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About The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899 | View Entire Issue (April 23, 1896)
STARTING FOR HOME. REV. DR. TALMAGE PREACHES A RADICAL SERMON. The Prodigal' keturn Furnishes the Ttaema for a Powerful Uicoure-A Llivine Cure for the 111a of the World A Ulorloua Invitatiou. The Capital Pulpit. A uiust radical gospel sermon is the one of last Sunday by Dr. Taluia,;. It runs up and down the whole gamut of glorious iuvi!a:iou. Ilia text i Luke iv., J-S 1 will arise and to to my father." There ia nothing like hunger to lake tbe energy out of a uiau. A hungry man can toil neither with pen nor baud nor loot Tiirre baa been many an army defeated not o much for lack of ammunition as for lack of bread. It waa that fact ibat took tbe fire out of tbia young man of tbe text. Storm aud exiMjsure will wear out any man's life in tune, but hunger makes quick work. Tbe moat awful cry eet heard ou earth ia the cry for bread. A traveler telle ua that in Aaia Miuor there are treea which bear fruit looking verj much like tbe long beau of our time. It ia called the carob. Once iu awhile the people, reduced to deatitutiou, would eat these caruba, but generally tbe earobs, tbe bean iokeB of here in the text, were thrown only to the awiue, aud they crunched them with great avidity. Hut thia young mau of my text could Uot eveu pet them without atealing them. So one day, amid the swine troughs, he begins to soliloquize. He aaya: "Tbeae are no clothea for a rich man's sou to wear; this ia do kind of business for a Jew to be en gaged in, feeding swine. I'll go borne; I'll go home. I will arise and go to my fa'her." I know there are a great many people who try t throw a fascination, a romance H halo, about sin, but notwithstanding all that I,ord Byron aud George Sand bare aid in regard to it, it is a mean, low, con temptible business, and putting food and fodder into the troughs of a herd of in iquities that root and wallow iu tbe soul of man is a very poor business for men and women intended to be sons aud daughters of the Lord Almighty, aud when this young man resolved to go home it was a very wise thing for him to do, and the only question ia whether we will fol low him. Satan promises large wages if we will serve him, but he clothes his vic tims with rags, and he pitches them with hunger, and when they start out to do better he sets after them all the bUid hounds of hell. Satan comes to us to-day, and he promises all luxuries and emolu ment g if we will only serve him. Liar, down with thee to the pit! "The wages of in is death." Oh, the young man of the text was wise when he uttered the resolu tion, "I will arise and go to my father." In the time of Mary, the persecutor, a persecutor came to a Christian woman who had hidden in her bouse for the Lord's sake one of Christ's servants, and the persecutor said, "Where is that heret ic'" The Christian woman said, "Yon upen that trunk and you will see the heretic." The persecutor opened ttie trunk, and on the top of the linen of the trunk he saw a glass. He said, "There is no heretic here." "AhT she said, "you look in the glass and you will see the heretic." Seeing Ouraclvea. As I take up the mirror of God's word to-day, I would that, instead of seeing tbe prodigal of the text, we might see our selves our want, our wandering, our sin, our lost condition so that we might be as wise as this young man was and say, "I will arise and go to my father." The reso lution of this text was formed ia a dis gust at his present circumstances. If this young man had been by his employer set to cukuring flowers, or training vines over an arbor, or keeping an account of the pork market, or overseeing other la borers, he would not have thought of go ing home if he had had hii pockets full of money, if he had been able to say: "I have Jl,iiO now of my own. What's the use of my going back to my father's house' Do you think I'm going back to apologize to the old man' Why, be would put me on the limits. He would not have going on around the old place such conduct as I have been engaged in. I won't go home. There's no reason why I should go home. I hnve plenty of money, plenty of pleasant surroundings. Why should I go home?" Ah, it was his pau perism, it was his beggary. He had to go home. Some man comes and says to me: "Why do you talk about the ruined state of the human soul? Why don't you speak j abont the progress of the nineteenth cpn lury aud talk of something more exhilarat- j itig?" It is for this reason: A-man never wauts the gospel until he realizes he is in a famine struck state. Suppose I should come to you in your home, and you are in good, sound, robust health, and I should begin to talk about medicines, and about how much better this medicine is rhan that, and some other medicine thns some other medicine, and talk about this physician and that physician. After a while you Would get tired, and you would cay: "I don't want to hear about medi cines. Why do you talk to me of physi cians? I never have a doctor." But sun pose I come into your house and I find you severely sick, and I know the medi Hne that will cure you, and I know the physician who is skillful enough to meet ;.ur case. You say: "firing on all that medicine, bring on that physician. 1 am terribly sick, an 1 I want help." Ruined by tin. If I couie to jou, and you feel you are right in' body, and all right in mind, it ml all right in soul, you have need of nothing, but suppose I have persuaded you that the leprosy of sin is upon you, the worst of all sickness. Ob, then you say, "Bring me that balm of the gospel, bring me that divine medicament, bring me Jesus Christ." "But," says some one in the audience, "how do yon know that we are in a ruined condition by sin?" Well, I can prove it Id two ways, and you way have your choice. I can prove it either by tbe statements of men or by the tatement of God. Which shall it he? Too say, "Let as have the statement of God." Well, he sy in one place, "Tbe heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked." He says In another place, "What is man that he should he clean, and he which is born of woman that be should be righteous?" He My In another place, '"There ia none that doeta food no, not one." He says in another place, "As ky one man sin en tered lato the world, aad death by tin. aad to death paaaed upon all men, for that all had tlaaerl." "Well." yon My, "I aa willing to -knowledge that, but why should I take the particular reecut that you propose?" This is the reason: "Except a uisn be born again be cannot see Ibe kingdom of God." This is the reason: "There is one name given under heaven among men whereby tbey may lie saved." Then there are a thousand voices here ready to sav: "Well, I am ready to aivtpt this help ..f the gopc). I woiil.l l.ke to have this divine cure. 11-w sh:ill I go to work?" I-t uie say that a no re whim, an undefined longing, animus to nothing. Y .u must have a stout, a tre mendous resolution like thin young man of the ten wht-u be said. "I will aro.e and go to my fa:hcr." "Ob," aya sun.- man "bow do I know my fa'her wants me'; How do I kn .w if 1 go bark I wotf!d 1-e received?" "Ob," says .me man, ") ou don t know where I have been: jou dm'l know bow far I have wandered: oii wouldn't taik that way to me if you knew all tbe iniquities I have committed." What is that flutter among the angel n God? What is that horseman ruimin wun qui.g dispatch.' It is news, u is news.' Christ has found the lost. Nor angels can their joy contain. But kiudle with new fire. The sinner lor is funnd. th. v oig, And :r.ke the .iui.ii.i:g ...!,. God's Infinite Mi rev. When Napoleon talked of going into Italy, tbey aid: "You can't get there. If you knew what the Alps were, you would uot talk about it or think about it. You can't get your ammutiiliou wagons over ttle Alps." Then Napoleon rise iu bis stirrups, and.-waving his baud toward tli mountains, be said. "There shall be no Alps."' That Wonderful pas uas laid out which has Wen the luderment of all the years since the wonderment of all engineers. And you tell me there are such mountains of sin between your soul and God there is no mercy. Then I see Christ waving his baud toward the mountains. I hear him say, "I will come over the moun tains of thy sin and the hills of thine in iquity." There shall be no 1'yreuees there shall be no Alps. ' Again. I notice that this resolution of the young man of my text was founded iu sorrow at his misbehavior. It was not mere physical plight. It was grief that he had so maltreated his father. It is a sad thing after a father baa done everything tor a ctuld to have that child ungrateful. How sharper than a serin-tit's tooth it is lo have a thankless child. That is Siiakieare. "A foolish son is the heaviness of bis mother." That is tbe Bible. Well, my friends, have not some of us lieeu cruel prodigals? Have we uot maltreated our l ather? And such Father.' Three times a day has he fed thee. He has poured sunlight into Ehy day and at night kindled up all the street lamps of heaven. With what varieties of apparel he hath clothed thee for the seasons. VA bose eye watches thee? Whose Hand defends thee? Whose heart svm pathizes with thee? Who gave you your children? Who is guarding your loved ones departed? Such a Father! So lov ing, so kind. If he had been a stranger; if be had forsaken us; if he had flagel lated us; if he had pounded us and turned us out of doors on the commons, it would not have been so wonderful our treat ment of him; but he is a Father, so lov ing, so kind, and yet how many of ua for our wanderings have never apologized! If we say anything that hurta our friend's feelings, if we do anything that hurts the feeling of those in whom we are interest ed, how quickly we apologize! We can scarcely wait until we aet pen and paper to write a letter of apology. How easv it is for any one who m intelligent, right hearted, to write an apology or make an apology! We apologize for wrongs done to our fellows, but some of ns perhaps have committed ten thousand times ten thousand wrongs against God and never apologized. An Irreparable Loss. I remark still further that this resolu tion of the text was founded in a feeling of homesickness. I do not know how long this young man, how many months, how many years, he had been away from his father s bouse, but there is something about the reading of my text that makes me think he was homeaick. Some of you know what that feeling is. Far awav from home sometimes, surrounded bv ev erything bright and pleasant plenty of friends you have saiif, "1 would give the world to be home to-night." Well, this young man was homesick for his father's house. I have no doubt when he thought of his father's house he said, "Now, per haps lather may not be living. e read nothing in this story, this parable, found ed ou everyday life we read nothing about the mother. It says nothing about going borne to her. I think she was dead. 1 think she had died of a broken heart at his wanderings, or perhaps be bad gone into dissipation from the fart that he could not remember a loving and sympa thetic mother. A man never gets over having lost his mother. Nothing said about ber, but he is homesick for bis father's house. He thought he would just like to go and walk around the old place. He thought he would just like to go and see if things were as tbey used to be. Many a man after having been off a long while has gone home and knocked at the door, and a stranger has come. It is the old homestead, but a stranger comes to the door. He finds out father is gone and mother is gone and brothers and sisters all gone. X think thia young man of the text said to himself, "Perhaps father may be dead." Still be starts to find out. He is homesick. Are there any here to-day homesick for God, homesick for bea veu ? To Be Almost Haved Is to lie Lost. There is a man who said, long ago, "If I could live to the year PSIsi, by that time I will have my business matters all ar rangedand I will hnve time to attend U religion, and I will be a good, thorough, consecrated Christian." The year lMfMi has come. January, February, March, April a third of the year gone. Where is your broken vow? "Oh," says some man, "I'll attend to that when I get my character fixed tip, when I can get over my evil habits; I am now given to strong drink." Oh. says tbe man, "I am given to uivleanliness." Or, says the man: "I am given to dishonesty. When I get over my present, habits, then I'll be a thorough Christian." My brother, you will get worse anil worse, mull Christ lakes you in hand. "Not the righteous, sinners Jesus came to call." Oh, but you say, "I agree with you in all that, but I must put it off a little longer." Do yon ksow mere were many who came just is near as you are to the kingdom of God and never en tered it? I ass at Kasthampton, and I went into the cemetery to look around, and in that cemetery there are twelve graves side by side the graves of sailors. This crew, some years ago, in a. ship went into the breakers at Amaganeett, about three miles away. My brother, then presetting at Kasthampton, had been at tbe burial. These men of the crew came very near being saved. The people from Auiagausett saw ibe vessel, and tbey shot rockets, aud they eeut ropes from tbe bore, aud these poor leliuws got into tbe boat, aud they pulled mightily for tbe shore, but just before tbey got to the bore tbe rope snapped and tbe boat cap sized, and they were lost, their bodies afterward Hashed uioU tbe beach. Oh, what a solemn day it was-I have been told of it by my brother - when these twelve men lay at the foot of the pulpit, and be read over them tbe funeral service. Tbey came very m ar shore itliiu shout ing diitauce of the shore, let dij ti.it ar rive ou solid land. There are some tneu who come almost to tbe shore uf God's mercy, but not quite, not quite. To be almost saved is to be lost! Twu Pro .lit,;a!. I ill t, 11 j-ii f nv,j prodigals the oue that got baik, and rbe ,,ber that did not get back. In Uichm .nd there is a very prosperous and beautiful home iu many respects. A Joiing man wandered off from that home. He wandered very far 'into sin. Tbey beard of him after, but lie was always oil the wrong track. He would not go home. At the door of that beaut i lul home one night there uas a great out cry. I lie Voting man of the uoiim- ran down to opeu the door to see w hat was the mailer, i: was midnight. The ret of the family were asleep. There were the w ife and children of this prodigal voiiu man. Tbe fact was he bad cmie home ami driven them out. He a.tid: "Out of this house! Away with these children 1 will dash rlnir brains out. Out inio tbe storm!" The mother gathered them up and tied. 1 be next morning the brother. tbe young man who had staid at borne. w ent out to find this prodigal brother and son, and he came where he was and saw the young man w a tillering up and dow n in front of the place where be bad been staying, and ihe young man w ho hail kept his integrity said to the older brother: "Here, w hat does all tins mean? What is the matter with you? Why do you act iu this way?' The prodigal looked at him and said: "Who am I? Who do you take me to lie?" He said, "You are my brolii er." "No, I am not. I am a brute. Have ymi seen anything of my wife and cho dreu? Are tlicy deud? 1 drove I hem out last night iu the storm. 1 am a brute Johu, do you think there is any help for me? 1 Ki you think 1 will ever get over this life of dissipation?" He nai l, "John, there is one thing that will slop thia." The prodigal ran his lingers across bi throat and said: "That will Mop it, and 1 will stop it before night. Oh. my brain! I can stand it no longer." That prodigal never got home. But I will tell you of 1 prodigal that did get home. In K lg'aml two young men started from ilicr father's lioqse and went down to l'orts.iiouih I have been there a bea riful caport. Some of you have been there. The father could not pursue bis children - for some reason he could not leave home -mid so he w rote a letter down to .Mr. Gritliu, sty ing: "Mr. Gritiiu, I wish you would go and see my two soils. They have arrived in Portsmouth, and tbey are going to take ship and going away from home. 1 wish you would persuade them back." The Pardon of the Oospel. Mr. Gritlin weut and tried to persuade them back. He persuaded one to go. He went with very easy persuasion because he was very homesick already. The other young uiau said: "1 will not go. 1 have had enough of home. I'll never go home." "Well," said Mr. Gritiiu, "then if you wou't go borne I'll get you a respectable INjsition ou a respectable stiip." "No, you won't" said the prodigal; "no you won't. I am going as a private sailor; as a mm- moii sailor. That will plague my father most aud what will do most to tantalize and worry him will please me best." Years passed on aud Mr. Griflin was sealed iu his study one day when a messenger came to him saying there was a young man iu irons on a ship at the dock -a young man i-oudemued to death who wished to see this clergyman. .Mr. tml fin weut down to the dock and went on shipboard. The young man said to him. loll doll t know me, do you? No. he said. "I ilou't know you." "Why. don't you remember that young man you tried to persuade to go home and he wouldn't go? "Oh. yes. soul Mr. Grif fin. "Are you that man? "Yes, I am that man." said the other. "I would like to have you pray for me. 1 have commit ted murder and I must die, but I don't want to go out of this world nutil some one prays for me. You are my father's friend and I would like to have you pray for me. Mr. Griflin went from judicial authority to judicial authority to get that young man's pardon. He slept not night nor day. He went from Influential person to influential person, until in some way In got that young man's pardon. He came down on the dock and as he arrived on the dock with the pardon the father came. i had heard that iiis son, under a disguised name, bail been committing crime and was going to be put to death, ho Mr. Griffin and the father went on ship's din k anil at the very moment Mr. Griflin offered the pardon to the young man the old father threw his arms around the son's neck aud the son said: "Father, I have lone very wrong and I am very sorry. I wish 1 had never broken your hinrt. I am very sorry!" "Oh," said the father. don't mention it. It won t make any difference now. It is ail over. 1 forgive you, my son. And he kissed him and kised him and kissed him. Tr-day I offer you the pardon of the gospel full pardon, free pardon. I do not care what your crime has been. Though you say yon have committed a crime against God, against your soul, against your fellow man. against your family, against the day of judgment, against the cross of Christ whatever your snme lias lieen, here is pardon, full pardon, and the very moment you take that pardon your Heavenly Father throws bm anus around about you and says: "My son, I forgive you. It is all right. You are as much in my favor now as if you had never sinned. Oh, there is joy on earth and joy in heaven. Who will take the Father's embrace? Irish soldier fought iu King Philip's war, which broke out Iu 1 07.1, ami Bonn; even earlier, Iu the IVquotl war. His torical oviilcrtce exists of Irish settlers In New F.nglninl within twenty .veins lifter the landing at I'ljniouth Bock. As early as iS4 Massachusetts granted land Dear New buryport to certain Irish anil Scotch comers, anil In lii.Hl arrived the ship St. Patrick, lielongliig to Kir Thomas Went worth, depute of Ireland. In ."i4.'t, after the Introduction of metal plus as an article of feminine use. they iHrauio popular as New Year pres ents. Tbey were Terr expensive, ami for a gentleman to make his lady friends a present of four or Are pins waa considered a very happy thought 8ooxoooooooooooooooo Til K little silver column iu the ther mometer was gradually mounting toward the nineties: the leaves hung iiiotlniilitis in the furnace-like air, ami the went of the perfumed swaths of newly cut liny jiervacliil everything;, as Squire Smiley stood under the ap ple tree, ami wiped bis reeking brow with a yard square pocket handker chief of yellow silk. "I'bew!" crieil the Squire, "this Is getting too mil' li. I think I kIuiII go lionie an hour earlier than usual." "SoM I, If I wasn't workin' for day's wag," said Israel Newcotnli, who was vigorously turning the fragrant billows of green with a fork which gleamed like serried lightning in the sunshine. The Squire glared angrily at Israel; It was hia pride that he worked as hard as any of his hired men, rich laud owner though he was. "I ts'pose I can do as I please!" said he. "Sartln!" observed Israel. "I only w ish I could." The Squire went home, select ing the sl'tuly path which lay pnrt way through the woods, niul crossing the noisy little M renin on n make-shift bridge formed by a fallen cednr tree. Far down In the green cross lights and glinting reflect Ions of the gldi he could see Will Iinllas, who had aban doned all pretences of tlslilng. ami lay on the moss at Mary Smlley's feet, rending aloud to her, out of home pock et volume of poetry. The Squire frowned. "SjMirtlng ns tisuiil," growled he, un der his breath, ami pushed steadily ou. The old homestead, painted white, with a refreshing contrast of grifn blinds, lay busking In the vivid suu- sliine. rtie Squire looked at It with a com placent sense of proprietorship, aa he went around to the lmck door, where a great honeysuckle vine was all in curls of buff and white IiIossoiiih. The risiniy kitchen, with Its shining copper tsiiler and white lsiard floor, was si lent aud empty. He lisiked around. "Hallo!" lie shouted. "Is everyone dead?" Little Kittle came running out of the front room. "Hush, father!" said she, holding up a small forefinger. "Mother Is asleep." 'Asleep!" roared llie Squire. "A pretty time of day to lie asleep, and the whole house wide open, ready for any tramp that may come along, and your grandmother's silver spoons In plain view on the dresser-shelf. Asleep!" "I'm sorry, Titus." said an apologetic voice, as a pale, shadowy little woman issued rom the hall lieyond. where alie had Ix'en lying on a Procrustean lounge, fashioned of nnpnlnted deal Isiards, and draped with a lumpy mat tress. "I lift flxi t any Idea of falling aKl"ep when I lay down: but my head ached a little It's the heat. I aup ptse and I felt dizzy. I'm very sorry, but surely it Isn't 12 o'clock yet?" It don't lack ninny minutes of If," said the Squire, gloomily, looking at the big wooden dock, whose fat. black IEoiunn numerals glared buck at 1)1 in from behind a green nebulae of aspar agus branches. "The heat, eh? Well, I s'pose other folks feel It, too. My ; lii-ad aches, lwt 1 don't take to my bed. And when a man comes homo tired niul Is'tit out from the haytield, he nnternlly expects to find things com fortable. 1 don't know what a woman has her board and her keep for. If It ain't to tf that men Is Is reg'lar and things decent." "I'm sorry, Titus," nervously reiter ated tin- little woman, fluttering to ami fro like a lu me-winged pigeon, "but I'll make all the haste I can. IMnuer will soon Is- ready. Here, Kitty" (to the child), "wash these potatoes in the sink ns quick as you enn, while I run out for some klnillinian to hurry up the fire." A minute afterward he could hear the quick strokes of n hatchet, niul he In-thought himself that, In the hurry incident to haylng-tltne, the pile of klndlinga had ls-en allowed to get low. "It does seem," he said, petulantly, "as If everything hindered a man's din tier." "Then, father," said Kitty, glancing shrewdly over the top of the tin po tato pau, "why don't you go out and split the kindlings, and )t mother 'tend to the things Indoors?" "Hush, Kitty," said Mrs. S.nley, quickly, as she touched a match" to the mass of crumpled papers under the I," ate. "Where's tint lust Gazette?" snarled lj Squire, Ignoring Kitty's query. "Oh, Titus," cried his w ife, "I've just tmt "re to it! 1 supposed, of course, you'd read It. It's ti week old to-day, ywi know." 'Of course, " said tfqulro Kadley. "I iiiiclit have known without asking! It's waste, and fling away, and burn up lit this house. There ain't nothing safe whore an extravagant woinan'a cou WM.ed!" 'Mother ain't extravagant!" said Kit ty. "Where's them peas I brought In thia moruing?" sharply demanded the Squle. looking around him wltb Ar gus eyes. "There Isn't Hine to shell them now," said Mrs. Had ley, timidly. "Time time!" rr-peat0' her husband. "Of cotime, there ain't time, r jou sbi-p away your life n that there Hofy. I menu to have it taken away to-tnorrow. It's a deal list handy. What's the use o' my plantin' the ear Ib-st peas iu market, and hoin' and bnisldu' 'cm, aud then goiu' out afore sun-up to pick 'cm, if my folks hain't life enough to cook 'em?" "I'll have 'em for siipH-r,n said Mrs Sailley, with a little ltvmolo in her voice. "No, you won't, neither," said the Squire. -I'll send theui over to in-iglilsir Harton's. His wife's got some snap In her! I declare, It's clear iliscourag In' for a man to be drugged back all the time by a shiftless wife!" A big round drop Unshed down Into the frying pan which Mrs. Sndlcy was just preparing to n-celve sundry slices of well-cured ham which she had Im-cii cutting; she made no verbal reply. "Kh?" Kit I1 the Squire, "why don't you say something? Sulking. I s'imisi as usual?" At this Hir Mrs. Sadley burst Into tears. "No, Titus," said she, "I ain't sulk ing. Hut I fit-l awful bud to-day, and It don't take much to upset me. It's nil true what you say. 1 am it poor, worn-out, feeble creature, and I don't i blame you for getting out of putience. Hut if 1 hadn't worked so huid ull these years " "Oh, yes. there's always some ex cuse," growled the Squire: aud taking a stray "sample number" of u fashion paper, lie went out to sit In the honey suckle shade. "I cau't stnnd that roasting tire," said he. "Then," said Kitty, the enfant ter rible, "how do you suppose mother likes Itr Iu an Instant, however, her fickle, childish attention h-b diverted. See!" she cried. "There come Cousin Mary and Mr. Dallas over the hill! oh, father, they're engaged. Did you know It?" "Yes," absently answered the Squire, intent ou his paper. "I was In the parlor that night; it thundered and rained so hard," said Kitty, with a twlukliug eye, "and they didn't know It. And I heard them talking' to each other. And he called her his darling love " "Humph!" grunted the Squire. "A reg'lar case o' sisioulug." "Aud she said be was her dearest, dearest oue," added Kitty, the circum stantial. "Young fools!" snapped Squrle Sad ley. "Father," said Kitty, leaning on his shoulder she was the only oue In the house who was not afraid of the stern di-s sit "don't all lovers talk so?" "They're fools for their pulus, If they do." "Didn't you love mother when she was a girl like Cousin Mary? Didn't you say just such things to her?" The Squire moved uneasily Iu his chair under the calm searching light of Kitty's eyes. "I might hu' done," he owed at last. "I a'jMisc I was just as great an Idiot as other folks be." "1 don't see why people ever leave It off," said Kitty, abstractedly. "Was mother a pretty girl?" "Don't talk nonsense," said tl.e Squire, almost angrily; and lie got no niul walked around to tbe old wooiloj ls-lich beside the well curb. Had Kitty's mother Im-ou a pretty girl? Yes, that she had rose-cheeked and limpid-eyed, with n laugh sweet t,s the note of a thrush, aud the lightest font, In a Virginia reel, of any grl I the nelglilHirliood. And now, "I am a poor, worn-ot.t, feeble creature," she had said. In n faint, weary accents, looking at him out of the dim, faded eyes; "and I don't blame you for getting out of pu tience." Yes, It w.-ii ull true. Hut what hud wrought the .'Lunge? Whose fault was it? "I don't know," said the Squire, star ing lit heaven's bluo eye, reflected fur down in the heart of the deep, cool well, "but I most think I've been tiv hard ou her. Now- come to study op It. I've had lots o' hired help alxiut tin. farm, and she's done all ibt house work herself. And she never was very strong. Was she a pretty k'ii'1? There wasn't none prettier In a radius o' twen ty inlli-s around KIngsle Church! And to look at her now!" The Squire got up, and slumped un easily around the well. "I've been a brute!" he muttered to (himself. "Worse than a dumb brute, for they ain't supposed to know uo bet ter. I don't know what I've been thlii' in' of all these years. lave off IovIl. her? I hain't never lert It off. I lov her now, bless her faithful, patient soul, aa well us ever I did, only I've fell Into trie way of Is-ln' careless and neglect ful! Hut I'll turn over a new leaf this very day, see If I don't!" He kept his word. "Kngnged, Mary? Is It really a aet lod thing?" said Mrs. Sndley. "Oh, I hope you'll tie happy! I hope after twelve year of marriage, dear Mary, you'll be as happy aa I am now!" k'er eyea shone; a faint smile glowed on her ordinarily pale cheeks. Mary Sadley looked at ber In surprise. "Would you believe," went on the Rqulre's wife, "he lias hired a girl to come here and do all the rough work, o as to spare me? And there Is such an easy, spring upholstered sofa in the hall, iu place of the lumpy old lounge; and there's oue of the hay hands split ting a pile of wood to last from now to Michiiolmns And we are to keep our wedding anniversary Iu real old fashioned style next week: and Tlttm has ordered a die trimmed wu white riblsms. ju-t like the one I married In. He says I shall I'' young and pretty as I did then. Such nonsense, you know! And yet it is nice of him to say so - now. isn't it?" And Mrs. Sadley laughed through her tears. P.s.r siii: The sunshine had come late in life, yet it tilled her whole l-ing with blessed ness. I am so glad"' said Mary. "Hut you deserve It all. Cousin Futiice." Leisure Hours. Ilildad s Sleigh-Hide. There once lived Iu Vermont young man w ho wus not much mote than half witted, but who. like many other m-o-ple w ho are lacking in iutelligemt-, al ways wanted to do Just as other and more gifted pi-ople do. In the lowu where he run his ambitious career. "HiMad's sleigh ride" Is still a synonym for an enterprise that depends largely on the resources of others. One winter when the sleighing was good, and all the young swains of the town were taking their young hidy friends to rido, Hildad was Impressed with the desirability of organizing an expedition of this sort on his own ac count. Hut he had no "rig." uml uo money to hire one with. Nevertheless he came one afternoon to a worthy young lady of his ueigbls.r IhsmI and asked her to go slclgh-rlding that evening. "Hut. Hildad." she said, "you haven't got any horse." "John Miles, he's promised to lend me hls'u." "Why. John hasn't got any harness." "Pete Corliss' goiu' to let me takrf his'n." What are you going to do for a sleigh?" "Mrs. Heals, she said I could take her'n." "You can't go sleighing without a string of Is-lls." "Nathan Page's goiu" to let me take his string." "You've got to have a buffalo rolie." "John Currier, he said he'd Jest as lives I'd have his old one; and by gorry, I c'n cut a whip myself!" The young lady said that under the circumstances she gnessi-d he would have to Isirrow some other girl. Never theless, he M-rslsted In his search for a partner until he actually found one. ami went on the slelgh-rlde In line style. Some years after this occurrence Hil dad cume late to an engagement to do a Job of work, and was asked the rea son for his tardiness. "Huh!" he answered, with a smirk. "I've ls-en gettln' merrled this morn- In'!'" "Married! you. Hildud! Why ,yoti can't supiHirt yourself!" "Well," said Hildad, "I c'n purty near aupiMirt myself, ami I think she ought to help some!" Bicycle Itlder a Poor Itlsk. The accident Insurance underwriters have come to the conclusion that the present premium rates on bicycle rid ers are too low. The mutual underwriters are now holding u convention with the repre sentatives of other accident companies. I hey hope to advance the rate of In surance on this particular line of risks. They have lciirmil that wheu the cy clist buys his first wheel he gets an accident policy at the same time. The wheel Is Isiught on the Installment plan, but the accident sdicy is paid for outright. The next thing the novice does Is to mount his wheel and ls-gln to learn. Many are Injured, and the Insurance ompatiy generally pays for the wheel. as the Injured man gets the full bt-iii-tit of tin- "total Inability" clause of his policy. Statistics of lust year show that alsuit o."i per cent, of the accidents which were paid for by the accident companies were those of bicycle rid ers. The risks are classified. A liook- keeper, ho is for the greater part of the time Indoors and is less llablo to accident, has always paid n smaller premium than a collector, who Is re quired to be constantly moving nlsmt and more liable to mishaps. Now, however, the book-keeper has a bicycle a ml runs a greater risk of Injury. i tie insurance men desire to tmv on nil risks only U per cent, of the amount for tne bicycle rider. If a business man Is Insured against accident for $5.iHi and Is Injured in any way other limn i.y a bicycle he gets full vultn. of his claim, llut should he be hurt winie riding a wheel i- relinquishes m. per cent, or ms claim against a com. pany. An advunce of UK) per cent, on premiums for bicycle riders Is iilso agitated. Leap In a Hack. Some years ago a norter i,....t i- , - " -".iio-i-l - Ul- ler, employed at llllllugsgate Market, London, made a bet that lo, ,. ' Jump from Umdon bridge tied Iu a suck, ins oniy stipulation Wing that ne siioiiiu oe proviaeq with a knife which he was not to mien till i.n t.,..i. - .... UJ ivilJt U - ed the water-wltb which to rip 0eu i ne suck, ne siicccnieii in accomplish ing the feat, and when nlcL,i .... . some friends In a boat waa none the worse tor ins iivr. Kit U'flu lieoiuiMltkip i,. ,l. i, . !- -i--"""n io me ixision girl and in the fervor If lit ,.i..- t . ' . " i leaned over her anxiously. "Pardon me," she I.., ,o.. not ai-uing a trifle too parsimonious?" "Parsimonious?" he gasped. "Yes," she said; "or, a the vulgar would nut it delphla Pres.. ' "- ' mm' Gladstone's effectlveniu.. .... , . oi mimes Is about over.. He Is slnmlv iv..i. as the Grand Old Man, " w