Plattsmouth weekly journal. (Plattsmouth, Neb.) 1881-1901, May 24, 1894, Image 7

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'IIK blue -e ye d
month, the
dryad of the
May, palpable.
fcalf-visible, is
She lives, encom
passed by ber
leafy screen.
To peep with
laughing eyes.
herself unseen.
She lingers In the lanes or ferny wood
lr where the meadows bloom in solitude.
Or listens on the river's seddy brink
To the plad sons of ber own bobolink.
Her swift foot pauses whore the crassea wave
Above some half-forgotten soldier's grave.
She stoops above war desolate! spots
To seal forpivencss with forget-me-nots.
And writes with mouses on the crumbling
Heroic names recalled by her alone.
O May. so prodigal in memories!
Hast thou forgot the battles on the seas
Hast thou forgot the seamen that went down
Without a fear to blanch the cheek of brown?
No violet or primrose ever rests
Its Euted leaves upon these warrior-breasts.
No friendly hand has docked their ocean grave
Nor sorrow's tribute reached them through the
Perchance the drifting seaweed drops a spray
In the unfolded arm, then floats away:
Perchance those crystal corridors below
Are lighted by a faint and shiftin? plow
Where pa-sing birds, with soft and sheeny
Shed gleams of glory In their wanderings:
"ot for their are alone the brave old ships
Set thundering trumpets to their iron bps'
They poured that awful eloquence cf fire
To right the wrong, and lift the right still
The ocean or the shipyard claims the wrecks.
And shadowy crews invest the rotting decks.
A Ghostly canvas flutters to the breeze.
Hast thou no garlands. May. for such as these?
Bring thy deep urn lille l with a nation's tears:
Sing thy sweet psalm sprung from our happier
An l where a warship moulders on our shore.
Worn like a gra-i lsire whose long work is o'er.
Vet ca whose rough ch'-el; bahv lingers stray,
CJive the grim p. si the blossoms of to-day!
Curtis May, in Youth's Companion.
i: n t d k l -
shouted two
bright yotm?
voices in con
cert, "teacher
says we are to
.1 ,w rule in the
procession on Decoration day ana
curry flowers to the soldiers' graves."
Aunt Drusiila looked up from her
sewing, crave a scarcely audible siirh
and said nothing. Too much excited
to notice this apparent lack of interest
on the part of her atint, the elder child
contiuued the fascinating description
of the event in which she hoped to play
so prominent a part- In a breathless
tone, w herein was just a suspicion of
an undercurrent of pride, she pro
ceeded eagerly:
"And I am to walk first, teacher
says and we are to wear white
dresses with bright sashes it will be
lovely. 1"
It won't be quite so lovely if we
haven't any white dresses to wear."
interrupted her little sister Myra. who
was of a practical turn of mind.
Myrtle's face fell somewhat at this
and a moment or two of thoughtfu 1
silence followed. Quickly rallying,
however, she turned to her aunt as to a
person of inexhaustible resources, say
inj; confidently:
"Aunt Drusiila will fix us some, I
know she wilL"
"No you don't. Myrtle, Aunt Drusiila
hasn't said she would."
"You will, won't you, aunt?" said
Myrtle, coaxiucrly.
"You must wait until I think it over,
children you know. I am not made of
As this was a somewhat common ex
pression with Aunt Drusiila when
extra drains were made on her pocket
book, and often resulted favorably,
the little girls felt no serious misgiv
ings with .reference to their white
Left once more to herself Drusiila
continued her work with thoughts
which wandered far from her present
surroundings. Time had flown by, car
rying with it one by one of her old
assoHates, either on tne matrimonial
wave, or to the shore where there is
"neither marrying nor giving in mar
riage." and still she, Drusiila Dexter,
remained with an uneventful past and
an apparently joyless future. I said
"uneventful;" in that, perhaps I erred,
taking the general opinion of the
few who thought they knew Drusilla's
history from beginning to end as a cri
terion for the precise truth.
The wise man has truly said: "Every
heart knoweth its own bitterness and
a stranger intermeddleth no. with its
joys," and he might have added its
own secret hopes.
Some fifteen years before the date of
my story, while in her father's home,
Drusiila cherished, and fell asleep many
a night to dream of, an ideal of a manly
type. Xo one suspected it naturally
reserved, she said but little of what
touched -ier in the tendercst spots.
Hugh Manning, their neighbor's son,
was a big boy when she first started
for school. His was the friendly hand
upon which she had relied in all her
childish troubles, and out of the abun
dance of a large-hearted nature he
never refused to help the shy little
maiden whose thanks were often only
an appreciative smile. Years passed in
this way until Hugh was a man indeed
and Drusiila a sweet-faced maiden.
The neighborly companionship con
tinued and Drusiila cared for none
other. To see him once iu a few days,
CTcn, satisfied ber.
The distant rumblings of war at last
penetrated the little western village
where they lived, and women's hearts
failed them, knowing1 that the call for
their loved ones would 6urely come.
Then Drusiila awoke from the blissful
dream in which she had indulged to the
reality of a heartache and a startling
consciousness of the fact which is
either fraught with much joy or sor
row to a woman, viz., that her heart
was no longer in her own keeping
irrevocably given to another. The call
for men came even sooner than was an
ticipated, and Hugh was one of the first
to offer himself. Notwithstanding her
grief Drusiila would not have had it
otherwise. Her ideal was a brave man,
stalwart and fearless--but oh, the ruis
erv of it! Her father and vounr? broth
er were likewise going; the one on the
extreme limit ot age permissioie. ana
the other almost too young for service,
but they were ready and willing, and
the women were too loyal to their coun
try to t-ay them nay.
T,he last night before the men start
ed, the two families of the Mannings
and Dexters met at the latter's house
for a farewell supper. Beneath the
pleasant flow of genial neighborly
chat there lay the deep current of
turbulent thought and sad forebodings
to which none would give voice lest the
others should be disheartened. Drusiila
waited on the table with a white face
and a compressed look about her
mouth, telling of a speechless grief
harder to bear because it must not find
It was an evening in June. The roses
were in full bloom and filled the air
with their sweetness. The scent of
roses reminded Drusiila of that even
ing for many years after. Weary of
the strain of keeping up appearances
the girl went for a breath of air down
the garden path between the rose
bushes. A sense of desolation, too un
defined for language, lay like a heavy
burden on her heart. Hearing a foot
step on the walk she hastily turned,
dreading the interruption to these few
stolen moments of freedom from re
straint. A glance at the supposed in
truder sufficed to bring the color to her
white lips.
"What did you run away for, Dru
siila?" said Hugh, cheerily. "Why, you
surely are not crying because we go to
fight our country's battles and, please
God, to return with honor to our friends.
You must exercise faith and courage,
Drusiila. it is the only way to endure
these separations."
"1 cannot, Hugh. It is far easier for
you to go than for us who remain to
stay at home and weep." replied the
girl, tearfully.
"How do you know that, Drusiila.
There was no opportunity for further
speech, the rest of the family joined
them and the conversation became gen
eral- The summons came earlier than
was expected in the morning and leave
takincs were of necessity brief. Faith
and courage; those two words, burned
themselves, as it were, into Drusilla's
'I -
very souL 1 . .... first in her God and
then in Hugh, and courage to take
up boldly the duties of each Ion? sad
day, and to wait for the tidings of
loved ones that might never come.
Some time after the departure of the
men from Leigh Valley a distant re
lative visited the family and brought
for Drusiila, as a present, a beautiful
white dress. In an instant the thought
occurred to her that it might serve as a
wedding dress if Hugh should return
and ask her to be his wife.
"He meant to do so that night, I am
sure," she frequently said to herself.
"Olv. if he had only spoken, it would
have been easier to bear now."
Troubles came thickly to the Dexter
family after the first year of absence.
Occasionally letters from the field told
of wounds and suffering, and finally
they ceased altogether. From Hugh
there were two or three communica
tions to his family, and then he too
was silent. At the close of the war the
father and brother returned. Careful
nursing restored the latter, but no lov
ing care could bring health to the shat
tered constitution of the former, and in
a few months he was laid to rest in a
soldier's grave. Hugh's whereabouts
w-as a mystery. He was heard of as
wounded and a prisoner, and the opin
ion of his relatives was that he too
had fallen a victim to the horrors of
the war.
"Faith and courage, oh for it!"
prayed Drusiila many times a day;
"not ray wilL but Thine be done." she
murmured from the depths of her
stricken soul.
Her mother died, and then she went
to a distant town to live with her
brother, who had married and settled
down. As the patient aunt of his little
girls, and the mainstay of the church
to which she belonged, she did not lead
an unhappy life, although an abiding
sorrow was her portion. The mj'stery
attending Hugh's fate remained un
solved. Other troubles, however, fol
lowed. Her brother and his wife were
both takes, and she was left sole
guardian to the little girls, Myrtle and
Hearing of another town in which
she could get suitable employment so
as to eke out the small income at her
disposal, she took the children with
her and settled down as a dressmaker.
"Faith and courage," oh. how she j
needed them now; alone with two little
ones depending on her.
Day by day, with a steady purpose of
doing faithfully the work coming to j
her, she worked and won victory after
victory over discouragement and oc
casional seeming defeat. These decora
tion days were seasons requiring more
faith and courage than at times she felt
she possessed.
If, like the soldiers' widows, she
could have laid flowers on the grave of
her loved one, and thought of him in
the rest of Heaven, her burden would
have grown light in comparison, but
this was not to be wherefore she knew
The problem of the children's white
dresses, on the day on which our story
opened, occupied her mind some time
after their departure. Money was
scarce with her just now, sickness had
thrown her behind, and for awhile
rigid economy had to be exercised.
"Why not give them your white
dress; you will never have it made up
for j-ourself," whispered common sense.
Now this white dress was the only
tangible thing poor Drusiila felt she
had to look at connected with the one
romance in her life. As such she prized
it, and had kept it wrapped up in blue
paper to preserve its color.
"Yes," she said to herself, "it will
make them two beautiful dresses, and
as soldier children they will decorate
the graves."
Myrtle and Myra were in transports
of joy over the prospect of their new
white dresses. Myrtle was especially
jubilant, too much so to notice her
aunt's face as she folded the goods and
put them away. Myra, however, whom
little escaped, observed it, and told
Myrtle she was sure something was
troubling Aunt Drusiila.
"What can it be?" said Myrtle, com
ing down at once from her excitement.
"I don't know. Myrtle, but I believe
it is about Decoration day. Aunt looked
as though she cried last year, I remem
ber." It rained the day before Decoration
day. and many were the fears ex
pressed by the children lest it would be
too wet to wear their new white dresses.
Myrtle, who resembled her aunt, with
fair hair and blue eyes, looked at her
self with great satisfaction in the look
ing glass. The sunshine threw streaks
of gold on her hair and a rosy tint on
her cheeks.
"Won't j-ou come to the cemetery
and see us. aunt?" asked Myra, holding
up her face for a good-by kiss.
"No, dear, I think not. You can tell
me ail about it when you come home.
He good children, and be careful not
to spoil your dresses. Good-by!
"Faith and courage," whispered the
lonely woman to herself, when the
sound of their footsteps had died away
in the distance. "I need them as much
as ever. Will it ever cease to be a
strugcle to keep them up? So far I
have had sustaining grace, but how
about the long future?"
"As thy day so shall thy strength
be," came t j her cfieerily, and she re
sumed her sewing with peace, yes, and
with a positive joy in her heart.
Meanwhile the children were having
a grand time. The weather was per
fect, and the arrangements all which
could be desired. The G. A. Ti. men
were drawn up in line at the entrance
of the cemetery while the children
marched past them. M3"rtle heading
the procession. One of the men started
violently on seeing her, and could hard
ly forbear breaking from the ranks and
hastening to overtake her. When the
graves were all decorated and the chil
dren were marching back to the con
veyances at the cemetery gates, the
man left his comrades and stepped up
to the leader.
In the few minutes intervening le
tween their arrival and taking their
seats in the carriages he contrived to
ask her if her name was Dexter, or if
she had relatives of that name?
"Yes. Myra and I are called Dexter,
and so is our aunt. Miss Drusiila. Do
you know her?" asked the child, look
ing curiously at the gray-haired G.
'A. R.
"Yes. that is. I used to. Where do
you live?"
"With Aunt Drusiila, in a small
white house with green blinds, on
Spencer street. Good-by, sir, I must
get in now.- Come, Myra"
On the children's arrival at home
they found their aunt engaged with a
customer, so that there was no chance
to tell her of the aflernoon's perform
ance for quite a little while. Just as
they were about to do so there was a
ring at the doorbell, and as their aunt
I was assisting them to take oil their
finery neither of them could go to the
"I wonder if it's that man?" said
J NJ . - fill k UJ . A W -. I w - liF kJX. T:
I ' L-S5
Myra. "He has had about time to get
"Hush, Myra, don't you hear aunt
crying? What can be the matter?"
A 6trange stillness had fallen over
the occupants of the sitting-room after
that one loud sob of sorrow or rather
The l'ttle girls waited in vain for
their aunt to come and finish their
toilets, so they concluded to wait upon
each other, as they usually did, and
then go and see what ailed their aunt.
This was soon executed, so eager were
they to solve the mysterious coming' of
this stranger. On entering the room
they found the G. A. R. man occupying
a seat very near their aunt, who ap
peared to be in too happy a state of
mind to warrant that sob. On seeing
the children Drusiila held out her hand
to Myrtle, who happened to be fore
most, saying, with a smile in which
there was a mingling of various emo
tions: "These are poor Ileber's children,
Hugh. They are all that is left of my
old home."
1 "This little lady's likeness to you was
i the means of my finding you, Drusiila,
after my long search. I only intend
j ed remaining here a week, so that my
! chances were small of meeting with
1 you."
i A few words will suffice to explain
, Hugh's silence and long absence. He
had written to Drusiila, asking her to
be his wife, soon after wishing her
good-by, but unfortunately the letter
was lost. He was injured in the head
during one of the first engagements.
On his apparent recovery from the
wound it was discovered that his mem
ory was a blank, and without being
; exactly insane, he came very near it.
! For several years he continued in this
condition. Finally, however, he recov-
ered under skillful treatment, and then
set on a quest for his loved ones No
one in his native village knew Drusil
la's latest move, and the search seemed
1 liy the will of his father, who had
died recently, he had come into consid
' erable property, and, as he told Drusii
la, there would be no further need for
her to be a breadwinner.
"1 am afraid, Hugh," she answered,
with a loving smile, "that with so much
1 happiness in prospect I shall be tempted
: to f 01 get my daily prayer for faith and
courage!" Mrs. W. L. Sanders, in Chi
cago Standard.
A Curious Couple and the Congressman
from Their District.
"Once when I was in one of my back
counties," said a Tennessee congress
man, "I stopped at a small hotel where
1 was an object of curiosity to a couple
of natives, evidently man and wife. I
was sitting out on a little porch in
front of the house reading a newspa
per, and they were watching me at if I
were some kind of a new creation, but
I tried to remain unconscious of it, be
hind my paper. Finally tha7 began to
" 'Who d' you reckon he is?' queried
the woman in a half whisper.
" 'Dunno; sposin' I ax him?' he ven
tured, quite as curious as she was.
" 'You dasn't, she said in a tone im
plying that she hoped he would, arid
he did, and I told him I was the con
gressman from that district. He went
back to her smiling.
" 'Guess who?' he said.
'"Some kinder drummer er other,
she replied, peeping at me cautiously.
"The man shook his hoad.
"'He ain't no preacher, I'm shore,'
she said, 'but he might be a sewin' ma
chine agent."
" 'No, he ain't,' laid the man. 'he's
the congressman frum this deestrick;
that's what he is.'
" 'Did he tell you so?' she asked, in
credulously. " 'In course.'
" 'My,' she exclaimed. I wouldn't
a' thought it. It's bad enough to be
one without goin' 'round tellin' every
Tne I'rrdlcament of a I.ady Dot-tor Who
V Phllanthroplrally Inclined.
The other evening Mrs. Dr. Myra Knox
heard a violent ring at her door belL
She answered it in person. Through
the dim light, and directly under the
swinging sign which informs the mul
titude that "Dr. Knox" may be found
within, stood one of the hungry unem
ployed. The doctor has a Larjre heart
whicu responds quickly to a.11 forms of
human distress, and she became inter
ested at once.
"My good man," she asked, "what can
I do for you?"
"Please, ma'am," came the meek an
swer, "would yon be so kind as to give
me a pair of the doctor's old pants? I'm
nearly naked, as you can see."
Mrs. Knox did not laugh. She never
laughs at human misery, no matter
how its laughable features may be
presented to her. I5ut she said, sol
emnly: "My poor man, I would willingly
comply with your request, but I know
the doctor's pants would not fit you.
Apply to Dr. liuckel, next door."
How Dr. Kuckel disposed of the needy
fellow has not been divulgecL In fact,
the story stops right here. Dr. IHickel's
first name is Annette. San Francisco
Growth of the Pearl Oynter.
It has been found by Saville-Kent
that the pearl oyster reaches maturity
in a shorter time than formerly sup
posed. He thinks that under favora
ble conditions a period not exceeding
three years suffices for the shell to at
tain to the marketable size of eight or
nine inches in diameter, and that heavy
shells of five pounds or six pounds
w-cight per pair may be. the product of
live years growth.
In His Natle Kleiuent.
Attendant l'rof. Pithon. the nat
uralist, has got the d. t's to-night.
Imagines he's surrounded by all sorts
of queer snakes.
Head Physician Is he greatly terri
fied? Attendant Not at all; he's sitting
there with a sweet smile on his face,,
classifying them. Puck.
f know I do not trust Thee Lord, enough.
To-morrow, If th pathway grew too rough
For my weak feet to travel, I should pause.
And murmur that Thy face was hid because
I can not see Thee in a darkened place,
I need the sunshine to behold Thy face.
I do not trust Thee, Lord. Then patient, mild.
He answered lovingly: "I know It, child."
My heart is cold against Thee, then I cried.
If Thou to-day wert walking by my sido.
If Thou and I were walking by the sea.
And Thou shouldst whisper softly: "Follow
Those words the centuries have found so
I think that I should rise with lagging feet.
My heart would feel no rapture Quick and wild.
Again He answered: "Yes, I know It, child."
I am not constant, Lord. I am not true.
The things I would not are the things I do.
I am so weary, there are clouds between.
My words are harsher, wilder than I mean.
Kot over pastures smooth, but rock and stone,
J walked to-day and I have weary grown.
More softly, tenderly than angel's call.
The Saviour answered: -Child, I know It alL"
Bertha G. Davis in New York Observer.
It Needs Education and Then to Be Im
plicitly Ubeved.
People are constantly met with show
ing an unlovely disposition who claim
to be governed bv conscience. Un-
doubtely they speak the truth, but
they do not understand that a con
science may be defective or warped,
On the contrary, they hold their con
sciences to be infallible, i'et that con
science may be far from right is abun
dantly manifest. Paul was not more
conscientious as a preacher than he
was as a persecutor. He declares: "I
verity thought with myself I ought to
do many things contrary to the name
of Jesus of Nazareth," and so. many of
the saints he shut up in prison,
and .when they were put to death
he crave his voice against them.
He declares, "he was exceeding
mad" against the disciples, but it
is evident that he was conscientious
throughout. Many papal persecutors
were conscientious when they commit
ted Protestants to the flames. Doubt
less the Puritans had a good con
science w hen they put witches to death.
It need not excite surprise that some
people now who are denunicatory of
all who differ from them in the inter
pretation of Scripture, or in doctrine
or conduct, are impeled by their con
sciences to say very severe things.
Some of our churches have members
whose consciences are a perpetual
mence to the peace of their brethren.
They know just what a minister should
preach, and what methods of worship
should be followed. They have dis
covered the exact line between the
church and the world, and woe betide
their fellow-members who dare to cross
the boundaries they prescribe.
Many of these good people, however,
could scarcely give a sensible reason
for their convictions. They may not
think it possible that they can be mis
taken, but still their consciences may
not have been properly educated. For
conscience needs education. The con
science of a heathen is very different
from that of a Christian, and Chris
tians may differ in consciences almost
as much as they differ in countenances.
While conscience is the supreme stand
ard of duty it needs enlightenment.
There are requirements for its illumina
tion and education which are indis
pensable. There must be love and de
sire for a knowledge of the right, and
that sanctiiication of heart that will
determine to follow the righL
Much of this knowledge must grow
out of the ISible. If we are not con
vinced of its inspiration and authority
we shall not heed its teaching. If,
however, we make it the man of our
counsel, we shall have great clearness
of vision. With this, it may be hoped,
we shall be emancipated from regard
to mere tradition or fashion. The one
thought will be of what is God's will.
As the apostle expresses it: "Where
fore also we make it our aim, whether
at home or absent, to be well-pleasing
unto Him." If we possess Paul's spirit
we shall hesitate to proscribe others,
if their belief or conduct does not har
monize with ours, but we shall be care
ful to obey from the heart whatever we
believe God's word teaches.
Conscience ought to be implicitly
obeyed by all Christians. It is not for
us to sit in judgment on others, but it
is difficult to escape a conviction that,
with many professed Christians, con
science has not the regal authority it
ought to have. In these days when
changes are so frequently made from
one denomination to another, when so
many extend their liberty to the wid
est latitude, and there seems so little
evidence that they are valiant for the
truth, it may at least be wise for all
who name the name of Christ to con
sider whether they are giving con
science that loval obedience which be
comes a Christian. Christian Inquirer.
A Worthy Inreutive for Heine Kind to
Those About Us.
About twenty years ago a vicious,
unruly boy was the terror of the com
munity in a quiet town in Alabama.
Neither parents nor touchers were able
to control him. One day his father, a
feeble old man, asked him to drive a
stake in the garden to hold up a grape
He refused, and when his father in
sisted the son struck him, uttering a
fierce oath, and that night left the vil
lage. A few months later, in a neigh
boring state, he was arrested for bur
glary, convicted and sentenced to im
prisonment for sixteen years.
As the end of his term approached he
wrote again and again to his father,
telling his story and begging for for
giveness, promising, in agony of soul,
when he was a free man, to live a dif
ferent life. He received no answer, and
when released did not seek his home,
but became a wanderer.
One day he appeared in his native
village, a middle-aged man with gray
bair, and eyes long used to look upon
trouble. Few of the people knew him.
The home of h:s childhood was owned
by strangers. His father had long been
He made his way through the driz
lling lain to his grave. Only Cod
knows the story of the man after that,
lleneath the grass his father lay deaf
to his cries. He would never speak to
say that he forgave him.
The next day the villagers found,
driven into the ground at the head of
the grave, a heavy stake, as for a tomb
stone, and written on it: "I will obey
you, father." The man was gone, and
never returned.
Once a year in Jerusalem, in the old
days, we are told that the high priest
lifted the curtain before the sanctuary
and went in, bearing the prayersof the
people for Divine forgiveness.
There is no curtain now between n
and God. He always hears us; bnt the
veil which hangs between us and our
dead is never lifted. They do not say
they forgive us, cry we never so loudly.
He is wise who gives to the loved
ones at his side not.uh.g but love and
tenderness to carry in memory into the
unending life thatlies behind that dark
curtain. Youth's Companion.
The Purirylne Touch on Character of
Healthful IntronBtection.
After the plastic period of childhood
and early youth there can be but little
turning over of new leaves. The mold
of character is shaped, growth or de
cadence progresses on certain fixed
lines. Individual cases may occur, but
they are rather rare. It is frightful to
see that the milestones of years show
a certain rate of progress or a subtle
retrogression and falling back. There
is no such thing as standing stilL The
inward loss of moral power attended
by outward prosperity is the saddest
indication. It is useless to wait for
any fixed day to repent of our sins.
We are already in eternity, so far as
they are concerned. If they are acci
dental or purely impulsive, we may
assail ourselves at any time be
fore God. If they are generic, the
poisonous flowers of character, an ex
ternal application will do no good.
There must be thorough underground
work, a digging out of the evil root,
that no single day can accomplish.
Well will it be if long years can bring
it to pass! When we think how long it
takes to exterminate a single bad
habit something venial, not criminal
it is surprising we should have faith
in the resolves of a day.
Years are nothing. They melt silent
ly into the great whole, as a drop in
the ocean. It is the sense of con
tinuity we need the- feeling of pro
gression in life and time. If we can
not ch;inre tendencies when once es
tablished, we can look into ourselves.
Introspection is medicinal. Those who
say look out. and not within, make a
great mistake. There may be a healthy
as well as a morbid looking inward.
We must at times take "stock" of our
selves and find how our spiritual
ledgers balance. The exercise is most
wholesome, for, if it does nothing else
for us it will lead us to a great sense
of humility. We can gaze back upon
the poor accomplishment, the failure,
the slip, the loss of moral footing, and
the regret that comes from such in
trospection has a purifying touch. It
is perhaps the most acceptable prayer
to God, and, whenever it comes, it
makes for us a new year. Detroit
Free Press.
Some of the "Flc and Thistles" Flocked
for Oar Readers.
Virtue is most valuable when it
doesn't pay.
llacksliding often begins by looking
Whenever God reigns in the heart
His law is loved.
In the arithmetic of Heaven nothing
counts but love.
God is dishonored whenever a Chris
tian borrows trouble.
The Lord's side is the side that is not
afraid of any amount of sunlight.
An oath means that the man who
makes it loves the devil.
The preacher whose religion is all in
his head does not believe in revivals.
Eeformation without religion is lock
ing the door and leaving the key on the
God sent weeds to be a standing re
minder, that He expects all men to
No Christian ought to go in any com
pany where Christ would not be made
The man who is willing to be re
ligious in God's way will not find it
hard to do it
One reason why some men swear, is
because it does not take any courage
or manliness to do it.
One of the things for which Christ
came was to tell us that this world is
not a reliable storehouse.
When man makes a religion he tries
to make one that will let him stay
mean and still respect himself.
Do not measure your neighbor's char
acter with your plumbline; it may be
shorter than his depth.
There are some men who would rath--er
hear themselevs preach than tolisten
to an angel tuning his harp. 1
It may be that God makes some
things purely for ornament, . but a
Christian does not come tinder that
The devil has a thousand ways of
meeting eloquence, but he goes down
every time before the power of love.
No matter how much the wicked get
they only get to lose, but whatever the
righteous get they get to keep.
Judas spent three years in following
Christ with his feet, but never took one
step toward Him with his heart.
Every sin has a dagger in its hand,
with which sooner or later it will strike,
no matter how harmless it may look.
Ministers who are more concerned
about salary than souls, never get the
Bible wide open for anybody when
they preach.
If no preaching were done outside of
church buildings angels wonld stoj
hoping that the world would ever be
brought to Christ.
There is no use in praying for the
conversion of sinners in the street
while no preaching is being done to
the sinners in the church.
We don't have to open the Bible very
wide to find that God has declared that
no one can be a faithful follower of
His Son and be a loser by itv
sheriff that ltTe was "no