
)ne night the aged man, as usual, took
lis evening paper aud sat in his aecusomed
place to read, wiped his glasses,
nade a comment or two 10 the white
mired wife knitting opposite, and nf?
er a little, as his custom was. fell into
me of those quiet slumbers peculiar to
ild age. Around him the other mem>ers
of the family talked and laughed
tnd joked till one said. "Father seems
o be sleeDine very soundly." and. plac
rig bis band upon the old man's shouller.
discovered that be was dead,
sow. ask me. will you. what difference
s made? The home was left, the lamp
mrned as brightly, the newspaper
ilied with interest was there, nothing
vas apparently changed. Was not the 1
ky just as blue and the grass just as 1
,rreen. and did not tbe stars shine as 1
irightly? What difference did it i
nake? Why, if be was dead bis spirit '
ould no longer hear witness to the
p4rit of the aged wife that he loved
ler. His spirit could no longer respond
o the joy of his grandchildren. There
s a difference between a dead body i
ind a living man that makes one stand
n the presence of his living friend
vlth joy and in the presence of the ;
riend's dead body with unutterable
nisery. There is a difference between
t dead universe and a living universe,
rhat is the reasou for these utterances
d black despair from those who do
:ot beiicve in God.
"My sou! longeth?yea. even faintcth
-for the courts of the Lord." ' ;
Now I want to call your attention to
he testimony of this hunger after God,
o the existence of God. Whence came
his universal and insatiable desire?
t came from the Sjjuie source as the
nlglity* longing of a woman for a child,
he longing of the child for a mother's
ove. It was wrought into man ny tne
nine power that makes the man search
hrough the workl for the one woman
o whom he can give himself in love;
>y the same power that makes the
naiden desire above everything else
he love of one strong man. All these
ire wrought by nature into human naure.
David was right and his analogy
vas complete. "As the hart panteth
ifter the water brooks so panteth my
;o;il after Thee, O God." As the thirst
)f the hart for water, as the fact that
he hart suffers and dies without
voter, is testimony enough for him that
somewhere there must exist water to
satisfy his thirst, so the thirst of the
ir.man soul for (iod. this mighty cry
hat goes up from every human soul,
s inexplicable except upon the ground
;bat Cod is and that somehow His
spirit can bear witness with our spirit*
rhnt we are children of Cod. When
rou have convinced me that the love of
Plan for woman, of mother for child is
without meaning or purpose then I
yill believe that this longing of the htw
nan soul for God is not to be trusted.
LTnti! that time I know that I have evdence
in myself that God Is and that
! am related to Him. May we not trust
:liis deepest and divinest instinct of
lumau nature? If not, what can we
rust?
You tell me that you will trust your
'yesight. But why? If the thought of
Sod is a delusion, why may not the
vhole visible universe be a delusion?
f my instinctive outreaching after that j
vliich is holy is a lie. why may not
That I seem to see be another lie?
fou say that you will trust your reaioii?
May not that also be another deuslon?
"Two times two are four."
rou say. "always have been, always
Till be." But how do you know?
Save you any right from your own
>etty experience to assume t?at somehing
was true a million years ago and
Till be true a million years hence? But
rou do assume that. You must trust
rour reason. Then why not: trust this
ileeper instinct of the human soul
ivhich cries out for God and can be satsfled
with nothing less? Religion
ts own evidence. The man who truss
ind surrenders himself to God does
not need to have it proven to him that
3od is. His spirit beareth witness
with, our spirit that we are children of
3od.
i: <
\
. . ??.
I 3J
Bat /(fe y ""'Prove it to me."
I ask y<iiL''.a iftavmt to yourself. I
cannot prove it to you. Xo man can.
1 You jnust make the experiment for
yourself. You must prove it yourself.
Here isn man with his eyes bandaged
tight, who cries. "You say that the
.sunshine is beautiful, the grass green,
the roses red. Prove it to me." What
will you do? There is no possible way
in which you can prove the beauty of
the world to this man with bandaged
eyes. "Off with the bandage!" you
cry. "Open your eyes and look. Trust
lilt? eviutrutf UL >UUl U?U ?CUOC.1. a LAXZLX
you will believe." "How does opening
the eyelids alter the relation between
my eyes and the light? Why, the glorious
revealing light comes in. a thing
it cannot do to shut eyes. How does
breathing in alter the relation of my
lungs to the air? Why. it brings the
air that was before outside of me inside
of me. Just where I absolutely
need it for very life, that is all. The
open soul takes God in. The shut soul
keeps God out. that is all. The immutable.
eternal laws of light and air ate
not changed, they are illustrated thereby.
The immutable love of God is not
changed. Its glorions working is illustrated
when the believing soul opens
its gates and lets the King of Glory in.
Oh. friend, you who are hungry and
thirsty and have tried in a thousand
ways to find satisfaction and have
found it not. make another experiment?make
the supreme venture of
faith. Try trusting in God to the utmost.
Surrender yourself to the guidance
of His divine will. I believe that
thus you will find strength, comfort,
satisfaction and that your faith shall
i?
prove useu iu iue ueep cipnicucn
your life. You want me to prove to
you that prayer Is effective and reasonable.
I will not try. I ask you,
rather, to prove it to yourself. Pray.
Talk to your Father. Listen to His
voice. Then you will no longer be asking
for proof that prayer is effective.
You will have evidence in yourself.
There is a God and He is our Father,
and He reveals Himself and His love
to men; not to a few men. but to all
men. His spirit will bear witness with
your spirit if you will open the eyes
and ears of the spirit to hear and see.
Sorrows may encompass you. temptations
may harass you, disappointments
may come to you. Still trust,
poor soul; trust as never before. Trust
in the Lord and He shall bring it to
pass. Cast thy burden on the Lord and
He shall sustain thee. Out of the
depths of the soul's experience were
these words uttered. They can be
proved true in the deep experience of
the soul to which they appeal.
- - TTI Men Rlchea.
This inner life is a tremcndcns reality.
Its very invisibility emphasizes the
realuess of the reality. It is one of the
richest heritages of the child of God.
The outer life is only the scaffolding of
the building; it is only the husk or
shell. The inner life is the real building;
it is the germ-hiding kernel.
All moral and spiritual defeats are
due to a vitiation of the imier life. The
withering, blasting and uprooting of
the soul's choice plants are never accomplished
through the forces of the
outer life; the work begins within.
How cau we possess the rich, power1
wl?A?, 1?<\/1 f mln/1 onrl
i in uiiier nitr nuru uuujf uiiuu
soul are constantly exercising their
energies upon the vain, perishing
things of earth! We must take time to
cultivate the unseen fields of the soul.
We must constantly stand face to face
with God, drink in the strength of His
nature and the inspiration of His presence.
If we do not, the inner life must
perish. Prayer, meditation, reading?
these are channels through which God
pours His golden, vitalizing streams
into the inner life.
The saddest moment in life to man or
woman is when there is a discovery
that the inner life is gone, and only the
outer shell is left. Yet the inner life
goes, gradually and secretly; no one
has ever been robbed of it.
Let us be watchful. Let us remember
that as long as God is in this inner
life there is security there, and that no
thief has ever yet been able to break
the lork of prayer and trust and divine
wisdom.?Raleigh Christian Advocate.
Labor'* Reward.
Whatever we beg of God. let us also
work for it; Jf the thing be matter of
duty or a consequent to industry. For
God loves to bless labor and to reward
It. And therefore our blessed Saviour
Joins watchfulness v^itb prayer; for
God's graces are but assistances, not
new creations of the whole habit, in
every instant or period of our lives.
Read Scripture and then pray to God
tny nnHoretnniiinir. Prnv auainst tenin*
tatiou. Ask of Goil competency of
living; but you must also work wltb
your own hands the things that are
honest, that ye may have to supply in
time of need. We can but do our
endeavor and pray lor a blessing, and
thejj leave the success with God; and
beyond this we cannot deliberate. Ave
cannot take care; but so far we must.
?Jeremy Taylor.
gixp* atiii.
You may be doing God's will with
one hand consecrated to Christ and
making your own autobiography with
the other consecrated to self.?Henry
Drummond.
HAWK FLIES FAR.
Weary of Seaward Flight Alights on
Foremast.
A peculiar incident occurred recently
while the new Japanese steamer
America Maru was en route from the
port of Yokohama to San Francisco.
When the steamer was 2,000 miles
from land she was visited by a large
hawk. The hawk was clutching in
its taions a half-devoured bird. When
first discovered the hawk was alighting
on the foremast, as though very
weary from its seaward flight. The
second mate of the Maru climbed up
into the rigging and was finally fortunate
enough to secure the handsome
hawk. Three times he approached
the bird, only to see it leave its perch
and soar away?still fiercely clutching
the half-eaten prey. Each time,
however, the hawk returned to its
perch. Before being captured the
hawk gave battle to the plucky Japanese,
using its strong, sharp beak and
salons to good advantage in warding
off the hands of the mate, but the latter
clung to the rigging until the bird
was captured. This was finally dene.
The hawk now occupies a place in the
crew's quarters on the America Maru.
On account of its brilliant plumage
and general dignified bearing the bird
is highly valued.
New Material for Paper.
Samples of the papaya, or Mexican
pawpaw, have been sent to American
paper makers to be tested for its
adaptability for the manufacture of
high grades of paper. To Judge from
its appearance, it seems probable
that no decorticating machinery would
be required In its treatment, as the
fibrous material Is devoid of woody
elements to all appearances. i
trim L I
SUNDAY. NOVEM^Eh jjjmm
? 9
The Dingers of Indulgence.? H
23. 29-35: Isa. 5. 22-25. (Temper- H
ancc Meeting.) ^ J
The book of Proverbs, or "Parables"
they might be translated, in a Compilation
of wise sayings on many subjects.
it is remarkable that in that
age such strong and severe arraignments
of intemperance should be given.
But the sorrows that have come
from strong drink have been perpetnal.
Its woe and sorrow, its contention?
and babblings, its causeless
wounds and redness of eyes, are as
old as the race. The wor tf tas gotten
far away from many of the ancient
sins, but not from this sin of .''-**582
drunkenness. It is the last fortresfy. A: ^
of the devil to capitulate. Isiah utr
ters another woe upon the injustica
and wickedness of those who use '
strong drink.
History proves that the man who
yields to sinful indulgence is mastered ^
by his appetites. The only really <
free man is the man who controls self
and masters his appetites. The quesilea
of intemperance is wrapped up in
this one of self-control. The danger
lies in the further fact that nearly
every man thinks that he has self-control
when he has Dot. He is a slave
through indulgence when he thinks
that he is master of the situation.
Our passions and appetites are
strong. They grow by what they
feed upon. Fed by indulgence and
they soon are masters of the will.
Appetite clamors for indulgence, an&~
it is not easy to deny. "Our" Imaginations
become corrupt' and help to ?
weaken the will. But no man can resist
temptation, or deny appetite, until
he has self-control. Young people
from Christian homes have the.same
natural appetites and desires as those
who are vicious. We need to remember
that we will be swept ofT our '
feet and fall if we do not have a will
which will resist. And even then we , \
must have the help of God's grace
and Spirit.
. Every good instinct would lead us ? '
to cultivate self-control and recognise j
the dangers of indulgence The path
of success in life is hedged In by self- i
control. The honor of men, the faror
of Gcd, heaven and happiness are . ">jj
! : pendent upon it. The vices of so- . j
-:<:y. the fashionable pleasures of ?
the day, the tendencies everywhere to t
take life easy and shirk the hard
things of life, all tend to self-indulgence.
But if we would wbk in lifeand.
be overcomers we mn*t
trolled and refuse indulgence in evil.
A man can face unknown duties and
:>e!'!!. > fearlessly if he k&ows that he
has the power to meet them. The
world lies at the feet of the man who
has self-control. The highest useful- ,
!> .-> iii life is his who has learned
to master himself. The reverse of
nil this is true of kirn who has yield- > *.*/'
indulgence.
CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR fiOTES JJj
NOVEhnrcTrTWELPTflr'
>1
___ ,
The Dangers of Indulgence. Prov. ?j; jvi
29-35; Isa. 5:22-25.
Some Bible Hints.
If we never look upon a temptation,
we are in no danger from it; it is
the man that stops to look that is in
peril.
The wise man learns to consider
everything with regard not to its
beginning, but its ending, and asks
at the opening of every road. "Whither
does it lead?"
Why do men call' it strong drink 'S
when it leads to nothing but weakness.
and captures only weak men?
The more worthless a thing, the
more rapidly and easily does fire ccnsume
it; one way to combat the fire- /
of sin is to toss the chaff out of your J&Ynature.
^
Suggestions.
When wc say , "Once more?ana. ( ?
this is positively the last time," it is jfl
not the last time. . JB
When we indulge in any sin, let "T
us remember that it is not an indulgence
of ourselves alone; it is an in- ,
dulgence of Satan.
The danger of any sin is not in . '<
the possibility of greater sin, but in
the sin itself, which may fix us hi
evil.
The indulgence pf the mind, of desire
ana brooding, is as perilous as
the indulgence of the deed itself. .
Illustrations.
The man who tried how close to
the precipice he could drive, discover
ea inai me precipice was uuuc. uimcj
at the edge.
The chains of habit are forged by
the blows of time?every hour la sin
is a new hammer stroke.
The lower a man goes, the more heweighs.
and the harder it is for bim
to rise.
Temperance Trr'ning. (
A society temperance pledge may
be hung upon the wall, with the signatures
of all the members upon it.
Plan for the temperance meetings . -3
long in advance, and make them as J, |
strong as possible. J
Introduce into every temperance ?
meeting some account of recent tem- V/?
perance victories, and the progress "v
of the movement.
Learn what are the temperande
laws of your own State and community.
and how they are kept. f
Why should not the temperance
committee learn, for the information
of voters, the position as to temperance
of. the candidates before the
people for election?
1
Here1* * Fashion Tip.
A South African tailor is the invent- *
or of a coat which may be worn the ** ' '
entire day without being out of
place. The wearer starts out in the
morning with a short-tailed coat that
is quite in the proper mode, but as
the afternoon draws on he feels the
need of a frock and laces voluminous ?>
skirts to the short foundation. A
second change^ is needed for dinner,
but he has merely to change the^ .
skirts, and behold him in proper evening
dress. The change is made ujr
lacing, and herein lies the patent. Although
the change can be quickly
effected, there is no way of telling
the lacing from an ordinary seam,
and so long as plain black is retained
the additional skirts provide the owner
with three garments in one. ,
The Danube flows through conn*
tries In which fifty-two language* and
dialects are spoken.
"" a'SC* |