* Only A Fascinating
V Romance
by
Alan Adair. , , ,
CHAPTER IV.
"Do you mind , my dearest ? "
"YOH ; I wish I had been the first ,
Alan. "
The two people who were speaking
wnre sitting together on a boulder by
the seashore of ono of our prettiest
watering places. It was.early October ,
und although It had been a late season ,
yet there was already a touch of cold
ness In the air , notwithstanding the
brilliant sunshine. The sea was as blue
IIK the Bky , tossing and little dis
turbed by the wind , yet only enough
to give it color and motion. The lit
tle town looked white and clean , smil
ing in the autumn sunshineA thor
oughly conventional English scene ,
just as the girl herself was a thorough
ly conventional English girl. Her dark
bine eyes were brown and of a soft
texture ; her face a pprfect oval , with a
little square chid , into which there
had been pressed , as by some loving
finger , the prettiest dimple in the
world. A tall , slight figure , that gave
promose of a fuller , ampler woman
hood ; a cle"ar white skin , flushed rosy ;
and lashes and eyebrows many shades
darker than her hair completed a
whole that was very captivating. She
was dressed , tootn conventionally , al
though the blue serge- dress and jacket
fitted her as only a tailor-made gown
can fit. A little sailor hat was perched
upon her head in just the most effec
tive manner possible.
But at this minute the dark blue
eyes looked troubled , the pretty hands
wore clasped round her knees , and she
WHS looking seawards and away from
the man by her side. He , too , looked
troubled. It had cost Alan Mackenzie
a good deal to record the events of his
life , and to speak of the young wife he
had lost four years ago. He had want
ed ( he past to be past ; and although
Veronica's memory was dear and sweet
to him , and the girl herself had been
loving and tender , fyet it seemed to
him hard to bring up the dead past.
There was such a chasm between that
life and this , such a difference be
tween the dark-eyed , half-Spanish girl
he had wooed under'the brilliant South
American skies and this girl whom he
was Avooing beside the tumbling Eng
lish sea , that it often seemed to Alan
Mackenzie that he must be an entirely
dilforent person.
He leaned forward and looked at
hor. She had her face turned .towards
the sea , so that he could just see the
delicate profile outlined against the
blue sky , could just see the pink ear
nestling against the coils of her hair.
It was not for her * beauty alone that he
lovejf Joyce Grenville. He felt that
she was his equal in most , his superior
in some , things. He and she together ,
he ( bought , could live the perfect mar
ried life. And now there was the
shadow of poor Veronica to come and
throw a gloom over their wooing. Ver
onica , whom he had never loved like
this girl ; Veronica , for whom he had
had the tenderest protective pity , hut
that was all.
And , now he loolced at Joyce , and
felt lo the full that if he lost her
he lost everything that made life
worth , living ; that life without Joyce
would be incomplete , and that all
his success in , life and he was
by no means disposed to under
value that would mean nothing to him
without Joyce. She was so desirable ,
was Joyce , with her high-bred , Brit
ish'air , and with all the qualities that
lie knew her to possess , and with that
fact staring him full in the face that
he loved her , and her alone.
His.voice trembled as he said : "Do
you mind so much , Joyce , that it will
be an insuperable bar ? Do you mean
that yau cannot say 'Yes' to me ? "
She turned ro"und and faced him , and
ho t-ould see the trouble in her eyes
and the twitching of her lips. "No , "
lhe said , in a low voice , "I don't mean
thai ; L cannot give you up. Alan. You
have made me love you ; I cannot
change my love in a day. But it has
cafct a shadow over me. I cannot re
joice over my love for you as I did
now I know this : That life cannot
give the unalloyed happines that I
thought possible half an hour ago. "
"Because you are not the first ,
Joyce ? In one sense you are the first.
I have told it you all quite truthfully
how first I felt nothing but pity for
her , and then gradually I wanted , to
shield her from the hardships of life ,
and there was no other way. I mar
ried her. "
"And she did she not love you ? "
Alan did not hesitate , nor -did he
pj ovaricate. A less truthful man than
he might have made light of Veron-
ita's devotion , but he could not. The
dead girl's passionate eyes , fixed upon
him with an exprcsion of undying
love in them , rose up before him.
'She , " he said , in a low voice "she
loved me more than her life. "
Joyce gave a little exclamation. It
was not altogether pain , but as if she
had said that she had known it well.
Of course she had loved him ! What
woman would not have loved Alan
Mackenzie ?
He said nothing , but she could see
his lips quivering. That troubled her.
She felt that he would say no more ,
but that the first words must come
from her. He hadstated , his case ; he
had pleaded with her. It was for her
to Kay."Yes" or "No. " Only he had
told her "uTe * whole truth. Some men
would have said less ; but then she
IjP
loved him for that very truthfulness ,
which would hide nothing from her.
"I wish you had not told me , " she
said. For a moment she thought that
this really was so , and that she would
rather not have known ; it was only
momentary , however.
"Would you 'rather not ha\e
known ? " he said , and looked at her
reproachfully. "Joyce , I hate having
to give you this pain ; but I have al
ways thought that the very essence of
married happiness lay in the fact that
husband and wife had no secrets from
each other. "
"Did you tell her everything ? "
asked Joyce , woman-like.
"No , dearest. God forbid that I
should wish to deprecate the girl who
loved me sof well ; but she was not
your equal. She 'was simply a pure ,
sweet , loving woman ; but she would
not have understood. She had pretty
ways of making a house homelike and
charming ; but she had but very little
education. I could not have told her
everything. Joyce , you know all about
our brief married life now. I don't
believe that you I don't believe that
you would be jealous of the dead wo
man. Now tell me straight out if you
will make me happy. I don't think
you know or can guess what you are
to me. How my whole life and soul
are bound up in you , how empty my
life would be without you. I think If
you understood that you would forget
all about the story I have told you ,
and give yourself to me , to hold and
to keep as the dearest thing in the
world , "
The tears were standing in his eyes ,
he was so much in earnest. It seemed
to him as if the making or the mar
ring of his life was in this slender
girl's hands ; and she was moved , too.
"Of course I mind , dearest , " she said.
"It I did not mind so much I should
not love you so much. Just think
how would you like it if some other
man had had my first kiss , my first
words of love ! "
"I should not like it at all ; I should
hate it , Joyce , " he said , frankly. "I
knew you would. I should have asked
you to'marry me a year ago if I had
not had this past behind me. I have
loved you well enough all the time.
It is only now that I have been pre
sumptuous enough to think that you
love me a little that I have spoken ;
'
and if .you do truly love me , Joyce ,
you will only < be sorry for all that I
have suffered in the past. "
Joyce was not an ungenerous girl ,
and though there was a certain sting
in the fact that Alan had suffered
through another woman , yet she could
feel it in her heart to pity the girl
who had only been Alan's wife for
four months , and who had died in so
tragic a manner. She rose. "Shall we
go in to the others , Alan ? " she said ,
softly.
But he caught her hand. "Not be
fore I have had my answer , Joyce.
Oh , no ! not before I have had my an
swer ! Don't be cruel , darling ! Put
me .out of pain ! "
"Dearest , " she said , "you- know
your answer. You know that I love
you , and that I would never deny my
love. This unhappy story of yours
has been a surprise to me , and a little
shock ; but it does not really make any
difference , does it , when two people
love each other ? "
"Joyce , " he cried there was the
purest joy in his tone "Joyce , you
have made me so happy that I have
no words to exp'ress my happiness.
And you will not think of this again ?
It will not be a bar between us ? It
only comes to me now and again ,
Avhen I have thought that you would
not like it. And now , Joyce , you are
cheating me of my kiss of betrothal.
Come behind this rock. "
And as Joyce was just a sweet , lov
ing girl , who had promised herself to
the man she loved , she made no de
mur , but gave him his kiss ; and they
both walked up to the house , trying
to forget the thing that had been dis
cussed between them. And , as a mat
ter of fact , they did forget it. They
were so happy in each other , and so
happy in the prospect of the new life
before them , that they actually did
forget. Alan told his story to Joyce's
father as he had told it to Joyce , and
after that he felt he had done all that
would be asked of him. He revelled
in the thought of Joyce's love , and
poor Veronica might never have ex
isted for him at all. There was noth
ing but talk of preparations for the
wedding and settlements , nothing but
congratulations and envyiags of his
luck , nothing in all this to remind him
of the simple preparations for the
civil marriage that had been the only
one possible in Rio. Joyce had begged
for a six months' engagement , Alan
had insisted on three ; and as there
was really nothing to wait for he had
his way.
He had known Joyce for more than
three years , and had met her at the
house of a mutual friend , had been
attracted to her from the first ; so that
it seemed as if they had actually been
engaged much longer than was the
case. He was still in the firm of
Dempster , only now he was a partner
instead of an employe. He had been
called to the bar , but did not practice
regularly , seeing that he did not have
much time. The three months passed
very quickly ; there was so much to
do , so much to settle. It was a very
happy time , but one evening Alan got
rather a nasty shock. He had been
seeing Joyce , and they had spent the
usual happy time together. He was
immersed in thoughts and dreams of
her , and was not looking very much
where he was going. Turning a cor
ner sharply he ran up against a man
who seemed a little unsteady in his
gait.
"I beg your pardon ! " Alan said.
The man uttered an imprecation. At
the first sound of his voice Alan
thought that it was familiar to him.
He gave a start. "Hutchinson ! " he
cried. The man looked up. A gleam
of recognition lit up his drink-sod'den
eyes , and with the recognition there
came , tooa ! gleam of hatred.
"It's you ! " he cried , and he swore
again.
"Yes , " said Alan , "and I am sorry
to see you like this. Can I do any
thing for you , Hutchinson ? "
"Do anything for me ? You ? I'll
trip you yet ! " cried the man , his
hatred flashing like a knife. "Do you
think I have forgotten how you got
me turned out , how you ruined me ?
No ! And I will be even with you yet
If I hang for it ! And there's that girl
of mine , too ! I always thought that
you had a hand in her disappearance !
I will be even with you yet , my fine
young man ! "
"Well'said Alan , coolly , "I would
have helped you if you would have let
me ; not that I regard your threats. It
was your own dishonesty and nothing
else that was your ruin. And as for
the girl , you are right there. I mar
ried her , and she was drowned ; but
she was no daughter of yours , and
you knew it. "
Hutchinson's surprise got the better
of his caution. "I brought her up , "
he said , "evenif she was not my own.
In a way she was mine. And so you
married * her , did you ? And now you
say she is dead. "
"She is dead , poor soul ! " said Alan.
"Died in the wreck of the 'Valparaiso'
four years ago ; and I'm to be married
again. I wish you would let me help
you , Hutchinson ! "
An evil sneer crossed Hutchinson's
face. "Married again , are you ? Soon ?
Well , I will wish you joy , you and
your bride. You may have an unexpected
"
pected guest at your wedding , al
though I am not quite sure. We will
see what way things will go. Good-
by , my fine gentleman ! "
He left Alan with a curious sense
that something untoward had hap
pened , although the young man could
not say what it had been.
( To be Continued. )
HISTORIC ATMOSPHERE.
Motive Is the Ground Color for His
torical Pictures.
Unless an author can maintain , with
out deviation , from the first to the last
pages of his book , the language of the
period of which he writes , his work
will be better , his pages will be more
easily read ; and whatever true atmos
phere he may be able to create in other
ways will be more convincing if he
writes in the language of his own
times. No books have a stronger fla
vor of their own period than the D'Ar-
tagnan romances'well translated into
modern English. It were as well for
an English author to attempt to give
German atmosphere to a story of Ger
man life by writing it in broken Eng
lish , as to attempt to give old-time fla
vor to an old-time tale by writing in a
tongue composed of both the old and
the new. If I am right in my conclu
sions , atmosphere may be imparted by
facts and language , subject to the con
ditions above stated. These two meth
ods , although generally attempted ,
more frequently fail than succeed.
Novels wherein old-time phrases and
historical facts only are relied upon to
give old-time color are accepted with
out question , perhaps , by those who do
not know the period of which the nov
els treat , or do not care to analyze the
question. But to'an inquiring mind ,
knowing the period , such a novel as to
its atmosphere is usually as disap
pointing as wet gunpowder. It is from
the setting of the story and from the
acts , motives , and methods of thought
of the characters that true atmosphere
may be" imparted. What the charac
ters are made to feel , do , and say give
real atmosphere. What they say is the
important matter ; not how they say it.
Motive is the ground color for all his
torical pictures. There is no period in
history of which we have a complete
view. At best we can only catch
glimpses of the environment of men
and women who have preceded us , and
who have faded into the dim , hazy
light of the past. We have but frag
mentary pictures , that come to us in
sections , like the picture-blocks of a
cnild , with many parts missing. Those
parts which we lack we try to fill in as
best we can , guiding our hands , as we
draw , by the parts we have. Charles
Major in the June Scribners.
Ingredients of Toilet Soap.
The basis of the better qualities of
toilet soap is generally curd or yellow
soap , in the making of which special
precautions are taken to insure ab
sence of free alkali. This is most im
portant , as otherwise the soap would
be altogether unsuitable for toilet pur
poses , the free alkali being injurious
to the skin. This is the reason why so
many of the cheaper laundry soaps
produce chapped hands and similar
results when used for toilet purposes.
If , on the other hand , there is an ex
cess of fat , the soap is greasy and does
not possess the cleansing properties a
good scap should. A laundry soap may
je made without much difficulty by
an amateur , but it is better to buy
whatever toilet soap is required , for
the reasons stated , and also because
special apparatus is required to make
a soap of first class quality.
TALMAGIE'S SERMON.
TALK ON ONE OF THE MISSIONS
OF CHRIST.
EfHcacy of Ulvlno Power la Healing the
World's Wounds uud Deformities The
Intimate Kclutlous of Surgery and
Theology ,
( Copyright , 1900. by Louis Klopsch. )
In this discourse Dr. Talmage ( who
is now traveling in Europe ) puts in an
unusual light the mission of Christ
and shows how divine power will yet
make the illnesses of the world fall
back ; text , Matthew xi. 5 , "The blind
receive their sight , and the lame walk ,
the lepers are cleansed and the deaf
hear. "
"Doctor , " I said to a distinguished
surgeon , "do you not get worn out
with constantly seeing so many
wounds and broken bones and distor
tions of the human body ? " "Oh , no , "
he answered , "all that is overcome by
my joy in curing them. A sublimer
and more merciful art never came
down from heaven than that of sur
gery. Catastrophe and disease entered
the earth so early that one of the first
wants of the world was a doctor. Our
crippled and agonized human race call
ed for surgeon and family physician
for many years before they came. The
first surgeons who answered this call
were ministers of religion namely ,
the Egyptian priests. And what a
grand thing if all clergymen were also
doctors , all D. D.'s were M. D.'s , for
there are so many cases where body
and soul need treatment at the same
time , consolation and medicine , theology
elegy and therapeutics. As the first
Burgeons of the world were also minis
ters of religion , may these two profes
sions always be in full sympathy ! But
under what disadvantages the early
surgeons worked , from the fact that
the dissection of the human body was
forbidden , first by the pagans , and
then by the early Christians ! Apes ,
being the brutes most like the human
race , were dissected , but no human
body might be unfolded for physi
ological and anatomical exploration ,
and the surgeons had to guess what
was inside the temple by looking at
the outside of it. If they failed in
any surgical operation , they were per
secuted and driven out of the city , as
was Archagathus because of his bold
but unsuccessful attempt to save a pa
tient.
The Surgeon In History.
But the world from the very begin
ning , kept calling for surgeons , and
their first skill is spoken of in Genesis ,
where they employed their art for the
incisions of a sacred rite , God making
surgery the predecessor of baptism ,
and we see it again in II Kings , where
Ahaziah , the monarch , stepped on
some cracked latticework in the pal
ace , and it broke , and he fell from the
upper to the lower floor , and he was
so hurt that he sent to the village of
Ekron for aid , and Aesculapius , who
wrought such wonders df surgery , that
he was deified and temples were built
for his worship at Pergamos ; and Epi-
daurus and Podelirius introduced for
the relief of the world phlebotomy ,
and Damocedes cured the dislocated
ankle of King Darius and the cancer
of his queen , and Hippocrates put suc
cessful hand on fractures and intro
duced amputation , and Praxagoras re
moved obstructions , and Herophilus
began dissection and Erasistratus
removed tumors , and Celsus , the Ro
man surgeon , removed cataract from
the eye and used the Spanish fly ; and
Heliodorus arrested disease of the
throat , and Alexander of Tralles treat
ed the eye , and Rhazas cauterized for
the prevention of hydrophobia , and
Percival Pott came to combat diseases
of the spine , and in our century we
have had , among others , a Roux , and
a Larray in France , an Astley Cooper
and an Abernethy in Great Britain and
a Valentine Mott and Willard Parker
and Samuel D. Gross in America and
a galaxy of living surgeons as brilliant
as their predecessors. What mighty
progress in the baffling of disease since
the crippled and sick of ancient cities
were laid along the streets , that people
ple who had ever been hurt or disor
dered in the same way might suggest
what had better be done for the pa
tients , and the priests of olden time ,
who were constantly suffering from
colds , received in walking barefoot
over the temple pavements had to pre
scribe for themselves , and fractures
were considered so far beyond all hu
man cure that instead of calling in the
surgeon the people only invoked the
gods !
But notwithstanding all the surgi
cal and medical skill in the world ,
with what tenacity the old diseases
hang on to the human race , and most
of them are thousands of years old ,
and in our Bibles we read of them
the carbuncles of Job and Hezekiah ,
the palpitation of the heart spoken of
in Deuteronomy , the sunstroke of a
child carried from the fields of Shu-
nem , crying , "My head , my head ! "
King Asa's disease of the feet , which
was nothing but gout ; defection of
teeth , that called for dental surgery ,
the skil of which , almost equal to any
thing modern , is still seen in the filled
molars of the unrolled Egyptian mum
mies ; the ophthalmia caused by the
juice of the newly ripe fig. leaving the
people blind by the roadside ; epilepsy ,
as in the case of the young man often
falling into the fire , and oft into the
water ; hypochondria , as of Nebuchad
nezzar , who imagined himself an ox
and going out to the fields to pasture ;
the withered hand , which in Bible
times , as now. came from the destruc
tion of the main artery or from paraly
sis of the chief nerve ; the wounds of
the man whom the thieves left for
dead on the road to Jericho and whom
the good Samaritan nursed , pouring in
oil and wine wirie to cleanse the
wound and oil to soothe it Thank God
for what eurgery has done for the al
leviation and cure of human suffering !
Burzery Without 1'ulu.
But the world wanted a surgery
without pain. Drs. Parro and Hick-
man and Simpson and Warner and
Jackson , with their amazing genius ,
came forward , and with their anaes
thetics benumbed the patient with
narcotics and ethers as the ancients
did with hasheesh and mandrake and
quieted him for a while , but at the re
turn of consciousness distress return
ed. The world has never seen but one
surgeon who could straighten the
crooked limb , cure the blind eye or
reconstruct the drum of a soundless
ear or reduce a dropsy , without any
pain at the time or any pain after , and
that surgeon was Jesus Christ , the
mightiest , grandest , gentlest and most
sympathetic surgeon the world ever
saw or ever will see , and he deserves
the confidence and love and worship
and hosanna of all the earth and hal
leluiahs of all heaven. "The blind re
ceive their sight and the lame walk ;
the lepers are cleansed , and the deaf
hear. "
I notice this surgeon had a fondness
for chronic cases. Many a surgeon ,
when he has had a patient brought to
"him , has said : "WHy was not this
attended to five years ago ? You bring
him to me after all power of recupera
tion is gone. You have waited until
there is a complete contraction of the
muscles , and false ligatures are form
ed , and ossification has taken place. It
ought to have been attended to long
ago. " But Christ the Surgeon seemed
to prefer Inveterate cases. One was a
hemorrhage of twelve years , and he
stopped it. Another was a curvature
of eighteen years , and he straightened
It. Another was a cripple of thirty-
eight years and he walked out well.
The eighteen-year patient was a wo
man bent almost double. If you could
call a convention of all the surgeons of
all the centuries , their combined skill
could not cure that body so drawn out
of shape. Perhaps they might stop it
from getting worse , perhaps they
might contrive braces by which she
might be made more comfortable , but
it is , humbly speaking , incurable. Yet
this divine surgeon put both his hands
on her , and from that doubled up pos
ture she began to rise and the em
purpled face began to take on a heal
thier hue , and the muscles began to
relax from their rigidity , and the spin
al column began to adjust itself , and
the cords of the neck began to be the
more supple , and the eyes that could
see only the ground before , now look
ed into the face of Christ with grati
tude and up toward heaven in trans
port. Straight ! After eighteen weary
and exhausting years , straight ! The
poise and gracefulness , the beauty of
healthy womanhood reinstated. The
thirty-eight years' case was a man who
lay on a mattress near the mineral
baths at Jerusalem. There were five
apartments where lame people were
brought , so that they could get the
advantage of these mineral baths. The
stone basin of the bath is still visible ,
although the waters have disappeared ,
probably through some convulsion of
nature. The bath , 120 feet long , forty
feet wide and eight feet deep. Ah ,
poor man , if you have been lame and
helpless thirty-eight years , that min
eral bath cannot restore you. Why ,
thirty-eight years is more than the av
erage human life. Nothing but the
grave will cure you. But Christ the
Surgeon , walks along these baths and
I have no doubt passes by some pa
tients who have been only six months
disordered or a year or five years , and
comes to the mattress of the man who
had been nearly four decades helpless
and to this thirty-eight year's invalid
said , "Wilt thou be made whole ?
Christ the Chief Surgeon.
The question abiteu not because the
surgeon did not understand the pro-
tractedness , the desperateness of the
case , but to evoke the man's pathetic
narrative. "Wilt thou be made whole ? "
"Would you like to get well ? " "Oh ,
yes , " says the man. "That is what I
same to these mineral baths for. lc
tiave tried everything. All the sur
geons have failed , and all the pre
scriptions have proved valueless , and I
got worse and worse , and I can neitner
move hand nor foot nor head. Oh , if
[ could only be free from this pain of
thirty-eight years ! " Christ the Sur
geon could not stand that. Bending
Dver the man on the mattress , and in a
voice tender with all sympathy , but
strong with all omnipotence , he says ,
'Rise ! " and the invalid instantly
scrambles to his knees and then puts
Dut his right foot , then his left foot ,
ind then stood upright , as though he
had never been prostrated. While he
stands looking at the doctor , with a
joy too much'to hold , the doctor says :
'Shoulder this mattress , for you are
aot only well enough to walk , but well
snough to work , and start out from
these mineral baths. Take up thy bed
ind walk ! " Oh. what a surgeon for
: -hronic cases then and for chronic
: ases now !
This is not applicable so much to
those who are only a little hurt of sin
ind only for a short time , but to those
prostrated of sin twelve years , eight
een years , thirty-eight years. Here is
i surgeon able to give immortal health.
'Oh , " you say , "I am so completely
iverthrown and trampled down of sin
: hat I cannot rise. " Are you flatter
lown than this patient at the mineral
jaths ? No. Then rise. In the name
) f Jesus of Nazareth , the surgeon who
jffers you his right hand of help , I bid
: hee rise. ' Not cases of acute sin , but
) f chronic sin those who have not
irayed for thirty-eight years , those
vho have not been to church for thir-
y-eight years , those who have been
jamblers , or libertines , or thieves , or
mtlaws , or blasphemers , or infidels ,
> r aetheists , or all these together , for
hirty-eight years. A Christ for exi
gencies ! A Christ for a dead lift ! A
iurgeon who never loses a case !
In speaking of Christ as a surgeon I
nust consider him aa an oculist or eye
doctor , and an aurist or ear doctor.
Was there ever such another oculist ?
That he was particularly sorry for the
blind folks I take from the fact that
the most of his works vjoro with the
diseased optic nerves. I have not time
to count up th'q number of blind people
ple mentioned who got his euro. Two
blind men in ono house ; also one who
was , born blind ; so that it was not re
moval of a visual obstruction , but the
creatioir of the cornea and ciliary mus
cle and crystalline lens and retina and
optic nerve and tear gland ; also the
blind men of Bethsalda , cured by the
saliva which the Surgeon took from
the tip of his own tongue and put upon
the eyelids ; also two blind men who
eat by the wayside.
Unlooalng the Harrod Tongue.
Our surgeon , having unbarred hla
ear , will now unloose the shackle of
his tongue. The surgeon will use the
same liniment or salVo that he used
on two occasions for the euro of blind
people namely , the moisture of his
own mouth. The application is made ,
and lo , the rigidity of the dumb ton
gue is relaxed , and between the tongue
and teeth was born a whole vocabu
lary and words flew into expression :
He not only heard , but he talked. Ono
gate of his body swung In to let sound
enter , and another gate swung out to
let sound depart. Why Is It that , while
other surgeons used knives and for
ceps and probes and stethoscopes , this
surgeon used only the ointment of hl8
own lips ? To show that all the cura
tive power we ever feel conies straight
from Christ. And If he touches us not
we shall be deaf as a rock and dumb as
a tomb. Oh , thou greatest of all ar
tists , compel us to hear and help us to
speak !
But whet were the surgeon's fees for
all these cures of eyes and ears and
tongues and withered hands and
crooked backs ? The skill and the
pninlessness of the operations weru
worth hundreds and thousands of
dollars. Do not think that the cases
he took were all moneyless. Did ho
not treat the nobleman's son ? Did ho
not doctor the ruler's daughter ? Did
he not affect a cure in the house of a
centurian of great wealth who had ouD
of his own pocket built a synagogue ?
They would have paid him large fees ,
and there weros hundreds of wealthy
people in Jerusalem and among the
merchant castles along Lake Tiberias
who would have given tills surgeon
houses and lands and all they had for
such cures as he could effect. For
critical cases in our time great sur
geons have received $1,000 , $5,000 and
in one case I know of $50,000 , but the
faurgeon of whom I speak received not
a shekel , not a penny , not a farthing.
In his whole earthly life we know of
his having had but 02 V cents. When
his taxes were due , by his omniscience
he knew of a fish in the sea which had
swallowed a piece of silver money , as
fish are apt to swallow anything
bright , and he sent Peter with a hook
which brought up that fish , and from
its mouth was extracted a Roman sta
ter , or C2 cents , the only money he
ever had , and that he paid out for
taxes. This greatest surgeon of all the
centuries gave all his services then and
offers all his services now free of all
charge. "Without money and without
price" you may spiritually have your
blind eyes opened , and your deaf ears
unbarred , and your dumb tongues
loosened , and your wounds healed and
your soul saved. If Christian people
get hurt of body , mind or soul , let
them remember that surgery is apt
to hurt , but it cures , and you can af
ford present pain for future glory. Be
sides that , there are powerful anaes
thetics in the divine promises that
soothe and alleviate. No ether or
chloroform or cocaine ever made ono
so superior to distress as a few drops
of that magnificent anodyne : "All
things work together for good to those
who love God. " "Weeping may endure
for a night , but joy conieth in the
morning. "
iC the World's Wound * .
What a grand thing for our poor
human race when this surgeon shall
have completed the treatment of the
world's wounds ! The day will come
when there will be no more hospitals.
for there will be no more sick , and no
more eye and ear infirmaries , for there
will be no more blind or deaf , and no
more deserts , for the round earth shall
be brought under arboriculture , and
no more blizzards or sunstrokes , for
the atmosphere will be expurgated or
scorch and chill , and no more war , for
the swords shall come out of the foun
dry bent into pruning hooks , while in
the heavenly country we shall see the
victims of accident or malformation
or hereditary ills on earth become-the
athletes in Elysian fields. Who is that
man with such brilliant eyes close be
fore the throne ? Why , that is the man
who , near Jericho , was blind , and our
surgeon cured his ophthalmia ! Who
is that erect and graceful and queenly
woman before the throne ? That was
the one whom our surgeon found bent
almost double and could in nowise lift
up herself , and he made her straight.
Who is that listening with such rap
ture to the music of heaven , solo incit
ing into chorus , cymbal responding
: o trumpet , and then himself joining
in the anthem ? Why , that is the man
.vhom our surgeon found deaf and
lumb on the beach cf Galilee and by
: wo touches opened ear gate an'l
uouth gate. Who is that around whom
: he crowds are gathering with adinir-
ng looks and thanksgiving and cries
> f "Oh , what he did for me ! Oh , what
le did for my family ! Oh , .vhat he
lid for the world ! " That is the sur-
jeon of all the centunes , the oculist.
he aurist , the emancipator , the Sa
vior. No pay he took on earth. Come ,
low , and let all heaven pay him witn
vorship that shall never end and a
eve that shall never die. On his head
ie all the crowns , in his hands be all
he scepters and at his feet be all the
vorlds !
Doing is the proper end of doctrine
