B IS f INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. .
CHAPTER XV.
stf&r3flCIrJ HEN Ml8S Hether-
JSMZ Ih inston left Hie
( f WauPvAWFrenchman's / / rooms
JilftftW/Aw/tt / that afternoon 3UC
jSMWiiwInl tottered , Ik0 one
WmW/ enfeebled by the
j /g / SynE / ] sudden oncoming of
l age. Monsieur
V T )
\ \ s Caussldiere bc-
T/5 * side her ; it was his
qJ ) hand which placed
Nc $ her in her carriage ,
his head which bowed politely as the
carriage moved away. But the lady
seemed neither to see nor hear. Her
face was deathly pale and her eyes
were fixed ; she entered the carriage
mechanically , and mechanically lay
back among the moth-eaten cushions ;
but she never came to herself until the
carriage stopped before the door of An-
nandale Castle.
The approaching carriage wheels had
. been heard by the inmates of the Cas
tle , , so that when the vehicle stopped
there stood Sandie Sloane ready to as
sist his mistress to alight. With her us
ual erect carriage and Arm tread , Miss
Hetherington stepped from the vehicle ,
and walked up the stone steps to the
Castle door , saying , as she passed the
old serving man :
"Sandio Sloane , come ben wi' me ! "
She walked pn , Sandie following.
They walked into the great dining-
room , and the door closed upon the
two. What passed at that interview no one
fcnew ; but half an hour later Sandie
came forth , returned to the kitchen ,
and sat there crying like a heart broken
child.
"Mysie , " said he to the housekeeper ,
"Mysie , woman , I'm turned awa' oot
on the world. God help me ! The
mistress has shown me the door of An-
nandale Castle. "
It was not till two days later that
Mr. Lorraine , happening to call at the
Castle , heard that Miss Hetherington
ould not see him , for she had taken to
her bed and was seriously ill. He heard
also from Mysie , who seemed scared
and wild , that her mistress had never
been herself since that night when San
die Sloane had been driven from his
situation. The clergyman , more
shocked and mystified , asked to be al
lowed to see the lady , but Mysie re
fused to permit him to place his foot
Inside the door. After a little persua
sion , however , she consented to allow
him to remain on the threshold while
she went and informed her mistress of
his call.
In a short time the woman returned ,
and Mr. Lorraine was at once admitted
to the bedside of the mistress of the
house.
Mr. Lorraine began forthwith to ex
press his regrets at the lady's illness ,
I but he was at once stopped.
" 'Twasna' o' myself I wanted to
speak , " she said in her hard , cold tones ;
" 'twas o * something that concerns you
far more where is Marjorie ? "
"Marjorie is at the manse , " returned
the clergyman , dreading what the next
question might be.
"At the manse ! and wherefore is she
no at school ? She should have gone
back ere this. "
"Yes ; she should have gone , but the
lassie was not herself , so I kept her
with me. She is troubled in her mind
. at what you said about the French les
sons , Miss Hetherington , and she is
afraid she has annoyed you. "
"And she would be sorry ? "
"How could she fail to b ° 9 You hae
been her best friend. "
There was a great pause , which was
broken by Miss Hetherington.
"Mr. Lorraine , " said she , "I've aye
tried to give you good advice about
Marjorie. I kenned weel that twa sil
ly men like yersel' and that fool Solo
mon Mucklebackit wanted a woman's
sharp wits and keen eyes to help them
train the lassie. I've watched her close
and I see what maybe ye dinna see.
Therefore I advise you again send her
awa * to Edinburgh for awhile 'twill be
* for her gude. "
"To Edinburgh ! "
"Ay ; do you fear she'll no obey ? "
, 'Not at all ; when I tell her you wish
it she will go. "
Miss Hetherington sat bolt upright ,
and stared round the room like a stag
at bay.
"I wish it ! " she exclaimed. "I dinna
wish it mind that , Mr. Lorraine. If
anybody daurs say I wish it , ye'll tell
them 'tis a lee. You wish it ; you'll
send her awa' ; 'tis for the bairn's
good ! "
Mr. Lorraine began to be of opinion
that Miss Hetherington's brain was af
fected ; he could not account for her ec
centricity in any other way. Neverthe
less her whims had to be attended to ;
and as in this case they would cause no
great inconvenience , he promised im
plicit obedience to her will.
"Yes , you are right , Miss Hethering
ton ; 'twill do the child good , and she
shall go , " he said , as he rose to take
his leave.
But the lady called him back.
"Mr. Lorrane. " she said , "send Mar
jorie up to me to say good-bye ; " and
having again promised to obey her , Mr.
. Lorraine retired.
r When he reached home he was rather
relieved to find that his foster child was
out ; when she returned , he was busily
engaged with Solomon , and it was not
Indeed until after evening prayers that
the two fonnd themselves alone. Then
Mr. LorraJno informed 9 Marjorie that
she was to go to her sister's house in
Edinburgh for a time. The young girl
was reluctant to leave her home , but
did not dream of disobeying any wi3h
of her foster-father.
By early the next afternoon all was
done , and as Marjorie was to start ear
ly on the morrow , she , in obedience to
Mr. Lorraine's wish , put on her bonnet
and went up to the Ca3tle to wish Miss
Hetherington good-bye.
She had heard from Mr. Lorraine
that the lady was Indisposed , but he
had not spoken of the malady as 3erii
ous , and she was therefore utterly un
prepared for what she saw.
She was admitted by Mysie , conduct
ed along the dreary passage , and led at
once toward Miss Hetherington's bed
room.
"She's waltin' on ye , " said Mysie ;
"she's been waitin' on ye all day. "
Marjorie stepped into the room ,
looked around , and theen shrank fear
fully back toward the door. Could this
be Miss Hetherington this little shriv
eled old woman , with the dim eyes
and thin silvery hair ? She glanced
keenly at Marjorie ; then , seeing the
girl shrink away , she held forth her
hand and said :
"Come awa' ben , Marjorie , my bair-
nie ; come ben. "
"You you are not well , Miss Heth
erington , " said Marjorie. "I am so
sorry. "
She came forward and stretched forth
her hand. Miss Hetherington took it ,
held it , and gazed up into the girl's
face.
"I'm no just mysel' , Marjorie , " she
said , "but whiles the best of us come to
this pass. Did ye think I was immor
tal , Marjorie Annan , and that the pal
sied finger o' death couldn't be pointed
at me as weel as at another ? "
"Of death ? " said Marjorie , instinc
tively withdrawing her hand from the
old lady's tremulous grasp. "Oh , Miss
Hetherington , you surely will not
die ! "
"Wha can tell ? Surely I shall die
when my time comes , and wha will
there be to shed a tear ? "
For a time there was silence ; then
Miss Hetherington spoke :
"What more have you got to say to
me , Marjorie Annan ? "
The girl started as if from a dream ,
and rose hurriedly from her seat.
"Nothing more , " she said. "Mr. Lor
raine thought I had better come and
wish you good-bye. I am going away. "
"Mr. Lorraine ! you didna wish It
yersel' ? "
"Yes , I I wished it "
"Aweel , good-bye ! "
She held forth her trembling hands
again , and Marjorie placed her warm
fingers between them.
"Good-bye , Miss Hetherington. "
She withdrew her hand and turned
away , feeling that the good-bye had
been spoken , and that her presence was
no longer desired by the proud mistress
of Annandale. She had got half way
to the door when her steps were arrest
ed a voice called her back.
"Marjorie ! Marjorie Annan ! "
She turned , started then running
back , fell on her knWs beside Miss
Hetherington's chair. For the first
time in her life Marjorie saw her cry
ing.
"Dear Miss Hetherington , what is
it ? " she said.
" 'Tis the old tale , the old tale , " re
plied the lady , drying her eyes. "Won't
you kiss me , Marjorie , and say only
once that you're sorry to leave me sick
ening here ? "
"I am very sorry , " said Marjorie ;
then she timidly bent forward and
touched the lady's cheek with her
lips.
Curiously enough , after having soli
cited the embrace , Miss Hetherington
shrank away.
"Cold and loveless , " she murmured.
"But , Marjorie , my bairn , I'm no blam
ing ye for the sins of your forefathers.
Good-bye , lassie , good-bye. "
This time Marjorie did leave the room
and the Castle , feeling thoroughly mys
tified as to what it could all mean.
CHAPTER XVI.
: * > 5NS& \ the outskirts of
\ft J ? \m \ ( \k \ the town of Leith ,
, J < § JS $ $ ? PiiK \ anc * on * e direct
dj S fc I road of communi-
ctejj | | s { K' 1 cation between
pWplwil Leith and Ediu-
< akr igx3 Dur&u > stooa tnc
plain abode of the
ui\u
( & Jb \ 2) ) Rev * Muns ° iIen _
\zzLm , = vcni teith , minister of
( P'Vlp * * the Free Kirk of
Scotland.
The Reverend Mr. Menteith had es
poused late in life the only sister of
Mr. Lorraine , a little , timid , clinging
woman , with fair hair and light blue
eyes , who was as wax in the bony
hands of her pious husband.
At the house of the pair one morning
in early summer arrived Marjorie An
nan , escorted thither in a hired fly from
Edinburgh by the minister. It was by
no means her first visit , and the wel
come she received , if a little melancho
ly , was not altogether devoid of sym
pathy. Her aunt was an affectionate
creature , though weak and supersti
tious ; and Mr. Mentieth , like many of
his class , was by no means as hard as
the doctrines he upheld. They had no
children of their own , and the coming
of one so pretty and so close of kin was
like a gleam of sunshine.
A week passed away , with one super-
naturaly dreary Sabbath , spent In what
may bo called , figuratively , wailing and
gnashing of teeth.
At last there came a day of terrific
dissipation , when what is known by
profane Scotchmen as a "tea and cook
ie shine" was given by one of the eld
ers of the kirk.
Early in the evening Mr. Menteith
was called away , and when the meeting
broke up about nine o'clock Marjorie
and her aunt had to walk home alone.
It was a fine moonlight night , and as
they left the elder's house and lingered
on the doorstep Marjorie saw standing
in the street a figure which she
seemed to know.
She started and looked again , and the
figure returned her look. In a moment
to her utter amazement , she recognized
Caussidiere.
Startled and afraid , not knowing
what to say or do , she descended the
steps to her aunt's side.
As she did so the figure disappeared.
She walked up the street , trembling
and wondering , while Mrs. Menteith
talked with feeble rapture of the feast
they i had left and Its accompanying "ed
ification. "
Marjorie made some wandering re
ply , for she heard footsteps behind
her. Glancing over her shoulder , she
saw the figure she had previously no
ticed following at a few yards' dis
tance.
She would have paused and waited ,
but she dreaded the observation of her
companion. So she simply walked
faster , hurrying her aunt along.
They passed from the street , and still
she heard the feet following behind
her. At last they reached the gate of
the minister's house.
Here Marjorie lingered , and watching
down the road saw the figure pause and
wait.
wait.Mrs.
Mrs. Menteith pushed open the gate ,
hastened across the garden , and
knocked at the door. In a moment the
figure came up rapidly.
"Hush , mademoiselle ! " said a fami
liar voice in French and simultaneously
she felt a piece of paper pressed into
her hand. She grasped it involuntarily
and before she could utter a word the
figure flitted away.
Meantime the house door had opened.
"Marjorie ! " cried Mrs. Menteith from
the threshold.
Marjorie hastened in.
"What kept ye at the gate , and who
was yon that passed ? "
"A man a gentleman. "
"Did he speak to you ? "
Without reply , Marjorie passed in.
As soon as possible she hastened up
to her own room , locked the door , and
there with trembling fingers unfolded
the paper and read as follows :
"I have something Important to say
to you. Meet me tomorrow at noon on
the Edinburgh road. Pray tell no one
that you have received this , or that I
am here. "Leon Caussidiere. "
Majorie sat down trembling with the
paper in her lap. Her first impulse
was to inform her aunt of what had
taken place. A little reflection , how
ever , convinced her that this would be
undesirable.
After all , she thought , she had no
right to assume that Caussidiere's mes
sage had not a perfectly innocent sig
nificance. Perhaps he had brought her
news from home.
It was not an easy task for Marjorie
to keep her appointment on the fol
lowing day ; indeed , everything seemed
to conspire to keep her at home. To
begin with , the family were much later
than usual ; then it seemed to Marjorie
that the prayers were unusually long ;
then Mr. Menteith had various little
things for her to do ; so that the
hands of the clock wandered toward
twelve before she was able to quit the
house.
At last she was free , and with palpi
tating heart and trembling hands was
speeding along the road to meet the
Frenchman.
( TO BE CONTINUED. )
How Ostriches Run.
Considerable misconception prevails
as to the manner in which the ostrich
runs. It seems to be still generally
held that when running it spreads out
its wings , and aided by them skims
lightly over the ground. This is not
correct. When a bird really settles it
self to run it holds its head lower
than usual and a little forward , with a
deep loop in the neck. The neck vi
brates sinuously , but the head remains
steady , thus enabling the bird , even at
top speed to look around with unshak
en glance in any direction. The wings
lie along the sides about on a level
with or a little higher than the back ,
and are held loosely , just free of the
plunging "thigh. " There is no attempt
to hold them extended or to derive any
assistance from them as organs of
flight. When an ostrich , after a hard
run , is very tired its wings sometimes
droop ; this is due to exhaustion. They
are never , by a running bird exerting
itself to the utmost , held out away
from the sides to
lighten its weight or
increase its pace. But the wings appear
to be of great service in turning , en
abling the bird to double abruptly even
when going at top speed. From the
Zoologist.
A Matter of Colors.
"Sister Millie wants to know if you
won't let us take your big awning ?
She's going to give a porch party tomorrow
night and wants to
morrow have it on
the piazzer. "
"Wants my awning ? "
"Yep. She would have borrowed the ,
Joneses' , but theirs is blue , you know ,
and Millie's hair is red. " Cleveland
Plain-Dealer.
"There's not another bit of firewood
on board , " roared the steamboat en
gineer. "What's the matter with the ,
log ? " inquired the landlubber. Phil
adelphia , North American.
-
TALMAGE'S SEBMON.
THE POMOLOGY OF THE HOLY
BIBLE.
God Anions the Orchnrd "Tho Fruit
Tree Yielding l"rult Ater lilt Kind"
( Jcncslu ; Chapter I. , Verne II. Why
Was the Orchard Flint tf
T IS Wednesday
morning in Para
dise. The birds did
not sing their
opening piece , nor
the fish take their
f first swim until the
following Friday.
The solar and lu
nar lights did not
break through the
thick , chaotic fog
of the world's manufacture until
Thursday. Before that there was
light , but it was electric light or phos
phorescent light , not the light of sun
or moon. But the botanical and po-
mological productions came on Wed
nesday first the flowers , and then the
fruits. The veil of fog is lifted , and
there stand the orchards. Watch the
sudden maturity of the fruit ! In our
time pear trees must have two years
before they bear fruit , and peach trees
three years , and apple trees five years ;
but here , instantly , a complete orchard
springs Into life , all the branches bear
ing fruit. The insectile forces , which
have been doing their worst to destroy
the fruits for six thousand years , had
not yet begun . their invasion. The
curculio had not yet stung the plum ,
nor the caterpillar hurt the apple , nor
had the phylloxera plague , which has
devastated the vineyards of America
and France , assailed the grapes , nor
the borer perforated the wood , nor the
aphides ruined the cherry , nor the
grub punctured the nectarine , nor the
blight struck the pear. There stood the
first orchard , with a perfection of
rind , and an exquisiteness of color , and
a lusciousness of taste , and an af
fluence of production which it may
take thousands of years more of study
of the science of fruits to reproduce.
Why was the orchard created two
days before the fish and birds , and
three days before the cattle ? Among
other things , to impress the world
with a lesson it is too stupid to learn
that fruit diet is healthier than meat
diet , and that the former must pre
cede the latter. The reason there are
in the world so many of the imbruted
and sensual is that they have not im
proved by the mighty , unnoticed fact
that the orchards of paradise preceded
the herds and aviaries , and fish-ponds.
Oh , those fruit-bearing trees on the
banks of the Euphrates , and the Gi-
hon , and the Hiddekel ! I wonder not
that the ancient Romans , ignorant of
our God , adored Pomona , the Goddess
of Fruits , and that all the sylvan del-
ties were said to worship her , and that
groves were set apart as her temples.
You have thanked God for bread a
thousand times. Have you thanked
him for the fruits which he made the
first course of food in the menu of the
world's table ? The acids of those
fruits to keep the world's table from
being insipid , and their sweets to keep
it from being too sour ?
At this autumnal season how the or
chards breathe and glow , the leaves re
moved , that the crimson , or pink , or
saffron , or the yellow , or brown may
the better appear , while the aromatics
fill the air with invitation and remi
niscence. As you pass through the
orchard on these autumnal days and
look up through the arms of the trees
laden with fruit , you hear thumping
on the ground that which is fully ripe ,
and , throwing your arms around the
trunk , you give a shake that sends
down a shower of gold and fire on all
sides of you. Pile up in baskets and
barrels and bins and on shelves and
tables the divine supply. But these
orchards have been under the assault
of at least sixty centuries the storm ,
the droughts , the winters , the insec-
tivora. What must the first orchard
have been ? And yet it is the explor
er's evidence that on the site of that
orchard there is not an apricot , or an
apple , or an olive nothing but desert
and desolation. There is not enough
to forage the explorer's horse , much
less to feed his own hunger. In other
words , that first orchard is a lost or
chard. How did the proprietor and the
proprietress of all that intercolumni-
ation of fruitage , let the rich splendor
slip their possession ? It was as now
most of the orchards are lost ; namely ,
by wanting more. Access they had to
all the fig-trees , apricots , walnuts , almonds
mends , apples bushels on bushels ,
and were forbidden the use of only one
tree in the orchard. Not satisfied with
all but one , they reached for that , and
lost the whole orchard. Go right down
through the business marts of the
great cities and find among the weigh
ers and clerks and subordinates , men
who once commanded the commercial
world. They had a whole orchard of
successes , but they wanted just one
more thing one more house , or one
more country-seat , or one more store ,
or one more railroad , or one more mil
lion. They clutched for that , and lost
all they had gained. For one more
tree they lost a whole orchard. There
ai'e business men all around us wor
ried nearly to death. The doctor tells ;
them they ought to stop. Insomnia
or indigestion or aching at the base of
the brain or ungovernable nerves tell
them they ought to stop. They really
have enough for themselves and their
families. Talk with them about their
overwork , and urge more prudence and
longer rest , and they say : "Yes , you
are right ; after I have accomplished
one more thing that I have on my
mind , I will "hand over my business ;
to my sons and go to Europe , and quit
the kind of exhausting life I have been L
living for the last thirty years. " Some
morning you open your paper , and ,
looking at the death column , you find l
he suddenly departed this life. In try
ing to win just ono more tree , he l03t
the whole orchard.
Yonder is a man with many styles of
innocent entertainment and amuse
ment. He walks , ho rides , he plays
ten-pins In private alleys , he has
books on his table , pictures on his wall
and occasional outings , concerts , lec
tures , baseball tickets , and the Innu
merable delights of friendship. But ho
wants a key to the place of dissolute
convocation. He wants association
with some member of a high family
as reckless as he is affluent. He wants
instead of a quiet sabbath , one of ca
rousal. He wants the stimulus of
strong drinks. He wants the permis
sions of a profligate life. The one
membership , the one bad habit , the
one carousal robs him of all the pos
sibilities and innocent enjoyments ana
noble Inspirations of a lifetime.
You see what an expensive thing is
sin. It costs a thousand times more
than it is worth. As some of all kinds
of quadrupeds and all kinds of winged
creatures passed before our progenitor
that he might announce a name , from
eagle to bat , and from lion to mole ,
so I suppose there were in paradise
specimens of every kind of fruit tree.
And in that enormous orchard there
was not only enough for the original
family of two , but enough fruit fell
ripe to the ground , and was never
picked up , to supply whole towns and
villages , If they had existed. But the in
fatuated couple turned away from all
these other trees and faced this tree ;
and fruit of that they will have though
it cost them all paradise.
This story of Eden is rejected by
some as an improbability , if not an
impossibility , but nothing on earth is
easier for me to believe than the truth
of this Edenic story , for I have seen
the same thing in this year of our
Lord 1S97. I could call them by name ,
if it were politic and righteous to dose
so , the men who have sacrificed a par
adise on earth and a paradise in heav
en for one sin. Their house went.
Their library went. Their good name
went. Their field of usefulness went
Their health went. Their immortal soul
went. My friends ! there is just one
sin that will turn you out of paradise
if you do not quit it. You know what
it is , and God knows , and you had bet
ter drop the hand and arm lifted to
ward that bending bough before you
pluck your own ruin. When Adam
stood on tiptoe and took in his right
hand that one round peach , or apricot ,
or apple Satan reached up and pulled
down the round , beautiful world of our
present residence. Overworked artist ,
overwrought merchant , ambitious poli
tician , avaricious speculator , better
take that warning from Adam's or
chard and stop before you put out for
that one thing more.
But I turn from Adam's orchard to
Solomon's orchard. With his own
hand he writes : "I made me gardens
and orchards. " Not depending on the
natural fall of rain , he irrigated those
orchards. Pieces of the aqueduct that
watered those gardens I have seen , and
the reservoirs are as perfect as when
thousands of years ago the mason's
trowel smoothed the mortar over tiieir
gray surfaces. No orchard of olden
or modern time , probably , ever had its
thirst so well slaked. The largest of
these reservoirs is 582 feet long , 207
feet wide , and 50 feet deep. These res
ervoirs Solomon refers to when he
says : "I made me pools of water , to
water therewith the wood that bring-
elh forth trees. " Solomon used to ride
cut to that orchard before breakfast.
It gave him an appetite and something
to think about all the day. Josephus ,
the historian , represents him as going
out "early in the morning from Jeru
salem to the famed rocks of Etam , a
fertile region , delightful with paradises
and running springs. Thither the king ,
in robes of white , rode in his chariot ,
escorted by a troop of mounted arch
ers' chosen for their youth and stature ,
and clad in Tyrian purple , whose long
hair , powdered with gold dust , spark
led in the sun. " After Solomon had
taken his morning ride in these luxu
riant orchards he would sit down and
write those wonderful things in the
Bible , drawing his illustrations from
the fruits he had that very morning
plucked or ridden under. And , wish
ing to praise the coming Christ , he
says : "As the apple tree among the
trees of the wood , so is my beloved. "
And wishing to describe the love of
the church for her Lord , he writes :
"Comfort me with apples , for I am sick
of love , " and desiring to make refer
ence to the white hair of the octoge
narian , and just before having noticed
that the blossoms of the almond tree
were white , he says of the aged man :
"The almond tree shall flourish. " The
• walnuts and the pomegranates , and
the mandrakes , and the figs make Sol
omon's writings a divinely arranged
fruit basket.
What mean Solomon's orchards and
Solomon's gardens ? for they seem to i
mingle , the two into one , flowers under
foot , and pomegranates over head. To i
me they suggest that religion is a lux
ury. All along , the world has looked
upon religion chiefly as a dire neces •
sity a lifeboat from the shipwreck , a
ladder from the conflagration , a soft
landing-place after we have been shov
ed off the precipice of this planet. As i
a consequence so many have said : "We i
will await preparation for the future
until the crash of the shipwreck , until 1
the conflagration is in full t'laze , un
til we reach the brink of the preci
pice. " No doubt religion is inexpressibly -
bly important for the last exigency.
But what do the apples , and the figs ,
and the melons , and the pomegranates ,
and the citron , and the olives of Solo
mon's orchard mean ? Luxury ! They
mean that our religion is the luscious ,
the aromatic , the pungent , the arbo-
rescent , the efflorescent , the foliaged ,
the umbrageous. They mean what t
Edward Payson meant when he declared -
ed : "If my happiness continues to in
crease I cannot support it much lon-
ger. " It means what Bapa Padmanjl ,
a Hindoo convert , meant when he said : M
"I long for my bed , not that I may
sleep I lie awake often and long
but to hold communion with my God. " 1
It means what the old colored man I
said , when he was accosted by the colporteur - I
porteur , "Undo Jack , how are you ? " I
"I is very painful In my knee , but.
thank my heavenly Master , I'm cause
to be thankful. My good Master just
gib me uuf to make me humble. " "And
do you enjoy religion as much now ,
Uncle Jack , as when you could go to
church and class-meetings ? " "Yes , I
'Joys him more. Den I truss to do
people , to do meetings , to debarment ;
and when I hear de hymn fling , and
de pray I feels r'ad. ' But all dls ain't
like de good Lord In do heart , God's
love hero. " It means sunrise Instead
of sundown. It means the Memnon
statue made to sing at the stroke of m
the morning light. It means Christ
at the wedding In Cana. It means the W
"time of the singing of birds Is come. "
It means Jeremiah's "well-watered
garden. " It means David's oil of glad- ,
ncss. " It means Isaiah's "bride anil , .
bridegroom. " It means Luke's bad boy m
come home to a father's house. Worldly - I
ly joy killed Leo X. when ho heard
that Milan was captured. Talva died or
joy when the Roman senate honored
him. Diagora died of joy because hla I
three sons were crowned at the Olym-
plan games. Sophocles died of joy
over his literary successes. And religious -
gious joy has been too much for many
a Christian , and his soul has sped' fl
away on the wing of hosannas. fl
An old and poor musician played so- jfl
well one night before his king that the jH
next morning when the musician jfl
awoke he found his table covered with. S
golden cups and plates , and a princely t jH
robe lying across the back of a chair , jfl
and richly caparisoned horses wore- SH
pawing at the doorway to take him | H
through the street in Imposing equip- jH
age. It was only a touch of what jH
comes to every man who makes the >
Lord his portion , for he has waiting -H
for him , direct from his King , robes , . , '
banquets , chariots , mansions , triumphs - H
umphs , and it is only a question or ,
time when he shall wear them , drink | H
them , ride in them , live In them , and ' ( H
celebrate them. 'fl
You think religion is a good thing
for a funeral. 0 , yes. But Solomon's
orchard means more. Religion is a M
good thing now , when you are in
health and prosperity , and the appetite
is good for citrons , and apples , and apricots -
ricots , and pomegranates. Come in
without wasting any time in talking-
about them and take the luxuries of
religion. Happy yourself , then you caa
make others happy. Make just one
person happy every day , and in twenty -
ty years you will have made seven H
thousand three hundred people hap-
py. I like what Wellington said after
the battle of Waterloo , and when he
was in pursuit of the French with his-
advance guard , and Colonel Harvey
said to him : "General , you had better - ,
ter not go any farther , for you may 'ic
shot at by some straggler from the
bushes. " And Wellington replied :
"Let them fire away. The battle is won
and my life is of no value now. " H
* H
While there is enough of the pomp 1
of the city about heaven for those who M
like the city best , I thank God there
is enough in the Bible about country
scenery in heaven to please those of 1
us who were born in the country and H
never got over it. Now you may have
streets of gold in heaven ; give mo the
orchards , with twelve manner of 1
fruits and yielding their fruit every M
month ; and the leaves of the trees arepfl
for "the healing of the nations ; and S
there shall be no more curse , but the- M
throne of God and of the Lamb shall H
be in it , and his servants shall serve M
him ; and they shall see his face , and H
his name shall be in their foreheads ; H
and there shall be no night there , and H
they need no candle , neither light of M
the sun , for the Lord God giveth them H
light ; and they shall reign for ever H
and ever. " But just think of a place so H
brilliant that the noonday sun shall H
be removed from the mantle of the sky H
because it is too feeble a taper ! Yet , H
most of all , am I impressed with the H
fact that I am not yet fit for that place. H
nor you. either. By the reconstructing - H
ing and sanctifying grace of Christ we H
need to be made all over. And let
us be getting our passports ready if
we want to get into that country. An
earthly passport i3 a personal matter ,
telling our height , our girth , the color
Gf our hair , our features , our complexion - H
ion , and our age. I cannot get into a. H
foreign port on. your passport , nor can H
you get in on mine. Each one of us H
for himself needs a divine signature I
written by the wounded handof the- I
Son of God , to get into the heavenly
orchard , under the laden branches of I
which , in. God's good time , we may I
meet the Adam of the first orchard.and.
the Solomon of the second orchard.ani
the St. John of the last orchard , to sit. I
down under the tree of which the I
church in. the Book of Canticles speaks I
when , it says : "As the apple tree
among tne trees of the wood , so is my I
beloved among the sons. I sat down I
under his shadow with great delight. I
and his fruit was sweet to my taste ; ' * I
and there it may be found that today I
we learned the danger of hankering I
after one thing more , and that religion I
is a luxury , and that there is a Divine
antidote for all poisons , and that we
had created in us an appetite for
heaven , and that it was a wholesome
and saving thing ; for us to haye discoursed -
coursed on the pomology of the Bible ;
or God Among the Orchards.
Our faith is sane and reasonable ,
with its radiant facts , its convincing
principles , Us simple commandments ,
its practical services , its wide sympathies -
thies , a religion with the arch of blu
above its head and the homely vad A
flowers round its feet. Rev. Jjojar *
Wat&Qtu
T ? " McCSSnell's Balsani cures cougns. p " - - - - - - - i -L J