L . . BMMBBBBBBHBBMBWMBBBMBMBBBBBBBMBBBBBMWBBBBBBMBMBBiMMB
T 1 INTERNATIONAL PH | 8 ASSOCIATION.
H PART II. I
B CHAPTER III ( CoktiKCED. )
Hb As a. rule , the more churlish the na-
H' ' ture , tbo more avaricious it is found
H\ to be. My promise of liberal remun-
BB / erationwas , after all , not without its
H'm [ i effect upon the strange couple whose
Bji refusal to afford mo refuge had so
K nearly endangered my life. They cons
B descended to get me some tea and
HK rough food. After I had disposed of all
B , that , the man produced a bottle of giu.
H \ We filled our glasses , and then , with
B \ the aid of my pipe , X settled down to
B ' make the beat of aUlght spent in , , a
HL . * ' "
hard wooden chair.
B } . , , . .Vhnd-cotii across strange people it
B ' my travels , but I have no hesitation in
B saying that my host was the sullenest ,
B sulkiest , most boorish specimen of human -
man nature I had as yet met with. In
Hfe spite of his recent ill-treatment of me
HfTv I v'as nuito ready to establish matters
HyL \ on a friendly footing , and made several
BPS r \ attempts to draw him into conversa-
B \W r tion. The brute would only answer in
y monosyllables , or often not answer at
M > L\ allSo I save up talking as a bad
j ) job. and sat in silence , smoking , and
Hr looking into the fire , thinking a good
F deal , it may be , of some one I should
B , have met that morning at Lilymere ,
K > < v had that wretched snow but kept off.
V . \ * ' * * The long clock that cumbrous
m > ljr J\ eight-day machine which inevitably
M \ occupies one corner of every cottager's
Hp , \ kitchen struck nine. The woman
| | / rose and left us. I concluded she was
Mfi " soing to bed. If so I envied her. Her
BiEw husband showed no signs of retiring.
HW * He still sat over the fire , opposite me.
B By this time I was dreadfully tired ; ev-
r cry bone in my body ached. The hard
K chair which , an hour or two ago ,
Rt , seemed all I could desire , now scarcely
B came up to my ideas of the comfort I
B was justly entitled to claim. My sulky
Bt companion had been drinking silently
H , but steadily. Perhaps the liquor he
H had poured into himself might have
H rendered his frame of mind more
B pleasant and amenable to reason.
"My good fellow , " I said , "your
HR chairs are excellent ones of the kind ,
B but deucedly uncomfortable. I am hor-
H ribly tired. If the resources of your
B establishment can't furnish a bed for
K me to deep in , couldn't you find a mat-
K tress or something to lay down before
L the fire ? ' "
B "You've got all you'll get to-night , "
B he answered , knocking the ashes out of
B B his pipe. "
P "Oh , but I say ! "
B "So do I say. I say this : If you
B don't like it you can leave it. We
F didn't ask you to come. "
B "You infernal beastI muttered
B anl meant it too. I declare , had I not
C been so utterly worn out , I would have
Bfe liad tnst bullet-headed ruffian up for a
B-- , few rounds on his own kitchen floor ,
Bj v and tried to knock him into a more
B V , amiable frame of mind.
Hk > "Never mind , J' I .said , "but remem-
P ber , civility costs nothing , and often
Bbt/ sets rewarded. However , if you wisli
% to retire to your own couch , don't let
< your native politeness stand in your
Bt- way. pray don't hesitate on my acV -
V count. Leave plenty of fuel , and I
Bk shall manage until the morning. "
L "Where you stay , I stay , " he an-
B swercd. Then he filled his pipe , and
Bn once more relapsed into stony silence.
B I bothered about him no more. I
Bi dozed off for a few minutes woke
L dozed off again for some hours. I was
B i in. an uncomfortable sort of half sleep ,
B crammed full of curious dreams
v
B B' dreams from which I started , wonder-
Bp > ins where I was and how I got there.
B * " I even began to grow nervous. All
B sorts of horrible travelers' tales ran
B through my head. It was in just such
B places as this that unsuspecting voy-
B agcrs were stated to have been niur-
B dered and robbed , by just such unmiti-
B gated ruffians as my host I can tell
B y ° n tnat altogether I spent a most
B unpleasant night.
B ' To make matters worse and more
B ] dismal , the storm still , raged outside.
RB ? The wind moaned through the trees ,
Hjr but it had again changed , and I knew
B from the sound * on the window panes
B that heavy rain had succeeded snow.
Bv As the big drops of water found their
IL way dev -n the large old-fashioned
N chimsoy , the fire hissed and sputtered
' t
B like r. spiteful vixen. Everything comB -
B bintd to deprive me of what dog's sleep
B I could hy sheer persistency snatch.
B I think I tried every position which
nt an ordinary man , not an acrobat , is
B capable of adopting with the assistance
B1 ° a common wooden chair. I even lay
BB down on the hard flags. I actually
Tw. ' * 2-ed the table. I propped up the
lB upper ha f of my body against the cor-
B ner walls of the room ; but found no
B rest. At last I gave up all idea of
Bk sleeping , and fully aroused myself. I
B- comforted myself by saying that ray
B - misery was onV temporary that the
B longest night must come to an end.
B J * companion had now succumbed
B to fatigue , or to the combined effects
B * , of fatigue and giu and water. His
*
B head was hanging sideways and he
Bk slept in a most uncomfortable attitude.
B I chuckled as I looked at him. feeling
B quite sure that , if such a clod was cap-
Bi able of dreaming at all. his dreams
Bfj must be worse even than mine. I filled
B | : another pipe , poked the smoldering
B\v \ logs into a blaze , and sat almost nose
Bt\V \ and linees over the fire , finding some
Bx' amusement in speculating upon the
P condition of the churl before me , and
B/ thanking the Lord I was not like unto
B • this man. Suddenly an idea flashed
B - - across me.
I had seen this fellow before. But
B x -licnor where.I could not remember.
Ejl "
. , . - _ m . - . , - "
I His feolures. as I looke 'd at them with
keener 1 interest , seemed to grow more
and more familiar to me. Where could
I ] have met him ? Somewhere or other ,
but ] where ? ' I racked my brain to as
sociate i him with some scene , some
event. < Although he was but an ordinary
#
nary ] countryman , such as one sees
scores s of In a day's ride , only differing
from j his kind on account of his un
pleasant } face , I felt sure we were old
acquaintances. . When he awoke for a
moment ] and changed his strained atti
tude < my feeling grew stronger and
stronger. , Yet puzzle and puzzle as I
would I could not call to mind a for
mer } encounter ; so at last I began to
think ( the supposed recognition was
pure ; fancy on my part.
Having smoked out several pipes , I
thought that a cigar would be a slight
break to the monotony of the night's
proceedings. So I drew out my case
and , looked at its contents. Among the
weeds was one of a lighter color than
the others. As I took it out I said to
myself , "Why , Old Brand gave me that
one when I , was last at his house. "
Curiously enough , that cigar was the
missing link in the chain of my mem
ory. As I held it in my hand I knew at
once why my host's ugly face seemed
familiar to me.
About a fortnight before , being in
town , I had spent the evening with the
doctor. He was not alone , and I was
introduced to a tall pale young man
named Carriston. He was a pleasant ,
polite young fellow , although not much
in my line. At first I judged him to be
a would-be poet of the fashionable
miserable school ; but finding that he
and Brand talked so much about art I
eventually decided that he was one of
the doctor's many artist friends. Art
is a hobby he hacks about on grandly.
( Mem. , Brand's own attempts at pic
tures are simply atrocious ! )
Just before I left , Carriston , the doe-
tor's back being turned , asked me to
step into another room. There he 1
showed me the portrait of a man. It
seemed very cleverly drawn , and I pre
sume he wanted me to criticise it.
"I am a precious bad judge , " I said.
"I am not asking you to pass an
opinion , " said Carriston. "I wanted to
beg a favor of you. I am almost
ashamed to beg it on so short an
acquaintance. "
He seemed modest , and not in want
of money , so I encouraged him to pro
ceed.
"I heard you say you were going into 1
the country , " he resumed. "I want to
ask you if by any chance you should
meet the original of that drawing , to 1
telegraph at once to Dr. Brand. "
"Whereabouts does he live ? "
"I have no idea. If chance throws 1
him in your way , please do as I ask. "
"Certainly I will , " I said , seeing the 1
young man made the request in solemn
earnest.
Pie thanked me , and then gave me a
small photograph of the picture. This 1
photograph he begged me to keep in
my pocket-book , so that I might refer
to it in case I met the man he wanted.
I put it there , went my way , and am
sorry to say , forgot all about it. Had it
not been for the strange cigar in my
case bringing back Carriston's unusual 1
request to my mind , the probabilities 1
are that I should not have "thought
again of the matter. Now , by a re '
markable coincidence , I was spending
the night with the very man who , so
far as my memory served me , must
have sat for the portrait shown me at *
Brand's house.
"I wonder what I did with the !
photo , " I said. I turned out my letter-
'
case. There it was. right enough !
Shading it with one hand , I carefully
compared it with the sleeper.
Not a doubt about it ! So far as a
photograph taken from a picture can L
go , it was the man himself. The same
ragged beard , the same coarse features ,
the same surly look. Young Carriston i
was evidently a wonderful hand at
knocking off a likeness. Moreover , in l
case I had felt any doubt on the matter ,
a printed note at the bottom of the
photograph said that one joint was ;
missing from a right-hand finger. Sure
enough , my friend lacked that small 1
portion of his misbegotten frame.
This discovery threw me into an i
ecstasy of delight. I laughed so loudly
that I almost awoke the ruffian. I ;
guessed I was going to take a glorious
revenge for all the discomforts I had [
suffered. No one , I felt sure , could be i
looking for such a fellow as this to do i
any good to him. I was quite happy
in the thought , and for the remainder
of the night gloated over the idea of
putting a spoke in the wheel of one
who had been within an ace of causing ;
my death. I resolved , the moment I
got back to civilization , to send the de
sired intelligence to . Brand , and hope
for the best.
IV.
s > HE end of that
. v/PJ / Vt"lvrotcneci night
i \Vt \
y Ma C ) ) ) at last * When l
iDu r = ? p ! " broke , I found [
vf't'VC tbat a S 31 cuanSe
) W\\ ha(1 taken place out
Y \jA&k of doors. The \
\TV % fierce . snow-storm \
V N\Vj/ had been the fare-
1 - well of the frost.
.
the heavy rain that j.
followed had filled the roads with [
slushy and rapidly-thawing snow. I [
managed to extort some sort of a
breakfast from my host ; then , having ;
recompensed him according to my
promise not his deserts started , as
. . . .
1fW " " " ' III II IWWMIHJ..II.IW Cftl M iaa
soon as I could , on the bare back of my
unfortunate steed for Midcombe , which
place , after my night's experience ,
seemed gifted with merits not its own.
I was surprised upon leaving the
house to find that it was of larger dl < -
mensions than , from the little I saw of
it during the night , I had imagined.
It was altogether a better class of resi
dence than I had supposed. My surly
friend accompanied me until he had
placed me on the main road , where I
could make no possible mistake. He
was kind enough to promise to assist
any one I might send out in getting the
dog-cart once more under way. Then
with a hearty wish on my part that I
might never again meet with his like ,
we parted.
I found my way to Midcombe with
out much trouble. I took off my
things , had a wash , and , like a sensible
man for once , went to bed. But I did
not forget to send a boy straight off
to the nearest telegraph station. My
message to Brand was a brief one. It
simply said : "Tell your friend I have
found . his man. " This duty done , I
dismissed all speculation as to the re
sult from my mind , and settled down
to make up arrears of sleep.
I was surprised at the reply received
that siime evening from Brand , "We
shall be with yon as soon as we can
get down to-njorrow. Meet us at sta
tion. " F.rom this it was clear that
my friend was wanted particularly
all the better ! I turned to the time
table and found that , owing to changes
and delays , they could not get to C ,
the nearest station to Midcombe , until
3 o'clock in the afternoon. I inquired
about the cripoled dog-cart. It had
been brought in ; so I left strict in
structions that a shaft of some sort waste
to be .rigged in time for me to drive
over the next day and meet the doctor
and his friend
They came as promised. It was a
comfort to see friends of any descrip
tion , so I gave them a hearty welcome.
Carriston took hold of both my hands ,
and shook them so warmly that I be
gan to fear that I had discovered a
long-lost fathpr of his in my friend.
I had almost forgotten the young fel
low's appearance ; or he looked a very
different man to-day from the one 1
had seen when last we met. Then he
was a wan , pensive , romantic , poetical-
looking sort of a fellow ; now he
seemed full of energy , vitality , and
grit. Poor old Brand looked as seri
ous as an undertaker engaged in bury
ing his own mother.
Carriston began to question me , but
Brand stopped him. "You promised I
should make inquiries first , " he said.
Then he turned to me. *
"Look here , Richard" when he calls
me Richard I know he is fearfully in
earnest "I believe you have brought
us down on a fool's errand ; but let us
go to some place where we can talk to
gether for a few minutes. "
I led them across the road to the
Railway Inn. We entered a room , and
having for the sake of appearances
ordered a little light refreshment , told
the waiter to shut the door from the
outside. Brand settled "down with the
air of a cross-examining counsel. I
expected to see him pull out a New
Testament and put me on my oath.
"Now , Richard , ' he said , "before we :
go further I want to know your rea
sons for thinkiug this man , about
whom you telegraphed , is Carriston's
man , as you call him. "
"Reasons ! Why of course he is the
man. Carriston gave me his photo-
graph. The likeness is undisputable
leaving the finger joint out of the
question. "
Here Carriston looked at my cross-
examiner triumphantly. The meaning.
1
of that look I have never to this hour
understood. But I laughed because I
knew old Brand had for once made a
mistake , and was going to be called to '
account for it. Carriston was about to 1
speak , but the doctor waved him
aside.
( TO H3 COXTINCED.I
HOUSE OF COMMONS DEBATE.
Jv.ist a Fortnight Usually Favorable
Time for Speaklnp.
A big debate often lasts a fortnight
that is to say , it is carried on during :
the Mondays , Tuesdays , Thursdays >
and Fridays of two weeks , the Wednesdays -
days being usually devoted to the consideration -
sideration of bills introduced by unofficial -
official members , says Temple Bar.
The order in which the leading meni-
bers of the government and of the op
position speak is previously arranged
by the whips of the different parties , ,
and the speaker , being informed privately -
vately of the understanding , calls on
these members in the order appointed ,
no matter how many small men may
at the same time strive to catch his ;
eye. A member of the opposition always [
ways follows in debate a member of
the government. The opening of a sitting -
ting and toward its close , or before
and after the "dinner hour" that is ,
from 5 till 7 o'clock and from 10 till 12 ;
are considered the best and most
favorable times for speaking. It is
[
during these periods of the sitting .
that the "big guns" on each side are
brought into action. Under the rules
of the house all opposed business must
cease at 12 o'clock and the member
who at that hour moves the adjourn-
ment of the debate has the right to
open it the next evening. If a member -
ber of the government speaks last at
night , the adjournment of the debate
is moved by an opponent of the government -
ernment and , vice versa , if a member
of the opposition concludes his speech
at midnight a supporter of the administration
"
istration secures the advantage of re-
suming the debate on the following
evening.
The smallest salary ; drawn by any
national chief executive in the civilized -
ized world is that which the president
of the republic of Andorra receives.
It is § 1.50 a month , or § 18 a year.
TALMAGE'S I SEKEON.
"SUFFER FOR OTHERS" LAST
SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
rrom : the Text : "Without Shedding : or
lJlood Tlirro Is Xo Itoiulstloit of Sinn"
• Hebrew * . Chujitcr IX Vergel \ A
Kacrlllce That Is I'rnctlceU bj Very
l'ovr Voluntarily.
Tl OHN G. WIIIT-
/Mjhtr TIERthelastof the
m/0'l'-\ school
\ great of
M > O EK u American poets that
Kmw * Wil l - J made the last quar-
fl5gjsdjgj f * * ter of a century
Min = l § I brilliant , asked me
= = 2
I TBI S Ia the WhUe Mountains -
\ tains one morning
- ' after prayers , in
which I had given out Cowper's fa
mous hymn about "The Fountain Filled
with Blood , " "Do you really believe
there is a literal application of the
blood of Christ to the soul ? " My neg
ative reply then is my negative reply
now. The Bible statement agrees with
all physicians , - and all physiologists ,
and all scientists , in saying that the
blood is the life , and in the Christian ,
religion It means simply that Christ's
life was given for our life. Hence all
this talk of men who say the Bible
Btory of blood is disgusting , and that
they don't want what they call a
"slaughter house religion , " only shows
their incapacity or unwillingness to
look through the figure of speech to
ward the thing signified. The blood
that , on the darkest Friday the world
ever saw , oozed , or trickled , or poured
from the brow , and the aide , and the
hands , and the feet of the illustrious
sufferer , back of Jerusalem , in a few
hours coagulated and dried up , and for
ever disappeared ; and if men had de
pended on the application of the literal
blood of Christ. ther would not have
been a soul saved for the last eighteen
centuries.
In order to understand this red word
of my text , we only have to exercise as
much common sense in religion as we
do in everything else. Pang for pang ,
hunger for hunger , fatigue for fatigue ,
tear for tear , blood for ' blood , life for |
life , we see e very day 'illustrated. The |
act of substitution is no novelty , al
though I hear men talk as though the ,
Idea of Christ's suffering substituted
for our suffering were something ab
normal , something distressingly odd ,
something wildly eccentric , a solitary
episode in the world's history ; when
I could take you out in this city , and
before sundown point you to five hun
dred cases of substitution and volun
tary suffering of one in behalf of an
other.
At 2 o'clock tomorrow afternoon go 1
among the places of business or toil.
It will be no difficult thing for you to 1
find men who , by their looks , show you
that they are overworked. They are
prematurely old. They are hastening
rapidly toward their decease. They
have gone through crises in business
that shattered their nervous system
and pulled on the brain. They have a
shortness of breath and a pain in the
back of the head , and at night an in
somnia that alarms them. Why are
they drudging at business early and
late ? For fun ? No ; it would be diffi
cult to extract any amusement out of
that exhaustion. Because they are
avaricious ? In many cases no. Be
cause their own personal expenses are
lavish ? No ; a few hundred dollars
would meet all their wants. The sim
ple fact is , the man is enduring all
that fatigue and exasperation , and wear
and tear , to keep his home prosperous.
There is an invisible line reaching from
that store , from that bank , from that
shop , from that scaffolding , to a quiet
scene a few blocks away , a few miles
away , and there is the secret of that
business endurance. He is simply the
champion of a homestead , for which he
wins bread , and wardrobe , and edu
cation , and prosperity , and in such
battle ten thousand men fall. Of ten
t buine mrn vhcjr. I b"rv. nj ; die of
overwork for others. Some sudden disease -
ease finds them with no power of re-
sistance. and they are gone. Life for
life. Blood for blood. Substitution !
At 1 o'clock tomorrow morning , the
hour when slumber is most uninterrupted -
rupted and most profound , walk amid
the dwelling-houses of the city. Here
and there you will find a dim light , be
cause it is the household custom to
keep a subdued light burning ; but
most of the houses from base to top
are as dark as though uninhabited. A
merciful God has sent forth the archangel -
angel of sleep , and he puts his wings
over the city. But yonder is a clear \
light burning , and outside on the win
dow casement is a glass or pitcher con
taining food for a sick child ; the food
is set in the fresh air. This is the sixth
night that mother has sat up with that
sufferer. She has to the last point
obeyed the physician's prescription ,
not giving a drop too much or too lit
tle , or a moment too soon or too late.
She is very anxious , for she has buried
three children with the same disease ,
and she prays and weeps , each prayer
and sob ending with a kiss of the palo
cheek. By dint of kindness she gets
the little one through the ordeal. After !
it is all over , the mother * is taken
down. Brain or nervous fever sets in ,
and one day she leaves the convales .
cent child with a mother's blessing ,
and goes up to join the three in the
kingdom of heaven. Life for life. Sub
stitution ! The fact is that there are !
an uncounted number of mothers who ,
after they have navigated a large fam
ily of children through all the diseases ;
of infancy , and got them fairly started
up the flowering slope of boyhood and
girlhood , have only strength enough
left to die. They fade away ; some call i
it consumption ; some call it nervous i
prostration ; some call it intermittent ;
or malarial indisposition ; but I call it :
martyrdom of the domestic circle. Life i
for life. Blood for blood. Substitu •
tion !
/
" - " " iaiMHI M I li li MiMHHHIll > II I J >
| ] HI. < | Hmpi <
Or porhapa the mother lingers long
enough to see a son get on the wrong
rsad , and his former kindness becomes
rough reply when she expresses anxiety
about him. But she goes right on ,
looking carefully after his apparel , remembering -
membering hla birthday with some memento -
mento , and when he Is brought home
worn out with dissipation , nurses him
till he gets well and starts him again ,
and hopes , and expects , and prays , and
counsels , and suffers , until her strength
gives out and she falls. She Is going ,
and attendants , bending over her pil
low , ask her if she has any message to
leave , and she makes great effort to
say something , but out of three or four
minutes of Indistinct utterance they
can catch but three words : "My poor
boy ! " The simple fact Is she died for
him. Life for life. Substitution !
About thirty-six years ago there
went forth from our northern and
southern homes hundreds of thousands
of men to do battle for their country.
All the poetry of war soon vanished ,
and left them nothing but the terrible
prose. They waded knee-deep in mud.
They slept in snow-banks. They
marched till their cut feet tracked the
earth. They were swindled out of
their honest rations , and lived on meat
not fit for a dog. They had jaws all
fractured , and eyes extinguished , and
limbs shot away. Thousands of them
cried for water as they lay dying on
the field the night after the battle , and
got It not. They were homesick , and
received no message from their loved
ones. They died in barns , In bushe3 ,
in ditches , the buzzards of the sum
mer heat the only attendants on their
obsequies. No one but the infinite God
who knows everything , knowB the ten
thousandth part of the length , and
breadth , and depth , and height of the
anguish of the Northern and South
ern battlefields. Why did these fath
ers leave their children and go to the
front , and why did these young men ,
postponing the marriage day , start out
into the probabilities of never coming
back ? For the country they died. Life
for life. Blood for. blood. Substitution -
tion !
But we need not go so far. What is
that monument In Greenwood ? It is to
the doctors who fell in the Southern
epidemics. Why go ? Were there not
enough sick to be attended in these
Northern latitudes ? Oh , yes ; but the
doctor puts a few medical books in his
valise , and some phials of medicine ,
and leaves his patients here in the
hands of other physicians , and takes
the rail-train. Before he gets to the
infected regions he passes crowded
rail-trains , jegular and extra , taking
the flying and affrighted populations.
He arrives In a city over which a great
horror is brooding. He goes from
couch to couch , feeling of the pulse and
studying symptoms , and prescribing
day after day , night after night , until
a fellow-physician says , "Doctor , you
had better go home and rest ; you look
miserable. " But he cannot rest while
so many are suffering. On and on , un
til some morning finds him in a deliri
um , in which he talks of home , '
then rises and says he must go B
look after those patients. He is tolt B
lie down ; but he fights his attend ; fl
until he falls back , and is weaker B
weaker , and dies for people with wl H
he had no kinship , and far away f H
his own family , and is hastily put a fl
in a stranger's tomb , and only the B
part of a newspaper line tells us of H
sacrifice his name just mentic B
among five. Yet he has touchedl H
furthest height of sublimity in B
three weeks of humanitarian ser H
He goes'straight as an arrow toj B
bosom of him who said : "I wassick :
and ye visited me. " Life for life. BlVod I
for blood. Substitution ! t
* * ' /
What an exalting principle Kiis
which leads one to suffer for another !
Nothing so kindles enthusiasm or
awakens eloquence , or chimes poetic
canto , or moves cations , The prin
ciple is the dominant one in our relig
ion Christ the Martyr , Christ the ce
lestial Hero , Christ the Defender ,
Christ the Substitute. No new princi
ple , for it was as old as human nature ;
but now on a grander , wider , higher ,
deeper and more world-resounding
scale ! The shepherd boy as a cham
pion for Israel with a sling toppled
the giant of Philistine braggadocio in
the dust ; but here is another David
who , for all the armies of churches mil
itant and triumphant , hurls the Goliath
of perdition into defeat , the crash of
his brazen armor like an explosion at
Hell Gate. Abraham had at God'3
'
command agreed to sacrifice his son
Isaac , and the same God just in time
had provided a ram of the thicket as a
substitute ; but here is another Isaac
bound to the altar , and no hand ar
rests the sharp edges of laceration and
death' , and the universe shivers and
quakes and recoils and groans at the
horror.
All good men have for centuries been
trying to tell whom this Substitute
was like , and every comparison , in
spired and uninspired , evangelistic ,
prophetic , apostolic , and human , falls
short , for Christ was the Great Unlike.
Adam a type of Christ , because he
came directly from God ; Noah a type
of Christ , because he delivered his own
family from the deluge ; Melchisedec a
type of Christ , because he had no pred
ecessor or successor ; Joseph a type
of Christ , because he wa3 cast out by
his brethren ; Moses a type of Christ ,
because he was a deliverer from bondage -
age ; Samson a type of Christ , because
of his strength to slay the lions and
carry off Uic iron gates of impossibility -
ity : Solomon a type of Christ , in the
affluence of his dominion ; Jonah a type
of Christ , because of the stormy sea
in which he threw himself for the rescue -
cue of others ; but put together Adam
and Noah and Melchisedec and Joseph
and Moses and Joshua and Samson and
Solomon and Jonah , and they woultl ,
I
llHHII , ii ii pii.iiiiji * mm iimiww ii * i WI m in ii i iiii pbwwi ! ! * & & yii / ff l
m I
not mnko a fragment of a .Christ , a | | H
quarter of a Christ , the half of a Christ , ij , M
or the millionth part of a Christ/ , | .i , B
He forsook a throne and sat down " ? | ' . H
on ( his own footBtool. Ho caroo from. \ H
the , top of glory to the bottom of hu- [ H
miliatlon ] , and changed clrcumfcr- - \ H
ence ( seraphic for n clrcuraforence dla- H
bolic. ] Once waited on by angels , now H
hissed ] at by brigands. From afar and H
high j up he came down ; post meteors B
swifter ( than they ; by starry thrones. H
himself raoro lustrous ; post larger j M
worlds to smaller worlds ; down stairs M
of ( firmaments , and from cloud to j H
cloud , , and through tree-tops and Into ' M
the camel's stall , to thrust his shout- B
[ der under our burdens and take th j H
lances of pain through his vitals , and B
wrapped himself In all the agonlea M
which we deserve for our misdoings , H
and stood on the splitting decks of a. M
foundering vessel , amid the drenching ; H
surf of the sea , and passed midnights M
on , the mountains amid wild beasts of H
prey , and stood nt the point where all , M
earthly ] and Infernal hostilities charged M
an him at once with their keen sabrca H
our Substitute H
The mos't exciting and overpowering ; B
day , of one summer was the day I spent ' H
on ( the battlefield of Waterloo. Starting > B
out ( with the morning train from Brussels - H
sels , Belgium , we arrived in about an. H
hour on that famous spot. A son of ono B
who was In the battle , and who had H
heard from hla father a thousand times fl
the whole scene recited , accompanied. < H
us over the field. There stood the old B
Hougomont Chateau , the walls dented. B
and scratched , and broken , and shattered - B
tered by grape-shot and cannon-ball. H
There is the well in which three hundred - H
dred dying and dead were pitched. J
There is the chapel with the head of H
the infant Christ shot off. There are B
the gates at which , for many hours , { H
English and French armies wrestled. > H |
Yonder were the one hundred and sixty - B
ty gunr. of the English , and the two j B
hundred and fifty guns of the French. B
Yonder the Hanoverian Hussars fled , B
for the woods. Yonder was the ravine i H
: of Ohain , where the French cavalry. < H
! ' not knowing there was a hollow } H
in the ground , rolled over and down. B
troop after troop , tumbling into on * H
awful mass of suffering , hoof of kick- j > H
ing horses against brow and breast of < B
captains and colonels and private sol- ' B
diers , the human and the bsastly groaa 1
kept up until , the day after , all was B
shoveled under because of the malodor ' B |
arising in that hot month of June. B
"There , " said cur guide , "the High- B
land regiments lay down on their face3 , H
waiting for the moment to spring upon H l
the foe. In that orchard twenty-fivo H
hundred men were cut to pieces. Hero B
stood Wellington with white lips , and B
up that knoll rode Marshal Ncy on his . H
sixth horse , five having been shot under - H
der him. Here the ranks of the French. H
broke , and Marshal Ncy , with his boot B B
slashed of a sword , and his hat off , and. B
hi3 face covered powder and. H
blood , tried to rally his troops 33 he B
cried : 'Come and sec how a marshal B
of France dies on the battle-field. * B
From yonder direction Grouchy wa3 B
MHMHH | | MHflfl HH BB | Hice B
Bam ' H
fuu r W HBBBI B BB
man of destiny. whowasT5IffrTyTH ! ! ! M M
troops Old Two Hundred Thousand , H |
turned a" ay 'Ub broken h rt , and B
the fate of centuries Was decided. ft , ' H fl
No wonder great mound has been , H
reared there , hundreds of feet high H
a mound at the expense of millions of t B
dollars and many years in rising , and H
on the top is the great Belgian lion of H
bronze , and a grand old lion it is. H
But our great Waterloo was in Pales- H
tine. There cams a day when all hell B
rode up , led Apoliyon , and th3 B
Captain of our salvation confronted B
them alone. The Rider on the white B
horse of the Apocalypse going out H
against the black horse cavalry of H
death , and the battalions of the de- l l
moniac. and the myrmidons of dark- B l
ness. From twelve o'clock at noon to l
three o ' clock in the afternoon the B l
greatest battle of the universe went on. B l
Eternal destinies were being decided. iv B
Ail the arrows of hel ! pierced our B
Chieftain , and the battle-axes struck B
him. until brow and cheek and shout- B B
der and hand and foot were incarnadined - B
dined with oozing life ; but he fought B
on until he gave a final stroke and the B
commander-in-chief of hell and all his B
forces fc-1 ! back in everlasting ruin , B
and the victory is ours. And on the B
mound that celebrates the triumph wo B
plant this day two figures , not B
bronze or iron or sculptured marble. B
but two figures of living light , the lion B
of .hidan's tribe and the Lamb that B
I'll lSir.vcli- ? . H
No less than three attempts to causa B
the wind to aid the bicycle-rider ia B
driving his machine have recently been B
inai'e by inventors , one American and. B
two French. In the case of the Amer- B
lean and one of the French inventions , B
the apparatus constructed on the plan B
of a toy windmill is attached to the B
machine , and geared to the front wheel B
in such a manner that the force of the B
wind can be utilized in turning the B
wheel. The third contrivance also B
acts on the principle of the windmill , fl
but its motor , instead of having fans B
all facing one way , is shaped like an B
empty pumpkin-shell , with the segments - |
ments slightly separated and inclined j H
inward. The practical usefulness of B
these devices remains v .o be demon- B
