GOLDFNROD.
Like tattered tents the cornstalks ldlv
flap
As on the hills the golden legions blaze
In the soft radiance of the autumn days;
A glowing tunic doth each stalk enwrap
As If with Fortunatus’ magic cap
The hlghts were crowded the wand’rer
to amaze;
The bright battalions shine In sunset’s
rays,
The while one lists the coy woodpecker s
vie.
Although with rose nor Illy you com
pare;
Your blossoms through the wtldwood
thickly lie
As you give forth your golden beauty
where
No gaudy sisterhood of flowers Is nigh—
You gild waste places and adorn the pas
tures bare!
'—Dexter Smith, In Boston Transcript.
_#
Muscular Christianity
By John Smith Tallin.
Copyrighted, ISOS, by Tbe Author* Pub, Co.
“Brethren," began the preacher,
when all had been assembled, "I feel
like Jacob did after he had wrestled
all night with an angel for a sight of
the Almighty.”
“Amen!” bawled the blacksmith at
the head of the congregation, and his
eyes roved ceaselessly as if in quest
of someone.
“Only my fight has been with the
powers of darkness; and 1 bear about
me the stains of the soot, and the
scars of the fire and the brimstone of
that terrible place.”
“Amen!” bellowed the lusty fellow
In a louder voice, and his eyes con
tinued their fruitless search.
“Brethren, let us pray and thank
the Lord for the victory He hath
granted over Satan in this benighted
spot.”
And the blacksmith prayed with all
the fervor of a convert on the mourn
ers’ bench. His voice was like the
echo of thunder in the mountains, peal
redoubling upon peal, and crash after
crash deflected from the many hills,
until the little building fairly shook
with its reverberations. Meanwhile
he craned his neck and almost stood
up in vain endeavor to single out
somebody.
“Guess, yo’re lookin’ fo’ de docto’,
ain't yo’?” gibed an irreverent youth
behind him.
The man glared at him but did not
answer.
Doctor Ben was there. He chuckled
despite the sanctity of the place, and
there was a mischievous twinkle in
his eyes and a sly smile about the cor
ners of his mouth. His face was as
a mask, behind which all manner of
droll thought held high carnival. Bill
Jenkins caught sight of him, where
upon the doctor made the sage reflec
tion that it would be best for him to
have his horse shod by another black
smith for some time to come. At this
his face fell, for the prospect was not
Inviting. Bill Jenkins being acknowl
edged the best horseshoer within
miles of the neighborhood.
The doctor’s irresistible longing for
little fun was responsible for the
blacksmith’s discomfiture. This is the
way it came about:
“No preacher-man ain’t agoln’ t’
preach in dis ’ere town; no, siree, not
ef I knows m’self.”
The group about the anvil stood
stock still, and burly Bill Jenkins
straightened himself to his full height.
The “help” paused with the horse’s
hoof still in the lap of his leathern
apron.
Standing with folded arms and with
his back to the table, on which were
his artisan’s tools, was a figure so
Quizzically queer that it was sure to
Bet you laughing. It was Doctor Ben:
short and thin, with red hair, red
beard, and red spots on his face which
some would call freckles. He was
Btoop-shouldored and hollow-chested,
and had a cast of countenance so com
ical that you could think of him only
as a king's jester.
The blacksmith was so angry that
In fairly bit his words.
“See ’ere, doc,” he cried, and his
forearm sawed the air, “we ha’ spliced
ou' young uns, an’ buried ou’ dead in
No preacher-man ain t agoln’ to
preach in dis ’ere town.”
dese ’ere cross-roads fo’ nigh on to
thirty years withouten inte'fe’euce o’
no pa’son-man; an’ we ain’t agoln’ t'
pay no fees now fo’ w'at de good Gawd
grants free."
“Oh, I dunno as to that,” said the
little doctor. “I hearn our pa’son
’low that he intended holdln' a prey’r
meetin’ here to-night."
“Dang yo’ pa’son!” replied the other.
And he bared his arm, on which the
muscles stood out like cords of steel.
The bellows heaved; the fire leaped
up; the iron became a cherry red; then
white scales formed upon it; the anvil
rang, and a shower of sparks fell about
the place.
' Ths little doctor chuckled knowings
ly. It was a way he had whenever
highly amused, which must have been
most of the time, for his thoughts
were a perennial fountain of fun, bub
bling up within him.
It is not to be concealed that Doc
tor Ben—a recent convert, by the way,
and one whose motives were not al
ways easy to fathom—had been at the
parsonage that very morning.
Ho found his friend expatiating on
the glory of such as were called upon
to contend with the heathen in for
eign parts, thereby securing for them
selves the crown of martyrdom; while
he bitterly lamented the fact that bis
own ministry lay in a civilized land,
where nothing ever happened, and the
only distinction possible was that of
patience and long suffering.
"Oh, I dunno as to that," remarked
the little doctor smiling blandly. "Now
there is Rowden cross-roads, for In
stance, which, while not exactly pa
gan, is about as tough a place as one
would wish to run gainst. They ain't
had a pa'son there inside of thirty
years; not since the last one was
stoned out of the settlement. It ought
to be a purty good field fo’ the sowing
The spectators gathered around,
of the Gospel, seeln' ’s how the land
has lain fallow so long.”
“Enough!” cl 1 the parson, smil
ing, “1 shall preach there this very
night.”
The doctor stopped again at the par
sonage on his way home, after his
vlsu to the blacksmith snop. He found
the preacher, like another Paul, work
ing in his garden, that he might not
be a burden to his charge. He leaned
on his boe and mopped his perspiring
face with a colored cotton handker
chief as the doctor came up.
“Hello, pa’son! still bent on preach
in’ at Rowden to-night?”
“If the Lord spare me, brother, I
shall most assuredly try to do His
work u that part of His vineyard."
“Wa al, It looks as If you might find
opposition.”
“We have to expect to wrestle with
Satan sometimes, brother.”
“Yes, but It looks as if Satan d^ be
powerful strong In this instance."
“How so? Was It himself you saw
in the flesh?”
“It was himself that I saw in the
flesh of Bill Jenkins, the blacksmith
at Rowden. He’s a heap sight heavier
man ’n you be, pa'son, an’ he says
that you’ll have him to lick before you
preach in Rowden to-night. So long,
pa’son.”
The little doctor chuckled. He knew
his men and that they were game.
“Goln' to be a little affair down to
nowden to-night; better be there about
sundown,” he shouted to more than
one acquaintance as he drove past.
True to his word. Parson Jones rode
Into Rowden about dusk and hitched
his horse at the rack near the smithy,
which at that hour resembled a fiery
pit. The Interior was lit up by the
sullen glow of the forge as with an
evil eye, and without was the gather
ing gloom.
The preacher was long and lank,
and In his clerical clothes was a sight
to see. They hung about him as loose
ly as the limp rags flap about a scare
crow In the fields.
The blacksmith came out muttering
lnaudlbly.
"Are you he who would dare Inter
fere with the preaching of the Word
o£ God In this place?” asked the par
son, as he calmly removea his coat
"No preacher-man ain’t agoin’ t’
preach in dls ’ere town,” sputtered the
blacksmith, drawing off his leathern
apron and wiping his hands upon it.
“No, siree! not ef I—”
The preacher's hand descended
upon his mouth, cutting short the sen
tence.
Then ensued a lively scuffle, during
which the spectators hastily gathered
around the two combatants. The
blacksmith lirected a well-aimed blow
with all his force; but the wiry parson
simply turned sideways, and it went
past him like a blade, which unexpect
ed ruse sent his heavy antagonist
sprawling face foremost, in the dust.
He soon had him covered and was
pounding vigorously.
"I am going to preach in this town
to-night.”
"Not ef I—”
Again the blows hailed thick and
fast.
"Let up, there! Enough! Stop,
Btopl”
“I am going to preach and want you
to attend in the front pew and to lead
In all the responses.”
"I will, I will! Oh! Oh! Stop!”
pleaded the blacksmith.
• • • • •
Somebody handed the minister hie
coat, and he brushed the duat from
his trousers as well as possible. And
•straight from the field of battle all
marched to the little town meeting
house, where we find them at the
opening of this atory.
t
AT PILGER’S
OPERA HOUSE
j Northern Milling Company
jj D. C, GROW, Manager. |
I South Side Public Square, |
LOUP CITY, NEBRASKA. I
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and feed for wheat, handle buckwheat flour, keep a good a
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4
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CLEARING |
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I l' |!
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are in our way and we have decided
to let them go at very low prices.
Also fifty pair of Heavy Winter
Kants, Heavy Underwear; Flannel |
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. Overshoes and Felt Boots, j
We’ve got to get room for
our Spring Stock, so now is
your time, don’t miss it. If
you do it’s your fault, not
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Mill, Ml, k CL
LOUP CITY, NEB. I
HABITS Ml USUI'S Willi.
IRA T. PAINE & CO.
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