MY POOR WIFE.
BY J. P. SMITH.
CHAPTER XV. (Continued.)
“My dear boy, wait a moment. Just a
moment," pleaded my uncle, hie hand
grasping my arm. "YVc will give you
all the particular!) wo have gleaned.
Don't -don't be afraid. Unfortunately
tip to the present we we have no re
liable duo to your wife's whereabouts
more than the letter haa probably
given you; but we hop®-"
“There’s her hat—the hat she al
ways weurs In the garden; It looks all
wet and muddy—sho must have drop
ped It in the graaa. Give It to me—
give It to me! Finlay, what on earth
have you jingling there? It—It looks
“I don't know what It Is; do you
recognize It, Mr. Dennys?" he an
swered, holding up a block of bruised
metal from which hung a light, rusted
chain entangled In a rag of blue rib
bon.
“That rubbish?—no. At first in the
shade there 1 thought It looked not un
» like a steel girdle and chatelaine my
wife wears—one that 1 bought her at
the Palais Royal last spring. I—I don’t
know what put It Into my head. Give
me the hat. Where was It found? An
swer me, answer me! Are you all
struck dumb?"
Then they told me, two or three of
them taking up one another nervous
ly, that the hat was picked up the
morning before by the children of the
a range lodge In a bed of ruahes down
le river; that the chain and mass of
metal bad been found twisted round
the big wheel of the Red Mill, and that
It was recognized by Carter, my wife’s
maid, as part of tha chatelaine she un
doubtedly wore the day she disap
peared.
“You—you wiah me to understand
that my wife went down the river un
der the mill machinery like the girl
long ago? You—you want me to be
lieve that? Great heavens!”
"My dear boy—no, no. As long as
there is no further confirmation, of
course we—we must hope for the best;
but—but you see, unfortunately the
nlglit was dark, and the river unusual
ly swollen; it is so dangerous down
by that broken bridge, so easy to miss
one's footing In the—the—I say, catch
him, catch him! Oh, poor fellow, he's
falling!"
I saw their faces crowding round me,
the room seemed to heave convulsive
ly, and then I remembered nothing
more for many weeks.
CHAPTER XVI.
One cold gusty evening In October,
seven years after the pen had fallen
from Paul Dennys’ hand, two women,
wearing the garb of the good Sisters
of Nazareth, wended their way across
the little country churchyard of Col
/ worth and stood silently before a white
marble cross bearing the following In
scription—
“Sacred to the memory of Helen,
the beloved wife of Paul Dennys of
Eolworth, who died 22nd of July, 187—,
aged 19."
“It stood a few yards away from the
huge stone monument under which
generations of Dennyses slept, the
reeds and ruahes from the river, flow
ing close by, rustling mournfully
around It, making the spot so dismal
and ghostly that the elder sister, a
woman of a vigorous and unimagin
ative disposition, shuddered Involun
tarily and exclaimed half-pettlshly to
her silent companion—
"Well, sister, is our journey at an
end? Ia this the spot we have traveled
over two hundred mllea to visit?”
"Yea. I wanted to know If this
Helen Dennys waa burled here, and I
And she Is. I am ready to go bark now,
Bister Agatha, when you wish." She
stooped to pick a spray of Ivy grow
ing round the cross, held It In her hand
Irresolutely for a moment, then flung
It Into the river and moved heavily
away.
"No; wait a moment and rest your
self—you look quite exhausted. Don’t
sit on the grass, child; do you wish to
get your death of cold? Sit here on
the slab beside me," cried Sister
Agatha, laying a motherly baud on bar
companion's shoulder.
She obeyed, tossing back her heavy
craps veil, and lifted a wan listless
face to the low murky «ky.
"Poor Helen!" she sighed presently,
with a weak laugh. “They haven t
given her a very dry bed. have they?
They might have moved her a little
farther, even though It were only bet
memory mouldering there.**
Slater Agatha made no reply, hut
read aloud the Inscription, coidment
Ing softly, aged nlnteen. That was
young to bid good-by to earthly hap
piness. Was this Helen a relation -
any ona you loved Sister t’lothlld*?"
"I knew her all her life; though she
dt*d young In years, she was old In
sorrow.
"And yet »h« ws* beloved*"
"Ho the stone says to the ilt.tie
■gys. Oh, sister, sister," hurst on! the
young nun, with « sudden, hlttsr try,
"of all the lies, uttered or record •• I
in <bU world of I * ti'«r# me non*
none. I say «•> •h,int*f>il, eo bar*
faced M those that drttle IDs grave
I at da of ottr land!*
* Hu»h hush, my dear sUtet !'* te
proved the elder. In a shotted voU*
"Prsp.^rsy rueyos ytttwll you do
rut know wb.it > 'a ais »*ytug bus
tnfeecuwli g- ■ **
“Let me speak, let mi* speak now.
It will do me good, and I will be silent
aftor (hut for the rest of niy life! Let
mo tell you the story of the ‘beloved’
wlfo who lies hero; It will do me good."
‘‘Very well, my dear, If It will ease
your mind, I will listen,” she answered
soothingly, looking at her companion
with keen anxious glance.
‘‘It's not a long story. an«l a com
mon-placo one enough. She that
Helen lived up In the red house the
chimneys of which you can see smok
ing among the trees, and she believed
herself beloved as that cross asserts
sho was; hut In a very short time she
found out her mistake-found out her
husband bad only married her out of
pique and disappointment -that he
loved another woman fairer than she.
Her rival carno to stay In the house
with her; the wife was tried, tortured,
maddened to despair, and one day she
disappeared from her home, leaving a
letter saving she bad gone never to
return. No trace was found of her,
but after a few days sufficient evi
dence was had to lend her husband to
believe that she had been drowned In
that river flowing there tinder the wall,
and her body ground to pieces In some
mill machinery half a mile further
down."
‘‘What a horrible story! Poor soul—
poor soul! Was It proved to be acci
dental or—or otherwise?”
“That no one will know until the day
all things will be made known. They
have not judged her harshly here; let
not us do otherwise,”
"And the husband, sister?"
"He—the story says-went raving
about the country seeking her, at first,
as if be had lost the treasure of his
life, and, five months after her death,
married her rival."
“Five months?”
"Five month. They live very happily
together now surrounded with their
children. That's the whole story, and
It ends In the orthodox style with a
happy marriage, you see. Now let us
go, or we shall miss our train."
W'lth a glance toward the chimneys,
Sister Agatha put her arm within her
companion’s, and they walked quickly
and silently through the long wet
grass, over the old bridge above the
mill, to the station half a mile away.
When they arrived there the up train
was slowly moving away from the
platform, and to their dismayed in
quiries the station-master Informed
them there would not be another until
1:16. It was then only half-past seven.
Four dreary hours stretched before
them, to be got rid of—how? Bister
Agatha, who had been up the three
preceding nights nurslug the sick, and
who had a week of hard work before
her, prior to her departure for New Zea
land, where she, her companion, and
three other nuns were going to found
a convent, lost no time In making up
her mind how to dispose of tho lime
before them. Beating herself In a re
tired corner of the waiting-room, she
fell Into a heavy sleep, after having
urged her companion to follow her
example.
Clothllde tried to do so, but It was
In vain, sleep would not come. Vis
ions of past days, past happiness, hope,
and sorrow floated before her—voices
she had loved before she laft the world
tiounuen in ner ears.
When the last train from town ar
rived, the quiet station became a scene
of bustle and excitement—porters,
guards, passengers flitted hurriedly by.
doors were slammed; but Sister Agatha
slept placidly through It all, and her
companion drawing her thick veil over
her hideous funnel-shaped bonnet,
shrank farther Into her corner. Two
or three travelers Invaded the room
for a moment, then hurried out, and
the train slowly moved on. Clotblldo
had just pushed aside her stifling veil,
when the door opened again, and a
plump ungloved hand, sparkling with
diamonds, thrust two children hastily
In, n gay, vibrating voice, thut sent the
blood rushing to the nun's white face,
calling out —
"Children, stay there until nurse
romee to fetch you; don't attempt to
leave this room. Percy, take care of
your sister, do you hear?"
"Don't be afraid. Cissy, I'll take care
of you," said the boy, a beautiful child
of about five with golden curls falling
over his face. "The room is dark,
but—"
"Who are you? What‘a you're name?
Tell me quick quick I must know!"
The little fellow started back, threw
hta arm around hla sister, as he stare I
awestruck Into the white face uni l
hurtling eyes of a woman In a long
t la k cloak lowering over hitu, a
woman he had never wm before, yc
whom h«* knew perfectly on the tua- j
to- nt the white witch of Carving '
Knife Cave who socked the htood of j
trying children, that nurse tol-l them
about * bi*n ihvy wir* naughty*
**t 4tfi |vr» y ICtlwird h»'H* j
H)n of <‘«>| north ir4 ihU N in)
?Of<t lk'ftlijr
| the thIM hl«
«Ht««ly. “if ion
«*:*•
1*4
r
?
me—don’t look at me again, and yon .
are safe. Go-go!"
They went; and Helen Dennys, who
#as supposed to have bean drowned
seven years ago, sank back Into her
seat and covered her face with her
hands li^ a passion of d**pa<(r and
stormy re/olt, almost us fierce as that
which swept her the morning she tried
lo take her husband's life.
CHAPTER XVII.
Presently the door opened a;;»ln, and
a portly nurse, laden with a gorgeous
ly-clad baby, waddled In, speedily fol
lowed by the owner of the gay votes
and begemmed fingers, namely, Mrs.
Dennys of Colworth, a stately well
conditioned lady, on whoso lovely
blooming far* not the faintest traco of
shame, remorse, regret lingered a face
that was the embodiment of supreme
self-satisfaction and unshadowed pros
perlty. Helen looked Into It long and
deeply with hungry eyes, then turned
to the wall, when a shower of hot
tears dimmed her sight.
"I tell you, Halpln, the box Is some
where in the station; the port»r dis
tinctly saw It being lifted out of the
last train, and 1 won’t leave the sta
tion until It Is found. I renlly never
inet such u helpless and stupid woman
as you; It Is unbearable!” cried Mrs.
Dennys angrily, stamping her foot.
"Hullo, Hullo, wife, what's the storm
about?" Interposed a man’s voice, "Is
half you’re nursery missing, or what?"
"My bonnet box from KUIe’a is miss
ing, Mr. Dennys, and 1 am telling Hat
pin that I won’t leave the station until
it Is forthcoming; I'll not have the his
tory of my emerald bracelet repeated.’'
Mr. Dennys made a half-soothing,
half-bantering reply; at the same time,
seizing his little girl, ho perched her
on his shoulder. The child clung to
him fearfully, her eyes fixed upon the
dark figure, which nobody seemed to
notice.
Helen’s lips moved in Incoherent ter
rific prayer, her hands pressed to her
eyes.
"Help me, help me, O Heaven!” she
prayed. "Oh, do not desert me after
seven years’ struggle, don't let my sac
rifice be All In vain! I have suffered, I
have struggled! Oh, for pity’s sake
help me now, or I—I ruin—ruin him 1
love! Paul, Paul, If you love your
wife, your children, your happy home,
go—go quick, before my strength
leaves me, before I look at you—before
I look at you again,"
She leaned forward rocking herself
to and fro In the fever of temptation,
moaning feebly, until some one touch
ed her upraised arm, and her hand fell
instinctively. Edith’s husband was
standing beside'her, speaking to her.
"I beg your pardon, madam, there
Is a parcel under your seat. Would you
allow mo to see if it Is the one we are
looking for No, it Is not; thanks. I
am sorry for disturbing you,"
He moved away, not a gleam of rec
ognition In his face, and she looked
after him dumbly, her hands lying on
her lap.
At first she could not see him plain
ly for a red mist shrouded her eyes;
but it passed away, and he stood clear
before her, a man 'n the prime of life;
stalwart and shapely, with a handsome
sunny face as insouciant, free from
remorse and care us Edith’s own, a
man whom the world used well, who
had obeyed her lust request In the
spirit as well as the letter. Changed;
oh, so little changed since the summer
days long ago, when she watched him
died on her lips, the tumult In her
— her god among men—a little fuller
In the body and redder In face, but
otherwise unchanged, unchanged!
(To be Continued.I
WHEN TOLSTOI WRITES A BOOK
Count I.co Tolstoi la such an original
author that it is not in the least sur
prising that bis modus operand! when
writing a book is equally so. As soon
as he has decided what the plot ot a
new novel is to be he makes a rough
sketch of the whole, leaving out de
tails, using for the purpose quarto pa
per of the commonest description,
probably from motives ot economy, as
his handwriting Is so large that he
uses an enormous amount of paper for
very little work; this be gives to his
wife or one of his daughters to rewrite
and reduce to something like neatness.
As soon as the first manuscript is ready
he works up the plot and fills in some
of the details, writing his own com
ments and ideas, far future alteration
on the margin.
From the first copy a second and
third are made, onch In the same way.
if thero Is any pari with which Count
Tolsoi Is very much dissatisfied, he
will take the (rouble to write and re
write It as many as eight vr nine times
sooner than pass anything with which
he is not quite pleated; he very seldoih
succeeds at once in describing any
very remarkable scene, and when any i
great difficulty presents Itself he adopts
the highly orlgtual way of getting over
it and collecting his Ideas by playing
a game of "I'atieuce,"
Critical as he Is about Ills own work.
Count Tobol meets with still slterper
criticism front His wife and family, and j
a* be placet great letlanee on (heir
Judgment and good taste in all things .
relating to literature, as *«*»n a* * new j
Hovel i* I'ftn h it I he reads It uv<r to
them. In order that they may suggest j
sit h sltri c but • a, they think ad v isa* |
l)|v; sent# of which suggest Iona he acs
u;> in When the prnofsheate are sent
tH their correcting absorbs his whole j
tint* jad attention, and it l» Mi>l that I
t.o living so*hoi elves hi, publish-r *■» i
touch trouble, naira to the number tear
lJ*t,j, * i {|<t htftMi up *fi
t I*»m1 o ha »4* fir»t l ull by wonts
t$W lb
TALMAGE’S SERMON. I
"A NEW CENSUS” LAST SUN
DAY’S SUBJECT.
From IIid Hrrniil Kook of S«inu«l,
Chapter 1*111., Vtii* 5. a* follow*:
"I lion Arl Worth Tan Tlmutauil of
t*."
*Onc of the moat wondrous charac
ters of bin time wan David. A rcd
baired boy, ho could shepherd a flock,
or carry "ton loaves and ton slices of
milk chon** to hi* brother* In the regi
ment," or, with leathern thong, atone
loaded, bring down a giant whoso ar
mor weighed two hundred weight of
inctal, or cause a lion which roared at
him in rage to roar wlih pain a* he
flung it, dying, to the roadside, or
could marshal a host, or rule an em
pire, or thumb a harp bo skillfully
that It cured Saul’s dementia -a harp
from whose strings dripped pastorals,
elegies, lyrics, triumphal marches,
benedictions. Now, this man, a com
bination of musics and heroics, of
dithyramb!:* and battlefields, of coun
try quietude and statesmanship, la to
lit out a military expedition. Four
thouaand troops, according to Jo
sephus, were sent Into the field. The
captains were put In command of the
companies, and the colonels In com
mand of tho regiments, which were
disposed into right wing, left wing,
and center. Gen. Joab, Oen. Ablshal
end tlen. Ittal Hre to lead these three
llvlslona; but who shall take the field
la commander-ln-chlef? David offers
his services, and proposes to go to the
front. He will lead them In the aw
ful charge, for he has not a cowardly
nerve In all hfs body. He did not pro
pose to have fats troops go Into perils
which he himself would not brave,
and the battlefield required as much
courage then as now, for the opposing
forces must, In order to do any ex
ecution at all, come up to within pos
itive reach of sabre and spear. But
thsre came up from the troops and
from the civilians a mighty protest
against David’s taking the field. His
life was too Important to the nation.
If be went down, the empire went
down; whereas, If the whole four thou
sand of the ranks were slain, another
army might be marshaled and the de
feat turned Into victory. The army
and the nation practically cried out,
"No! No! You cannot go to the
front. We estimate you us ten thou
eand men. ’Thou art worth ten thou
sand of us!’*
That army and that nation, then
and there, reminded David, and now
remind us, of the fact which we for
get, or never appreciate at all, that
eomo people ure morally or spiritually
worth far more than others, and some
worth fur less. The census and statis
tics of neighborhoods, of churches, of
nations, serve their purpose, but they
can never accurately express the real
state of things. The practical subject
that 1 want to present today Is that
thoso who have especial opportunity,
especial graces, especial wealth, espe
cial talent; especial eloquence, ought
to make up by especial assiduity and
consecration for those who have less
opportunities and less gifts. You
ought to do ten times more for God
and human uplifting than those who
have only a tenth of your equipment.
The rank and the file of the four thou
sand of the text told the truth when
they said, "Thou art worth ten thou
sand of us.’’
In no city of Ms size are there so
many men of talent as are gathered In
this capital of the American nation.
Some of the states are at times repre
sented by men who have neither tal
ents nor good morals. Their political
party compensates them for partisan
services by sending them to Congress,
or by securing for them position in
the war or navy or pension or print
ing departments. They were nobodles
before they left home, and they are
nobodles here. But they are excep
tional. All the states of the Union
generally send their most talented men
and men of exemplary lives and noble
purposes. Some of them have the
glfta and qualifications of ten men, of
a hundred men—yea, of a thousand
men—and their constituents could
truthfully employ the words of the
text and say, "Thou art worth ten
thousand of us.’*
With Mich opportunity are they aug
menting their usefulness In every pos
«Ihle direction? Many of them are;
some of them nra not. It Is a stu
pendous thliiK to have power-political
power, social power, official power. It
baa often been printed and often quot
ed as one of the wise sayings of the
ancients. "Knowledge is power;" yet
It may as certainly be power for evil
as for good. The lightning espresa
rail train has power for good, if It Is
on the track, but horrible power for
disaster if it leaves the truck and
plunges down the embankment. The
ocean steamer has power for good,
sailing in right direction and in safe
waters aud under good helmsman and
wide awake watchman on the lookout,
but Indescribable power for evil if un
der full headway it strikes the break
ers As *tvam power or electricity or
water forces may be stored In boilers,
In dynamos. In reservoirs, to be em
ployed all over a town or city, so (Sod
sometimes puts In ons man enough
faith to ‘ i|<pl> tboioindsot men with
courage. If a man happens to he thus
t o ''.*« 1. i>!.o i realise his ... •
tuutty and improve It. At this lime
millions of men are atrcnible last this
nation wake a mistake and enter upon
some policy of government fur the Is
lands of th« sea th»t will founder the
republic. tied will give to a few i *
»n l.ith sides of Ihts question faith
and courage for all (he teal. These
are two false positions many are now
tahlng fats- aa false can be. The one
Is that If w« decline la lake under full
t barge Cut* slid I'm to like so I the
Philippine*, we make a declination
that will be disastrous to our nation,
and other nations will take control of
these archlpelagOH and rule them, and
perhaps to our humiliation and de
struction. The other theory Is that if
wo tak« possession of these once Span
tali cofoiiles, we Invite foreign inter
ference, and enter upon n career that
will finally be the demolition of this
government. Both positions are Im
measurably mistakes. Cod has set
apart this continent for free govern
ment and the triumphs of Christianity,
and we may take either the first or
the second course without ruin. We
may say to those Islands, "We do not
want you, but we have set you free;
now stay free, while we see that, the
Spanish panther never again puts Its
paw on your neck.” Or we may In
vito the annexation of Cuba and Porto
Rico, and say to the Philippines, "Get
ready, by education und good maruls,
for free government, and at the right
time you shall be one of our territo
ries, on the way to be one of our
states.” And there Is no power in Eu
rope, Asia or Africa, or all combined,
that could harm this nutlon In Its
world-wide endeavor. Cod Is on the
side of the right, and by earnest I in -
ploratlon for divine guidance on the
part of this nation we will be led tc
do the right. We are on the brink of
nothing. There Is no frightful crisis.
This train of Republican und Demo
cratic Institutions Is a through train,
aud all we wunt Is to have tho engi
neer and the brakemen and the con
ductor attend to their business while
the passengers keep their places. Wc
wunt men In this nation with faith
enough for all. We want hero and
there a David worth ten thousand men.
• • •
The warrior David of my text
showed more self-control and moral
prowess In staying ut home than he
could have shown commanding In the
held. He was a natural warrior. Mar
tial airs stirred him. The glitter of
opposing shields tired him. Me was
one of those men who feel at home In
the saddle, patting the neck <^f a paw
ing cavalry horse. But he suppressed
himself. Me obeyed the command of
the troops whom he would like to
have commanded. Some of the great
est Sedans and Austerlttzes have been
In backwoods kitchens, or In nursery,
with three children down with scarlet
fever, soon to Join the two already In
the churchyard, or amid domestic
wrongs and outruges enough to trans
form angels Into devils, or in com
mercial life within their own counting
rooms In time of Black Friday panics,
or In mechanical life In their owrn car
penter shop, or on the scaffolding of
waifs, swept by cold or smitten by
heat. No telegraphic wires reporter
the crisis of the conflict, no banner
w'as ever waved to celebrate their vic
tory; but Cod knows, and Cod will
remember, and God will adjust, and by
him the falling of a tear la as certainly
noticed as the burning of a world, aud
the flutter of a sparrow’s wing as the
flight of the apocalyptic archangel. Oh,
what a Cod we have for small things
as well as big things! David no more
helped at the front than helped at
home. The four regiments mobilized
for the defense of the throne of Is
rael were right In protesting against
Davids exposure of his life at th<
front. Mail he been pierced of nn nr
row, or cloven down with a hattle-ax,
or fatnlly slung from a suortlng war
charger, what a disaster for Israel!
Absalom, his son, was a low fellow,
and unfit to reign, his two chief char
acteristics were his handsome face and
his long hulr—so long, that when he
had It cut, that which was bclasored
off, weighed "two hundred shekels,
after the king's weight,” and when a
man haB nothing but a handsome face
and an exuberance of hair, there Is not
much of him. Tho capture or slaying
of David would hHve been a calamity
Irreparable. Unnecessary exposure
would have been a crime for David, as
It Is a crime for you.
In nine canes out of ten, the fatali
ties every flay reported are not the
fault of engineers or brakemen or con
ductors or cab-drivers, but of the stu
pidity and recklessness of people at
street or railroad crossing. They
would like to have the Chicago limited
express train, with three hundred pai
sengers, and advertised to arrive at s
certain hour In a certain city, slow up
to let them get two minutes sooner to
their destination, not one farthing of
their own or any one else's welfare de
pendent r>» whether they arrive one
minute before twelve o’clock, or one
minute after. You ought to get per
mission »r.«n a railroad superintendent
to mount beside the englueer on a lo
comotive, to realise how many evils of
recklessness there are In the world
funeral processions whipping up to get
across before the cow-catcher strikes
the hearse; man of family, with wife
sud children beside him In a wagon,
evidently having made done calcula
tion as to whether a stroke from the
locomotive would put them backward
or forward In the Journey to the vil
lage grocery; traveler on a railroad
bridge, hoping that he could get to the
end of the bridge before the train
reaches It You have no right to put
your life In peril, ualees by such #«■
po«ure mroeibli’t Is to be gained for
others. What imbecility in thousands
of Americans duiIng our recent Amer
ko dpaiilth "w*e, disappointed because
the sot render tame so soon, and they
could n«t have the advantage of being
shot at pan Jus a htlt, or brought down
with the yellow (ever, and carried on
a lltjer to transport steamers aitead>
is mnay floating Uiifrtlus, Instead of
thanking Uud that they got no nearer
to the ala ugh ter than Taui|a or fhst*
tan, ifg, or the encampment at their
*n slate eaptral, «• »d at the govern
hi -at, urad at tied, bees use thry retth*
not g«t to th« float la time to Join
• he four thousand corpse*, that at*
t ow betug transported fi' to the tropic -
to the national cemeteries of tit*
United States! Exposure and daring
are admirable when duty calls, bat
keep out of peril when nothing prac
tical and useful is to be gained tor
your family or your country or your
Oorh I admire the David of my test
as ho suppresses hfraself and enters
the gate of bis castle, as much aa I
admire him, when, with his fonr Sa
gers and thumb clutched Into the gris
ly lochs of Goliath's head, which he had
decapitated, and Saul admiringly aaka.
' Whose sou art thou, young man?"
And David, blushing with genuine
modesty, responds, "I am the son of
'by servant, Jesse, the liethlehemlte."
• * •
The world hns had other conqueror*,
yet they subdued only a nation or a.
continent; but here Is One who la to
be a Conqueror of hemispheres. QUrar
physicians have cured sufferings, but
here is a Doctor who gave sight ti*
those who were born blind, and with
out surgery straightened the crooked!
back, and changed the numbness of
paralysis into warm circulation, and
who will yet extirpate all the ailment*
of the world, until the last cry of tho
world's distress shall change Into m.
song of convalescence. Other kings
havo ruled wide realms, but here !■ a
King that will yet reign in all tho
earth as he now reigns In heaven.
There have been other historians who
told the story of nations, but hero la
Ono who tells us of things that oc
curred before the world was. Tharo
have been other generals who com
manded men, but here was a General
who commanded seas and hurricanes.
There have been other prophets, hut
here is One out of whose life and car
reer, Moses und David and Jeremian
and Ezekiel and Mlcab and Malachl
and Zecbarfab dipped their inspira
tion. There have been other merciful
hearts all up and down through tho
ages, but here In One who loves ua with
un everlasting love, and whoa* merer
antedates the birth of the first moon
tain, and the wash of the first sea, aad
the radiance of the first aurora, and!
the chant of the morning stare at tfc*
creation, and will continue after tba
last rock has melted In the final con
flagration, and Atlantic and Paelfn
oceans have rolled out of their beds,
and the last night shall have folded op
Its shadow, and our Lord shall hat#
cried out In the same words that
sounded through the night of Jobn’a
banishment on i’atmos, "I am Aiphai
and Omega, the beginning and the end,
the first and the last.” Then all the
mightiest of heaven will gather
around the Incarnated God of whom I
preach, each one saying It for himself,
but altogether uttering It In mlghtj
chorus, “Thou Hon of David, thou Bon
of Mary, thou Hon of God, thou art
worth ten thousand of usi”
But 1 must not close without com
mending to you this wonderful Christ
here and now ns your pardon for all
sin, and your solace for all grief, and
your triumph In all struggle. Down at
Norfolk, Virginia, a few days ago, a
gentleman was telling mo of one of
our war-ships In Cuban waters. Be
fore it left a northern harbor, some
Christian ladles, at much expense and
with fine taste, bought and furnished
for that war-vessel a pulpit, from
which the chaplain might read the ser
vice and preach while on shipboard.
The pulpit was made in the shape of a
Close, and It was beautifully damasked
and tasselled. The ship got Into the
battle before Santiago, and the ves
sels of the enemy began to sink, and
their crew were struggling In the
waters, when, from this ship 1 speak
of, the officers and sailors began to
throw over chairs, planks, tables, to
help the drowning save themselves.
After a while everything movable had
been thrown overboard, except the pul
pit In the shape of a cross. After ob
jection by some that It was too beauti
ful and valuable to be cast Into the
waters, the cross was dropped Into the
sea. One of the drowning men seised
It, but let go, and another seized, and
the shout went from many on deck to
those struggling In the waves, “Cling
to the cross! Cling to the cross!’*
Several of the drowning took the ad
vice and held on until they were res
cued and brought lu safety to deck,
and shore, and home, and 1 say to all
the souls today sinking In sin and
sorrow, now swept this way and now
that: Though the guns of temptation
and disaster may splinter and knock
from under you all other standing, and
everything else goes down, take hold of
the cross and cling to It for your pres
ent and everlasting safety. Cling to
the cross! for he who died upon It will
save to the uttermost, and he la so
good, and so lovely, and so mighty that
he Is worth Infinitely more than tea
thousand of us.
VHe IMajr of *|HisUk (klldrfa.
At Kucuterrabla the place waa ta
fete for four day* In honor of the pa
tron aaint. The morning* were divid
ed by the native* between long aerv
tce* in the Cathedral and letting oil
rocket* In the street*; the afternoon*
were entirely devoted to bull light*,
four bull* being generously provided
each day- Somehow we did not go. In
ihe market place were a group of tiny
children plating the only gam* they
knew. That waa a mimic hull light.
Rvtry »tag* wa* faithfully reproduced.
Only a l»« entail hoy* and girl* were
not taking part lu the game. They
had tn mated to capture a like uparraw,
and woe et»Jo)!ng ihe more f t.cinat
irg pl'*a*ireef tabling off tie leg* and
wiug*. We kh *14 think the latroa
• ■ moi i> ■ !*otb planned wid
Par..- • / ta -»a : <‘hamh*ra*
Journal.
II >t \ t * n# the •*■ ienl |!grp>
H*na hon - I .» u wh t dead. rhe
t,' C.M* U»» w.o* w > ,# la their
dn> turd gti. tl #