PHANTOM SHIP
—OR—
The Flying Dutchman.
■*v»-BY CAPTAIN MARHYAT.
CHAPTER XIV.-(Continued.)
In a few days Amine and Philip
took leave of the priest*, and quitted
for Amsterdam—Father Seysen taking
c harge of the cottage until Amine’s re
turn. On his arrival, Philip called
upon the directors of the company,
who promised him a ship on his re
turn from the voyage he was about to
enter upon, malting a condition that
he should become part owner of the
vessel. To this Philip consented, and
went down to visit the Vrow Katerina,
the ship to which he had been appoint
ed as first mate. She was still un
rigged, and the fleet was not expected
to sail for two months. Only part of
the crew were on board, and the cap
tain, who lived at Oort, had not yet
arrived.
Ho far as Philip could Judge, the
Vrow Katerina was a very Inferior ves
sel; she was larger than many of the
others, but old, and badly constructed;
nevertheless, as she had been several
voyages to India, and hail returned in
safety, it was to be presumed that she
could not have been taken up by the
company If they had not been satisfied
as to her seaworthiness. Having given
a few directions to the men who were
on board, Philip returned to the hostel
ry where he had secured apartments
for himself and Amine.
The next day, as Philip was super
intending the fitting of the rigging, the
captain of the Vrow Katerina arrived,
and, stepping on board of her by the
plank which communicated with the
quay, the first thing he did was to run
to the mainmast and embrace it with
both arms, although there was no
small portion of tallow on it to smear
the cloth of his coat.
"Oh, my dear Vrow. my Katerina!"
cried he, as If he were speaking to a
female. "How do you do 1 am so
glad to see you again; you have been
quite well, I hope? You do not like
being laid up In this way. Never
mind, my dear creature! You shall
soon be handsome again.”
The name of this personage who
thus made love to his vessel was Wil
helm Ilareutz. He was a young man.
apparently not thirty years of age, of
diminutive stature and delicate propor
tions. His face was handsome, but
womanish. His movements were rapid
and restless, and there was that ap
pearance In his eye which would have
warranted the supposition that he was
a little flighty, even If his conduct had
not fully proved the fact.
No sooner were the ecstasies of the
captain over than Philip Introduced
himself to him, and Informed him of
his appointment. "Oh! you are the
fin* mate of the Vrow Katerina. Sir,
you are a very fortunate man. Next to
being captain of her, first mate Is the
most enviable situation in the world."
"Certainly not on account of her
beauty," observed Philip; "she may
have many other good qualities.”
“Not on account of her beauty!
Why. sir, 1 say (as my father has said
before me. auil it was his Vrow before
It was mine) that she is the handsom
est vessel In the world. At present
you cannot judge; and besides being
the handsomest vessel, she has every
good quality under the sun.”
"I am glad to hear It. sir," replied
Philip; "It proves that one should
never Judge by appearances. Hut Is
she not very old?”
"Old! not more than twenty-eight
years - Just lu her prime. Stop, m.v
dear sir, till you see her dancing on
the waters, and then you will do noth
ing all day hut discourse with me upon
her excellence, and I have no doubt
that we shall have a very happy time
together.”
"Provided the subject be not ex
hatlsted,” replied Philip
"That It never will be on my part;
and allow me to observe. Mr. Vander
decken, that any officer who finds
fault with the Vrow Katerina quarrels
with me 1 am her knight, and I have
already fought three men in her de
fense; l trust ! shall not have to figh* !
a fourth.”
Philip smiled; he thought thut she
«an nut worth while fighting fur. but j
hi* acted upon th** uigg«*aUoit. and from
that Hint* foraaro h«* n«*v»r vriluN
to f«pr*a« an oplnlou against the b an
tiful Vrow Katerina
Thi* crew were soon complete the
\e»»cl rtgg'd. hrr sail* ben*. ami ahr
was anchored in the stream surround
ed by the other "hip* composing th*
It ret to be dispatched The cargo w,«*
then w l»«1 on hoard, atul as mhw a«
her hold was foil, there came to phii
Ip a great delation an or*t> t to r*(«in
utt board nae hundred and fifty sol
diers and other pas»<n«eis many of
whom sO'iiSltsslei by t*»eir
wives and famtiiw* Philip work- I
hard, for the • sprain did aothtaa Not
prntae the trewsel. and at last they had
em bar bed gverythiag and the H*et was
ready lo aall
It Waa »*»» MINI l« litil With Vlilb»
who had reaaalaed at the he*t«iry end
to whom Philip had de.lt.aled ever*
•pare moment that he waM obta*n
The fleet tsae eapes'ed to sail to two
days and It decided that ua the
morrow they should part tmluc was
cool and colie* ted Phe felt eoitvln* **d
• hat she should see her husband again
and *»lh •»•*« *■•**•• »»* *m,t * *
him as they separated on tlie beach,
and he stepped into the boat in which
he was to be pulled on board.
"Yes," thought Amine, as she watch
ed the form of her husband, as she dis
tance between them Increased: "yes, I
know that we shall meet again. It is
not this voyage which is to be fatal to
yon or me; but I have a dark forebod
ing that the next, in which I shall Join
you, will separate us forever in which
way I know not- but it is destined
The priests talk of free will. Is it free
will which takes him away from me?
Yes. Yes. But he is not permitted, for
he must fulfill his destiny. Free will!
Why, if it were not destiny it were
tyranny. J feel, and I have felt, as if
these priests are my enemies; but why
I know not; they are both good men.
Hnd the creed they teach is good. Good
will and charity, love to all, forgive
ness of Injuries, not judging others
All this is good; and yet my heart
whispers to me that but the boat is
alongside, and Philip Is climbing up
the vessel. Farewell, farewell, mv
dearest husband. I would I were a
man! No! no! ’tls better us it Is.*'
Amine watched till she could no lon
ger perceive Philip, and then walked
slowly to the hostelry. The next day.
wlien she arose, she found that the
fleet had sailed at daybreak, and the
channel, which had been so crowded
with vessels, was now untenunted.
"He Is gone." muttered Amine. "Now
for many months of patient, calm en
durance I cannot say of living, for I
exist but in his presence.”
CHAPTER XV.
We must leave Amine to her solitude
and follow the fortunes of Philip. The
fleet had saileu with a flowing sheet,
and bore gallantly down the Zuyder
Zee, but they had not been under way
an hour before the Viow Katerina was
left a mile or two astern. Mynheer
Parent z found fault with the setting
and trimming of the sails, and with
the man at the helm, who was repeat
edly changed; in short, with every
thing but his dear Vrow Katerina; but
all would not do; she still dropped as
tern, and proved to be the worst sail
ing vessel in the fleet.
“Mynheer Vanderdecken," said he.
at last, "the Vrow, as my father used
(o say, is not so very fast before the
wind. \ easels that are good on a wind
seldom are; but this I will say, that,
in every other point of sailing, there
is no other vessel in the fleet equal to
the Vrow Katerina."
‘•Besides,' observed Philip, who per
ceived how anxious the captain was on
the subject, "we are heavily laden, and
have so many troops on deck."
1 he fleet cleared the sands, ami were
then close-hauled, when the Vrow Kat
erina proved to sail even more slowly
than before.
"When we are so very close-hauled,”
observed Mynheer Harentz, "the Vrow
does not do so well; hut a point free,
and then you wilt see how she will
show her stern to the whole fleet. She
is a fine vessel.Mynheer Vanderdecken.
is she not?”
“A very fine, roomy vessel," replied
Philip, which was all that. In
science, he could say.
con
The fleet sailed on, sometimes on a
wind, sometimes free, but let the point 1
of sailing be what It might, the Vrow
Katerina was invariably astern, and
the fleet had to heave-to at sunset to
enable her to keep company; still the
captain continued to declare that the
point of sailing on which they happen
ed to he was the only point in which
the Vrow Katerina was deficient, i n
fortunately the vessel had other points
quite ns bad as her sailing; she was
cranky, leaky, and did not answer the
helm well, but Mynheer liarentz was
not to he convinced lie adored his
ship, and, like all men desperately In
love, he could see no fault In his mis
tress. Hut others were not ao blind,
anil the Hdmiral. finding the voyage so
much delayed h> the bad sailing of one
vessel, determined to leave her to find I
her wi> by hersel* v.« soon as they !
had passed the Tape ||e was. how
•*ver spaied the cruelty of deserting
her for a heavy gale ram# on which
dispersed Hie whole fleet, ami no the j
".ond dav Hie good ship Vrow Kat
j •■rlna found herself alone laboring
; heavily iu the trough of the sea leak \
! *n* so much a» to require hands ran
stantlv at Ihe pump, and drifting be !
lore the gale, as fa-t to le. wat,| almost
as she usually sailed Kur a week the
I gale continued, and each day did het
| situation tie* ome more alarming
Crowded with troop, im ini lie red with
i heavy stores she groau*«l and labored
while whole eras wgsned over hat an I
the men m ild har liy stand at Hu
. pump- CHHtp was active, and everted
himself to the utmost rwcoorwgtug ib,
i worn out men se*urine where aught
j had given wav, and little Interfered
* witII nv the . aptam who «•» him.* i
| |a Mlbf
* Welt ' nh-rrv e«| the captain to Chip
Ip ea they held on by the ta'aytig
pits vault a* know led** that she ’*
. a flee *»a«h 'it< v*« e| la a aahs I*
she nut * it**ftlv mi beauty, aoftty
continued he speahlug tu the vessel »•
she plunged heavily Into the vivas
and every tintat •ragged daftly »*
.wv, softly1 llv.s tfed* v*f. dart!
in Ihe other ships must be knocking
about row. Heh! Mynheer Vander
decken. we have the start of them this
time; they must be a terrible long way
down to leeward. Don't you think
so?"
"I “rally cannot pretend to say,” re
plic v Philip, smiling.
‘■'Vi ay, there's not one of them In
sight. Yes! by heavens, there is! Look
on our lee beam. I see one now. Well,
she must be a capital sailor, at ail
events; look there, a point abaft the
beam. Merry on me. how' stiff she
must be to carry such a press of can
vas!"
Philip had already seen her. It was
a large ship on a wind, and on the
same tack as they were. In a gale, in
which no vessel could carry the top
sails, the Vrow Katrina being under
close-reefed foresails and staysails, the
ship seen to leeward was standing un
der a press of sail top-gallant sails,
royals, flying-jib, and every stitch of
canvas which could be set In a light
breeze. The waves were running
mountains high, bearing each minute
the Vrow Katrina down to the gun
wale; and the ship seen appeared not
to be affected by the tumultuous wat
era, but sailed steadily and smoothly
on an even keel. At once Philip knew
It must be the Phantom Ship, In which
his father's doom was being fulfilled.
“Very odd. Is it not?" observed Myn
heer Barentz.
Philip felt such an oppression on his |
chest that he could not reply. As he
held on with one hand, he covered up
his eyes with the other.
But the seamen had now seen the
vessel, and the legend was too well
known. Many of the troops had ;
climbed on deck when tlie report was
circulated, and all eyes were now fixed
upon the supernatural vessel, when a
heavy squall burst upon the Vrow Ka
trina. accompanied with peals of thun
der and heavy rain, rendering it so
thick that nothing could be seen. In :
a quarter of an hour it cleared away,
and. when they looked to leeward, the
stranger was no longer In sight.
“Merciful heaven! she must have
been upset, and has gone down In the
squali!" saitl Mynheer Barentz. “I
thought as much, carrying such a press
of sail. There never was a ship that
could carry more than the Vrow Ka
trina. It was madness on the part of
the captain of that vessel, but I sup
pose he wished to keep up with us.
Heh! Mynheer Vanderdeeken?”
Philip did not reply to these re
marks. which fully proved the madness
of his captain. He felt that his ship
was doomed, and when he thought of
the numtiers on board who might be
sacrificed he shuddered. After a pause
he said;
"Mynheer Harentz, this gale is likely
to continue, aiul the best ship that
ever was built cannot, in my opinion,
stand such weather. I should advise
that we bear up and run back to Ta
ble Ray to refit. Depend upon it, we
shall find the whole fleet there before
ua.'*
"Never fear for the Rood ship Vrow
Katrina." replied the captain; "see
what weather she makes of it."
"Cursed bad,” observed one of the
seamen, for the seamen had gathered ’
near to Philip to hear what his advice |
might be. “If I had known that she
was auch an old crazy beast I never
would have trusted myself on board. ;
Mynheer Vanderdeeken fs right; we -
must go back to Table Bay ere worse
befall us. That ship to leeward has
given us warning she is not seen for
nothing ask Mr. Vanderdeeken, cap
tain; he knows that well, for he is a
sailor.”
This appeal to Philip made him
start; it was, however, made without
any knowledge of Philip’s interest in
the Phantom Ship.
(To ba continued.) ’ i
The I'rlnre'i Defenrti
Prince Louis Ksterhazy. military at
tache of the Austrian embassy at Lon
dou. was recently traveling alone on
an English railway when an elegantly
dressed woman entered the carriage.
Presently she dropped her handker
chief and employed other expedients
to start a conversation, but without
avail, for the prince tranquilly smoked
his cigar and took no notice of her.
At last, us the train approached a sta
tion, the woman suddenly tore her
hat from her head, disheveled her hair,
and, as the train came to a standstill,
put her head out of the window and
shrieked for assistance. The railroad
oftli ials hurried to the scene, and to
them the woman asserted that she had
been terribly I n-tilted by the prince.
The prince did not stir from hta seat.
I,tit continued tranquilly stuoklug his
cigar, and the statlontnaster exclaim
ed * What have you got to say to the
charge?” Without the slightest up
p» at ante of von* ern the prince, who
Wus Ktw'rd lit the further 011*1 of m**
carriage replied "t»nty lhU,w and with
tint lie pointed t«y the cigar which
-bowe l a beautiful gray ash consider
ably liter an im it in length The sta
tion master »i* wise In his M*’ti«rat t**n.
ami on pr* citing the ash In th«
prince's rtgar, be too* h**d hi- hat said
quietly Thai's all right, sir. ' and ar
i*-*l*.I th» w.*i»»4iii litairad Vigcnsut
%N
lanatti ut in* |>la.t*r ti> .u>
bll‘t>a|t Ml !*»• Inghl, 4UI I
*«M« »®u tu H I.«n<<l<»f4 ■
*^•1 It? tfc* matt • )<<» w
i III* fluur a Vita tltwtftl I .« ml
! •»'* Wall, .«Ht« |mnri» IfcldW ita. *<<«*
• >;
*• If Ml*» ll' ail IN • Vital
ttMfca* in MU tlilri f**r lb*
i tftiiMIl Hii I, «M *ill itfg . «)*!
m? K* iK*4m th* tilr<4 „•*
aaatl) bill 4 taalia ••U* It* .It*
TALMAUES
SERMON.
—
"MASSACRE OF THE INNO
CENTS" SUNDAY’S SUBJECT.
“Mj F.lli.r, If Thou Hut Optord Tliy
Mouth I nto tils I.mil. Ilu tu Mb Ac*
inritln- to Tliut Which Hulk I’rocced
•d Hut of Tliy Mouth" .liulgra, 11:30.
Jepbthah was a freebooter. Early
turned out from a home where he
ought to have been eared for, he con
sorted with rough men and went forth
to earn his living as best he could. In
those times it was considered right
for a man to go out on independent
military expeditions. Jephthah was a
good man according to the light of
his dark age, but through a wandering
and predatory life he became reckless
and precipitate. The grace of God
changes a man's heart, but never re
verses hia natural temperament. The
i Israelites wanted the Ammonites
l driven out of their country, so tiiey
sent a delegation to Jephthah, asking
him to become commander-ln-chief of
all the forces. He might have said,
"You drove me out when you had no
use for me, and now you are in trouble
you want me back;” biit he did not
say that. He takes command of the
army, sends messengers to the Am
monites to tell them to vacate the
country, and, getting no favorable re
sponse, marshals his troops for bat
tle.
Before going to the war Jephthah
makes a very solemn vow, that if the
, Lord will give him victory, then, on
his return home, whatsoever first
comes out of his doorway he will of
fer in sacrifice as a burnt offering.
The battle opens. It was no skir
mishing on the edges of danger, no
unllmbering of batteries two miles
away, but the hurling of men on the
point of swords and spears until the
ground could no more drink the
blood, and the horses reared to leap
over the pi!© of bodies of the slain.
In those old times opposing forces
would fight until their swords were
broken; then each one would throt
tle his man until they both fell, teeth
to teeth, grip to grip, death-stare to
death-stare, until the plain was one
, tumbled mass of corpses from which
tire last trace of manhood had been
dashed oat,
Jephthah wins the day. Twenty
cities lay captured at his feet. Sound
the victory all through the mountains
of Gilead. Let the trumpeters call up
the survivors. Homeward to your
wives and children. Homeward with
your glittering treasures. Homeward
to have the applause of an admiring
nation. Build triumphal arches.
Swing out flags all over Mizpeh. Open
all your doors to receive the captured
treasures. Through every hall spread
the banquet. Pile up the viands. Fill
high the tankards. The nation is re
deemed, the invaders are routed, and
the national honor is vindicated.
Huzza for Jephthah, the conqueror!
Jephthah, seated on a prancing steed,
advances amid the acclaiming multi
tudes, but his eye is not on the excit
ed populace. Remembering that he
had made a solemn vow that, return
ing from victorious battle, whatsoever
first came out of the doorway of his
home, that should be sacrificed as a
burnt offering, he has his anxious look
upon the door. 1 wonder what spot
less lamb, what brace of doves will
be thrown upon the fires of the burnt
offering.
Oh, horrors! Paleness of death
blanches his cheek. Despair seizes his
heart. His daughter, his only child,
rushes out to throw herself In her
father's arms and shower upon him
more kisses than there were wounds
on his breast or dents in his shield.
All the triumphal splendors vanish.
Holding back this child from his heav
ing breast, and pushing the locks back
from the fair. brow, and looking into
the eyes of inextinguishable affection,
with choked utterance he says, “Would
God 1 lay stark cn the bloody plain! 1
My daughter, my only child, joy of my
home, life of my life, thou art the
sacrifice!”
The whole matter was explained to
her. This was no whining, hollow- I
hearted giri Into whose eyes the father
looked. All the glory of sword and
shield vanished in the presence of the
valor of thut girl. There may have
been a tremor on the Up, as a rose leaf
trembles iu the sough of the south |
wind; there may have been the start
ing of a tear like a drop of rain shaken
from the anther of a water lily; but
with a self-sa* rillc# that mau may
not reach, and only woman's heart can
compasA, she surrenders herself to tire
aud to death. She cries out in the
words of my text; “My father, if
thou hast opened thy mouth unto the
laird, do unto me whatsoever hath
proceeded (rout thy mouth.”
She bows to the knife, and the bl »id,
which so often at the father's voice
had ru»lt»*d to the crimson cheek,
awoke* in the drew of the burnt of
fering No one ran tell o. her nani ■
There i» no need that we know her
name The garlands that M *p-h twist.
*d for Jephthah the warrior have gon*
Into the dn«t hot all ages are twisting
thig girt s chaplet It |* well that her
name rime not to us. fur no one ran
wear It They mar lake the name of
Deborah or \ blast) or Miriam hut
no one In all the «gv« shall hits the
title of this daughter of sacrifice
of r<tur*« thD offering was am
pleasing to the Dk4, especially as a
provision was made la the law for
iw*h a cualiagcaty, aud Jephthah
might have red*. n».d his daughter by
, the payaieni of thirty shekels of all.
ver ttui before you hurt your de
none tat tone at Jephthah a cruelly, re
member that in olden time*, when
vows sere made u*«tt thought they
moat mmsts then perform them
whether they were wit bed 04 good
There wet* two wrung things a * »ui
Jeplithah's vow. First, ho ought never
to have made it. Next, having made
it. It were better broken than kept.
But do not lake on pretentious airs
and say. "I could not have done as
Jephthah did.” If in former days you
had been standing on the banks of thp
Oanges, and you had been born In
India, you might have thrown your
children to the crocodiles. It la not
because we are naturally any better,
but because we have more gospel
j light.
Now, I make very practical use of
this question when I tell you that the
sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter was
a type of the physical, mental, and
spiritual sacrifice of ten thousand
children in this day. There are par
ents all unwittingly bringing to bear
upon their children a class of influ
ences which will as certainly ruin
them ns knife and torch destroyed
Jeplithah's daughter. While I speak,
the whole nation, without emotion and
without shame, looks upon the stu
pendous sacrifice.
In the first place 1 remark that much
Is a system of sacrifice. When chil
dren spend six or seven hours In
school, and then must spend two or
three hours In preparation for school
the next day, will you tell me how
much time they will have for sunshine
and fresh air, and the obtaining of
that ^exuberance which Is necessary
for the duties of coming life? No one
can feel more thankful than I do for
the advancement of common school ed
ucation. The printing of books ap
propriate for schools, the multiplica
tion of philosophical apparatus, the
establishment of normal schools,
which provide for our children teach
ers of largest calibre, are themes on
which every philanthropist ought to
be congratulated. But this herding
of great multitudes of children In Ill
ventilated schoolrooms, and poorly
equipped halls of Instruction, Is mak
ing many of the places of knowledge
In this country a huge holocaust. Pol
itics in many of the cities get into ed
ucational affairs, and while the two
political parties arc scrabbling for the
honors, Jephthah's daughter perishes.
It Is so much so that there are many
schools in the country today which
are preparing tens of thousands of in
valid men and women for the future,
so that, in many places, by th« time
the child's education Is finished the
child Is finished! In many large places,
in many cities of the country, there
are large appropriations for every
thing else, and cheerful appropria
tions; but as soon as the appropriation
Is to be made for the educational or
moral interests of the city, we are
struck through with an economy that
is well nigh the death of us.
In connection with this I mention
what I might call the cramming sys
tem of the common schools and many
of the academies; children of delicate
brain compelled to tasks that might
appal a mature Intellect; children go
ing down to school with a strap of
books half as high as themselves. The
fact is, in some of the cities parents
do not allow their children to gradu
ate, for the simple reason, they say,
"We cannot afford to allow our chil
dren's health to be destroyed In order
that they may gather the honors of
an institution.” Tens of thousands of
children educated into Imbecility; so
that connected with many such lit
erary establishments there ought to
be asylums for the wrecked. It Is push,
and crowd, and cram, and stuff, and
Jam, until the child’s intellect is be
wildered, and the memory is ruined,
and the health Is gone. There are
children who once were full of romp
ing and laughter, and had cheeks crim
son with health, who are turned out
in the afternoon pale-faced, Irritat
ed, asthmatic, old before their time.
It Is one of the saddest sights on earth
to see an old-mannish boy or an old
womanish woman! Girls of ten years
of age studying algebra. Boys of
twelve years of age racking their
brain over tt igonometry! Children!
unacquainted with their mother |
longue crying over their Latin, French
and German lessons! All the vivacity
of their nature beaten out of them by j
the heavy beetle of a Greek lexicon!
And you doctor them for this, and
you give them a little medicine for
that, ami you wonder what Is the mat- !
ter with them. I will tell you what
is the matter with them. They are
finishing their education!
• • •
Id our day most hoys start out with
no Idea higher than th« ull-<n»urn- ,
puaslng dollar. They start In an age
which boasts It can a< rntch the Laird*
I*rayer on a tett-cetH piece, and the [
Ten Commandment* on a ten-rent
pie*-# Children are taught to reduce !
morula ami religion, time and eternity, j
to vulgar fraction*. It seem* to he
their »h(ef a talnment that ten cent*
make a dime, and ten dime* make a
dollar llow to get money la only i
• qualid I jr the other art, how to keep ,
It. Tell me, y* who know, what
han-e there l* for those who atart out
n life with aueh yeryerted aentintenta!
1 he money market resounds again and
again with the downfall of »u> h people
If I had a drop of tdood on the tip <>f a
ton I would mil you by what awful
tragedy many of the youth of tht*
country am ruined
km tin, on thou-nude anti ten* of
thoumnd* nf the daughter* of A met lea
are ag-rlflred to world Hum. They are
taught to be in sympathy with all the
art it* UHiee of society They are In
ducted Into all the hoi low new* of what
I* tailed fashionable life they are
taught to beC**e that history i« dry
but that nit»«eat iiuoy* of eitentur
me# lore are delicious With capacity
t at might have rltaled « I lore a re
Might innate in hegyealy rwiuutrt*# «r
mad* th* father * house glad with
Ullsl had ststarly demeanor their llfa
a a waste th*-i :«» it» « t>
• tet nl'y a <1* n*-di* ton
la the rt»|e uf t hsites*og
I rlag
our civil war, a lieutenant of the army
stood on the floor beside the daughter
of the ex-governor of the state of
South Carolina. They were taking the
vows of marriage. A bombshell struck
the roof, dropped Into the group, and
nine were wounded and slain; among
the wounded to death the bride. While
the bridegroom knelt on the carpet
trying to stanch the wounds, the bride
demanded that the ceremony be com
pleted, that she might take the vows
before her departure; and when the
minister said, “Will thou be faithful
unto death?” with her dying lips she
said, “I will,” and In two hours she
had departed. That was the slaughter
and the sacrifice of the body; but at
thousands of marriage-altars there are
daughters slain for time and slain for
eternity. It is not a marriage: it is a
massacre. Affianced to some one who
Is only waiting until his father dies, gte
he can get the property; then a little
while they swing around In the circles,
brilliant circles; then the property is
gone, und having no power to earn a
livelihood, the twain sink into some
corner of society, the husband an Idler
and a sot, the wife a drudge, a slavp,
and a sacrifice. Ah! spare your de
nunciations from Jephthah's head, and
expend them all on this wholesale
modarn martyrdom.
I lift up my voice against the sacri
fice of children, 1 look out of my win
dow on a Sabbath and 1 see a group of
children, unwashed, uncombed, un
christian Ized. Who cares for them?
Who prays for them? Who utters to
them one kind word? When the city
missionary, passing along the park In
New York, saw a ragged lad and heard
him swearing, he said to him, ‘ My
son, stop swearing f You ought to go
to the house of God today. You ought
to be good; you ought to be a Chris
tian." The lad looked In his face and
said, "Ah? It la easy for you to talk,
well clothed as you are, and well fed;
but we chaps haln’t got no chance.”
Who lifts them to the altar for bap
tism? Who goes forth to snatch them
up from crime and death and woe?
Who today will go fopth and bring
them Into schools and churches? No.
Heap them up. great piles of rags and
wretchedness and filth. Put under
neath them the fires of sacrifice, stir
up the blaze, put on more faggots, and
while we stt In the churches with
folded arms and indifference, crime
and disease and death will go on with
the agonizing sacrifice.
I congratulate all those who are
lolling for the outcast and the wander
ing. Your work will soon be over, but
the influence you are setting In mo
tion will never stop. Long after you
have been garnered for the skies, your
prayers, your teachings, and your
Christian Influence will go on, and
help to people heaven with bright in
habitants. Which would you rather
see?—which scene would you rather
mingle in, in the last great day—being
able to say, “I added house to house,
and land to land, and manufactory to
manufactory; I owned half the city;
whatever my eye saw I had, whatever
I wanted 1 got;” or on that day to have
Christ look you full in the face and
say, “I was hungry, and ye fed me; I
was naked, and ye clothed me; I was
sick In prison, and ye visited me; in
asmuch as ye did It to the least of
these my brethren, ye did It to me?”
THE REAL THACKERAY.
Thackery Ih misunderstood by many
readers. They place him among the
satirists or the cynics, who delight to
ridicule the foibles and weaknesses of
human nature. It is true that he was
a satirist. His love of sincerity made
him hate shams. These he keenly pic
tured, but gpntleness was exhibited
even in his satire.
Glimpses of the real Thac keray are
given us in the introduc tion whic h his
daughter, Mrs. Ritchie, has written for
the biographical edition of his writ
ings. Here we see him as he was:
playful, affectionate, benevolent, the
kindest of critics, the most tender
hearted of editors, sending checks to
writers less fortunate than he, and
feeling it “a thorn in his pillow" when,
as editor of the Cornhlll Magazine, he
had to return a manuscript. After >ii.s
death, this entry was found In his
diary, written Just after he had move !
into a. new house:
“I pray Almighty God that rhe words
I write tn this house nuiy be pure and
honest; that they nt.it be dictated by
no personal spite, unworthy moilve,
or unjust greed for gain, that thpy
may teR the truth, as far as I know I*,
and tend to promote love and peace
among men, for the i:ike of t'hrlu our
laird. *
When these words were written,
Thackeray-* work, though he could nett
know It, was yery nearly clone, The
.•eitrv is dated Me*, i s IMS, and In
flecembar of the negt year he died
Itut the words •■pressed, n it a new
aspiration, but the purpose which he
had kept steadily tn view through hit
whole literal > < steer This sense of
moral responsibility deepens respect
for the great novelist A general <cdop
lion of hi* Ideal would sweeten anl
aievate Mellon
Msflaa Min•>Has*.
A Mre uecurrvd two weeks ago tn tha
rllUgs of t'uhrau. on the Hungarian
frontier, and among other houses 4e
stroked St. Ike modest thatched build
lag In wht h Joseph llaydn was turn
The book In wbh*h visitors Inaeribed
«. CM!.-, t '■ n •■com. lit n c» It
lahleta wera saved
t man may !• ttt footprints on '.h
•c ads of time with tmpnnily but hs
•h old few earetui how »e loaves th< m
•round on § r nth > hckWd ktuh*n
door
