Bellefonte, Pa., January 15, 1904.
EI SRA FS ray.
TURNING ANOTHER LEAF.
Another new leaf! Yes, again ’tis the time
When we pause 'mid the pleasures of feasting
and rhyme :
And listen, while conscience reminds us
anew
Of the things that we ought and we oughtin't
to do.
The many small vices that cause such ex-
pense
Must be banished for aye with a virtue in-
tense ;
And the greater ones, too, if there happens to
be
Any left in the make-up of you or of me.
And yet, when I carefully look o'er the list
Of the earthly temptations which I must re-
sist,
In candor I'm bound to confess it appears
Like the very same leaf I've been turning for
years.
— Washington Evening Star.
A THEFT CONDONED.
One of the seven houses in Pawnee faced
soward the south. It was the house where
Mrs. Dyer lived. The other houses faced
the west. The railroad track was across
the street from these houses, with a broad
plank walk and a little unpainted box of a
station.
The houses in Pawnee were all one-story
wooden buildings, with the gable-ends to-
ward the street. Mrs. Dyer’s house was
painted a dull red; the other houses were
not painted.
It had been a warm day and the sun
shone glaringly on the unbroken prairie
around Pawnee.
The town was on a slight rise of ground.
You could see more than twenty miles in
three directions. A narrow strip of woods
broke the view on the north, balf a mile
away.
Mrs. Dyer stood in her front doer and
looked off over the prairie. The railroad
track wound away toward the south and
disappeared where the earth and sky seem-
ed to meet. The sun was going down and
the short thin prairie-grass looked white
and gold. The railroad track shone like
silver. There were no clouds. In places
the blue of the sky was so light that it was
almost white. The air was cool and clear
after the warm day.
“The sun’s going down without any fuss
to-night,’”” Mrs. Dyer said, sitting down on
the doorstep. ‘‘Just droppin’ off the edge,
like the string that held it bad been cut.’’
She folded her arms in her lap and turn-
ed her face from the bright light. She was
a small, old woman with thin features.
She wore her hair, which was still very
black, combed smoothly behind her ears.
Her eyes were black, with a keen look of
resistance in them. This look was em-
phasized in the lines around her mouth.
Mrs. Dyer lived alone. Her son kept a
little store and the postoffice in the front
room of one of . the other houses. Two
years before when her husband bad died
Mrs. Dyer had come west to be near her
son. Her son had invited her to live with
them, but she had refused.
‘You ain’t got room for your own. I
didn’t come out here to he beholden to
anybody. I'll have my own place, and
you’ll see enough of me, dodgin’ in and
out, as it is.”’
Sbe had spent the greater part of the
time watching the carpenters at work on
her house, during her forced stay at her
son’s, urging them to work faster, and at
last in her impatience moved in before they
had finished shingling the roof. She bad
decided to postpone the plastering until
some time when she should go away on a
visit.
The sun had gone down.
soft gray and very still.
‘Well, I mustn’t sit here gettin’ the
cramps,’ she said, getting up from the
step. ‘‘I do say I ain’t seen them mover
wagons before.
stopped since I been sitting here. They
camped near enough! I suppose they’ll
buy something up to the store. The movers
bring in John quite a little off and
on. There comes Jobn up this way. I
wonder now what he’s comin’ up here for.
What you want, Jobn? They ain’t any-
thing the matter, is they?’ ‘she called.
John came slowly toward her. He was
a large man, bus his clothes, which hung
loosely, gave him the appearance of being
thin. He wore a soft felt hat pulled over
his forehead. His eyes were like his moth-
er’s in color, but there was none of the de-
termination in them.
‘‘Have you seen the movers campin’ over
yonder?’ he asked, pointing across the
prairie, {
*‘Yes, I just was lookin’ at them when
I see you comin’ up.”
‘Well, they was just two of them up to
the store, and they was evil-lookin’, I can
tell yon. Martby was in the store and see
them, and she would have it you must
come over and stay to our house to-night.”
“Why, I ain’ afraid of movers, as I
know of.” .
*‘She don’t want to think of yon stayin’
here by yourself, and I'll own I don’t
neither.”’ HY :
“Well, I ain’t goin’ to leave my hed
‘cause some movers happen to be campin’
near. There’s always movers comin’ and
goin.’ I gness if they stole me the’d drop
me when it come light enough to see what
they’d got.”’ : . *
“Well, I think you’d better come.
Marthy won’t feel easy unless you do.”
“I ain’t goin’ to be so silly, to please
Marthy or no one. I ain’t got anything
they want, without it’s that money I’ve
saved to have my carpet-rage wove up, and
they’d never think of lookin’ in a ean for
The air was a
it. It’s ove of them cove.oyster cans. I've | -
made a pin-cushion that fits down into the
can, and sewed a silk covér around the out-
side. Yeu’d never know it was a can to
look at it. I see one made something like
it when I lived east.” :
“You ain't got much money in it, have
ou!” 3
_ “It’s all ip nickels. I’ve been savin’ of
it up for near two years. Oh, I guess they
must be four or five dollars. I ain’t count-
ed it just lately.”
“Well, I think you're foolish to stay
here by yourself, when vou can just a-
well come over. I think you'd bette:
change your mind and come along.’
He turned and’ ‘went back along the
grassy road ‘toward ‘his own home. He
walked with his:head bent down and with
a shambling gait: He was dreading his
wife's reproaches that ‘he had not been
able to induce his, mother to come hack’
with him, He did not believe there was
any real danger in letting his mother stay
alone. owas Bs
‘I guess I'ain’t’ foin’ to set up for a
coward, at my" ‘titie bt 1ife,’’ ‘said Mrs.
Dyer. ‘‘E:wonller: tow if "Marthy really
thought I'di@dmetteri ki vo Ton 7!
DR To 1 2 I.
cA trga ie? dood
I wonder now if they've’
‘scattered money.
A
An express train was coming from the
south. The light from the eungive could
be seen for some time before there was any
noise from the train. Night had come
quickly. It was alieady quite dark.
Mrs. Dyer took off her gingham apron
and put it over her bead, aud stood watch-
ing the light from the engine as it drew
nearer, and finally when the train bad
went into the house. There were but two
rooms in the house—the living-room and a
small bed room opening ont of it. Mrs.
Dyer went over to the window and looked
out.
“It does beat me how soon night comes
out here,’’ she said; ‘‘back in York State
we had a little between-time. There's the
moon shinin’ away as if the sun badn’t
only juss left. You can see the movers
plain as if is, was day. They’re much as
half a mile away, tco. They've got a big
fire. 'T ain’t likely there’s any more harm
in them than there’s in me. I'm goin’ to
get out that money and count it. They
must be most enough to have the carpet
wove by this time. Six dollars, they say
it’ll cost me. They never charge no such
price as that back east.’
The can in which she kept the money
was on a shelf behind the stove. She went
over and took it down, and then sat down
in an old rocking-chair, not far from the
window. The moonlight shone in brighs-
ly. She took the cushion out of the top of
the can and emptied the money into her
lap. There was quite a pile of it.
“One would think there was considerable
more ’n there is to look at it,”’ she said,
fingering the money. ‘If you could call
these pieces dollars ’stid of nickles, ’t
would be. Might as well say five dollar
pieces while I’m about it, I suppose.”
She began counting the money, dropping
each piece into the can as she did so. She
enjoved the sound of the money’s rattling.
Two or three times she forgot her count,
and emptied it back into her lap and be-
gan again. Suddenly she started, gather-
ing the money up in her dress. She went
over and looked out of the window. The
prairie was flooded with moonlight. The
light from the fire in the movers’ camp lit
up the white canvas-covered wagons.
Everything was perfectly still. She went
over and locked the door.
‘It must have been a cloud passing over
the moon. They ain’t any chance of a
‘person’s getting out of sight so quick, un-
less he just went round the house.”’
She stood listening for some time. ‘It’s
all my imagination. I’m going to put the
money right back and go to hed. They
ain’t no such great rush about its being
counted, anvhow.”’
She sat down and put the money care-
fully back into the can. She did not let it
fall in this time,but put each piece in care-
fally, counting it as she did so.
“There, they’s five dollars and fifty-five
cents,—’most enough,’’ holding the can
between her hands and looking toward the
shelf and then toward the window.
*‘Now I’m goin’ to bed. I ain’t goin’
to be so silly as to think any one’s goin’ to
get it. They'd never think of lookin’ in
this can anyhow. They’d never know it
was a can.’’
She pus it back on the shelf, then turn-
ed and looked quickly toward the window,
trembling.
‘‘Well, I didn’t think I was so silly, but
seems like I see somebody goin’ by that
window again. I badn’t any business
countin’ the money and thinkin’ about it.
That's what’s upset me. If I'd lis the
lamp and put down the window curtain and
gone to bed in a natural way, I'd been all
right.”
She lit the lamp and drew down the cur-
tain. It was a dark-green paper shade.
Then ‘she went into the little bedroom,
undressed quickly, blew out the light, and
got into bed, leaving the door into the
other room opon. She did not go to sleep,
but lay there listening, the fear growing
every minute stronger and more beyond
her control.
Once she sat up and looked out into the
other room. Then she got up and pulled
aside the curtain in her little bedroom and
looked out. The moon had gone under a
heavy cloud and the night was growing
dark. She could see the other houses of
the town from this window. There was a
light burning in the back room of her son’s
house. It gave her a wonderfal sense of
security. She went back to bed and was
soon asleep. Some time near one o’clock
she woke suddenly and sat up in bed. The
wind was blowing around tbe house and it
was raining.
‘“There, that rain-trough ain’t put up,
so’s I'll catch any water in that barrel !
The tubs ought to be put ous, too. I ain’t
had any soft water to wash with I don’t
know when.” * SRE
All the fear that she had had in the even-
ing was gone. She began to think of put-
ting on her clothes and going out to place
the tubs. As she sat there in bed, the
window in the other room was opened soft-
ly. A spool of thread that stood on the
upper casing fell to the floor. She heard
the green paper shade give way—then ghe
knew that some one was in the room.
“ “Well, I wonder if I’m goin’ to set here
stiff and let them take that money,’’ she
thought. ‘‘Just as like as not they’d kill
me if I'd interfere. They no doubt have
their weapons ready.’’ :
Everything was perfectly still for some
time. Then she heard the movement of
some one crossing the room.
‘i+*Sennds as if they was makin’n’ straight
for that shelf ! They are! I can feel their
hand moving right along the shelf toward
it!
She sprang out of bed and shut the door
between the two rooms with such force
that the house trembled. At that minute
the can containing the money fell with a
crash to the floor. The coins flew'in all
diréetions. Mrs. Dyer partly opened the
door and looked out. In the dim light she
could see the form of a man. He had one
hand on the window sill ready to spring
‘through the open window.
‘If you’ve got any of that money, you
drop it !”” Mrs. Dyer screamed, forgetting
all fear and coming out into the room.
‘‘Don’s you leave this house till you drop
every cent you;stole!”’ . i
- The man disappeared through the win-
dow. Mrs. Dyer went and looked out... She
could see him for a short distance running
across the prairie. “He was going in the
direction of the wagons. She put down
the window and lit the lamp. and drested.
Then she found a nail and fastened. the
window securely. After this was done she
got down on her hands and knees and’ be-
wan creep around the floor, picking up the
Ic was a Jong and diffi-
ounls task. The money had rolled and hid-
den iteelf in every conceivable nook and
crack in the room. : pa
At last she gave up the search. She had
found all but six of the pieces, and these
8he decided the man must have taken. ‘Her
loss gould not have tronbled her more if i$
had been her entire hoard.
-. ‘To think of my standin’ in there and
lettin’ him pick it up after I'd ‘scared him
into knockin’ it off the shelf ! + As ‘soon asf
is begins to wet light I believe 11 go.down
SOIL BIR SR eg i
‘hung behi
dashed by the little station she turned and |
Salve.
to the wagon and make him give it up.
Like’s any way he’ll hitch right up aud get
off without waitin’ for it to be light.”
She decided that it would not do to risk
the safety of the money in the can again,
and after counting it the second time, she
tied it into on old stocking-leg and buried
it in the depths of the paper-rag bag that
her bedroom door.
“There ain’t any use goin’ to bed again
now; it'll soon be mornin.’ I believe I'll
look over those beans I'm going to cook,
and then get the carpet-rags down out of
the loft and look them over and see if
they’re in a condition to send away. I
half believe I'll take them over to the wom-
an to-morrow or next day and not wait to
save up the rest of the money the way I
begun. Or perbaps she’ll wait for the
balance.’’ ,
The morning was clear, and the sun,
which came early at that time of the year,
lit up the wet prairie-grass and made it
"dance and sparkle like jewels.
Mrs. Dyer waited impatiently for the
first light to see if the movers had broken
camp. When it came she saw that they
were still there, though evidently making
preparations to go.
It was broad daylight when Mrs. Dyer
put on her sunbonnet and started acriss
the prairie toward the wagons. Her cour-
age had nearly forsaken her. and at one
time she had given up the idea of going at
all, but when she saw that they were. get-
ing ready to go the sense of her loss was
too strong to let her remain.
It was alonger walk to the wagon than
she had thought. The prairie-grass was
still very wet and draggled her dress. She
was tired after the long night, and before
she bad reached the wagons she wished she
had not come.
She found the men bitching the horses.
There were two of them. The one woman
of the camp was sitting up in one of the
wagons, ready to go. She was very thin
and looked sick. Her blue calico sun-
bonnet hung loosely about her face. She
looked so weak and child-like that it went
to Mrs. Dyer’s heart.
‘‘Good mornin’ !"’ "she said, looking
first at the men and then at the woman.
No one made any reply. The woman
looked at her absently with pale bine eyes.
‘‘You’re sick, ain’t you?’ Mis. Dyer
said, going up to the side of the wagon.
‘“Yes, I be,”’ she said,in a whining tone,
bardly looking at her visitor.
‘‘What’s the master with you? I should
not think you’d he travelin’ over the coun-
try this way when yon can’t hardly sit
up.”
‘‘That’s what we’re trav’lin’ for. Jeff's
taking me out to Arkansas Springs. They
say it’ll cure me. I don’t believe it will.
We've got out of money and I don’t ges
enough to eat. I feel like I'd die before I
get there. I wish I would, I get so tired
ridin’ all day.”
The other wagon with one of the men
had started. The woman’s husband went
around to the other side of the wagon and
sprang in, sitting down beside his wife.
“Stop your gabblin’ to everybody that
comes along side of the wagon,’’ he said
roughly, and taking up the lines he started
off across the prairie after the other wagon.
Mrs. Dyer stood watching them for a
minute, and then walked slowly back to-
ward the house.
. ‘To think of that sick woman ridin’
clear out to Arkansas Springs to get well,
and they out of money and her goin’ hun-
gry ? 1 declare I feel as if I ought to made
them wait and give her every cent of that
carpet-money. I’ll never look at that rag
carpet but I'll see just how sick and hun-
gry she looked. TI half believe I wish he’d
stole it all.””—By Gertrude Smith, in the
Century Magazine.
Ruth Cleveland Dead.
Expired from Heart Failure During Attack of
Diphtheria. She was lil Four Days.
Ruth Cleveland, the eldest child of ex-
President Cleveland, died at the Cleveland
home in Princeton, N. J., on last Thurs-
day very unexpectedly, the immediate
cause of death being a weakening of the
heart action during a mild attack of diph-
theria. Dr. Wyckhoff the attending phy-
sician, said that Miss Cleveland had been
ill with a mild form of diphtheria for four
days, and that the heart affection was not
anticipated. She was 12 years old. The
other children show no signs of diphthe-
ria.
Dr. Joseph D. Bryant, who has for many
years been the family physician of the
Clevelands, was summoned from New York,
but did not arrive until after Miss Cleve-
Jand’s death. Mis. Cleveland is prostrated
at the death of her daughter. }
While enjoying her . Christmas vacation
Miss Cleveland contracted. a severe cold,
but no disease of a serious nature was evi-
dent until a few days ‘ago when she was
taken ill and was unable to leave her room.
In response to many inquiries, former
President Cleveland gave out the follow-
ing statement. 5
‘‘After a few days’ illness, ‘which began
{ with an attack’ of tomsilitis, and developed
suddenly into diphsheria, our oldest daugh-
ter, Ruth, died snddenly.”’ ha
Ruth Cleveland was born on October 3,
1891, in her father’s residence at 618
Madison avenue, New York, after’ Mr.
Cleveland had served his first term as pres-
ident, She was named after Mrs. Cleve:
land’s grandmother, and as ‘Baby Ruth’’
was a great favorite in Washington society
during her father’s’ second term in"the
‘White House. Mr. and Mrs, Cleveland
have four remaining children, Esther, who
was born in the White Tlonse, September
9, 1893; Marion, born at Gray Gables,
Buzzards Bay, July ‘7, 1895; Richard
Folsom Cleveland, born . October 28,
1897; and Francis Grover Cleveland, born
at Gray Gables, Buzzard’s Bay, July 18,
1903. : 4
Refused to Pay ‘for Cold Ride.’
Aged Woman Defies Company ‘and Is Sent
to Jail. in ¥en url
NEW YORK, Jan.9.—Mary Cunningham
60 years old was arrested yesterday 'alter-
noon on" complaint of Michael Sheeban,
ticket chopper of the Third avenue''L,”’ at
One Hundred and Thirty-eighth street.
Sheehan ‘said the woman refused to buy a
ticket, and’ when remionstrated with, 'de-
olared that the company had no right to
| demand fare for ladies in cold cars. .. -
When arraigned before Magistrate Baker
the woman entered into a tirade against
¢old cars and the trandportation compabies.
She was fined $3 and locked up.
A FRIGHTENED HORSE. —Running’ like
‘mad’ down the street’ dumping the ‘oc
cupants, ora hundred other; accidents, are
every .day occurrences. It hehooves every-
body to have a reliable Salve ‘handy and
there’s none as good as Bucklen’s Arnica
Burns, Cats, “Sores, Eczema and
Piles, disappear quickly: uiider its soothing’
effect. R250. at Green’s drug store. . ..°
TL Ah a
: ——Subsoribe forthe, WATCHMAN: wie
Soranigds lame Wo lL a
part proposed to submit to it.
|. whether one believes this a literal approach
‘worship the ‘Lord,
i Ewpithithe ‘Word of? God is* Hiei” brilliautly
PLEASANT FIELDS Of HOLY WRIT.
Save for my daily range
Among the plesrunt fields ot Holy Writ,
1 might despair. — Tennyson,
THE “INTERNATIONAL SUNDAY-SCHOOL - LESSON:
First Quarter. Lesson lll. Mat iii, 13-iv, 11
Sunday January 17, 1904,
BAPTISM AND TEMPTATION OF JESUS
Jesus’ consciousness of his divine mis-
siou, which had been first quickened into
life in his father’s house eighteen years be-
fore, had now flowed out into the full ap-
prehension of his Messianic character and
work. He wiped the sweat of manual la-
bor from his brow for the last time. He
laid down his tools of bis craft, and closed
the door of the carpenter-shop hehind him
forever. His forerunner had come more
than half-way up the Jordan Valley to
meet him. Indeed, he was a scant twenty
miles away. With what sacred emotions
Jesus went to his epipbany. his inaogara-
tion in the sight of heaven and earth! At
the close of one day’s preaching, when per-
haps this torch of truth had flamed most
fiercely, and the last con-cious-stricken
sinner had taken upon him the seal of a
new life, the Nazarene approached the Bap-
tist. By signs infallible, John kuew the
Messiah stood before him. There was
nothing fortuitous in Jesus’ request. He
left his Galilean home for the express pur-
pose of receiving baptism of the forerunner.
It seemed incovngruous to John that the
less should bless the greater. He was iu
the act of hindering him. He who had been
father-confessor to the nation, now turned
confessionist and cried, ‘‘I have need to be
baptized of thee !”” A mock humility
would have persisted in the refusal. John
showed his faith by obeying a command
that wae incomprehensible. Jesus’ reply
is the second recorded utterance of his lips
—the first of his public ministry; it is his
inaugural to his Messianic office, ‘‘Suffer
it to beso now.’” That ‘‘now?” signifies
the transitoriness of his humiliation.
‘For thus it becometh nus to fulfill all
righteousness’’—the perfection of his iden-
tification with humanity. What was obli-
gatory on man was binding upon the man
Jesus.
The temptation of Jesus has been declar-
ed the most difficult of all the events of
sacred history to interpret; but the diffi-
colty is reduced to a minimum if one keeps
in mind that Jesus had a true human soul,
with all its natural powers. It has been
well said that in this fierce conflict, Jesus
raised himself from the state of natural
and instinctive innocence to a holiness of
choice—a perilous transit, in which the
first Adam fell, but in which the second
Adam conquered by the sole arms of faith
and prayer, and not by girding on as an
impenetrable panoply his eternal Godhead.
Jesus had become aware of the mighty
miracle-working power with which he was
invested; also of the lowly and suffering
way in which his Messianic kingdom was
to be established. These disclosures were
enough to impel him to some uninhabited
place, where, free from interruption, he
might adjust himself to his calling, and
develop a plan of procedure. ‘‘The forty-
day mountain,” if that was the site of
‘Jesus’ trial, was a place strangely in har-
mony with his experiences. Just as Jesns
emerged from his long period of absorbed
meditation, and his physical nature as-
serted its claims, the tempter injected the
thought, *‘If you really are, as you imag-
ine, the Son of God, command these loaf-
shaped stones to be changed into bread,
and by that means assure yourself of your
divinity, and appease your hunger.”” Bus
Jesus responded: ‘‘The Israelites were
forty years learning the dependence upon
the simple word and promise of God.
With theis example I ought to learn the
lesson in forty days.” Again Jesus felt
himself to be standing on a dizzy height.
The devil wanted bim to entertain in his
mind the purpose of casting himself down;
but Jesus considered that to make an
emergency for the sake of display would
be despicable. Finally, Jesus knew he
was to set up a kingdom on earth—slowly,
and by his own suffering. Now, the king-
dom displayed to him as in a panorama
are offered to him instantaneously by the
god of this world, if he will serve him as
well as his Father, and make his mission a
temporal one, such as the Jews were ex-
pecting. The mortal nature of Jesus
rises to its full height, as with holy wrath
he scorns the very suggestion, and cries,
‘‘Be gone !"? to the tempter.
THE TEACHER'S LANTERN
In his baptism Jesus was both identified
with and separated from sinners. After all
the people had been baptized, he apart
from them, received the rite. and John
expressly affirmed that he stood in no need
of it as a sign of repentance or cleansing:
but for exemplary purposes, he on his own
Having
been circumcised —*‘redeemed’’ by his
parents—baving ‘offered his sacrifices and
attended the feasts, so would he be faithful
to this -latest ritualistic requirement, and
thus fqlfill all jthe ceremony that typi-
fied the desire for righteousness.
* * *
Some time since, there was talk of a
patent bullet-proof cloth, which could be
cut and made into garments; which should
absolutely protect the wearer. Did the
divinity of Jesus form such an impenetra-
ble armor? "Then, how was he tempted,
as we are?’ His was J sham fight in thas
case. ! :
: * LA
The human was not overslavghed by
the divine. The appeal of the tempter was
to the human soul of Jesus. ~ Yet he was
sinless; The prince of this world found
nothing in him, ; ,
* * *
It is entirely ‘an _ indifferent matter
of a personal devil or a figurative descrip:
tion of a moral struggle entirely snbjective
The outcome is the same. In this exposi-
tion personification is used merely as a
matter of convenience, not as an expression
of belief. PF ¥ Ma '
ra
The devil showed Jesus a short out to his
kingdom. = He is . doing the same for
men to-day. He whispers to the bank
cashier: ‘‘why plod along as this slow pace?
‘Why let these funds lie idle? Under your
skillful manipulation you can make them
donble themselves. You can readily re-
place them: and, if your conscience ever
troubles you, von can put a poultice on it
by endowing'a‘dollege.?” :
' * * 0 %
The devil has yet the subtle power to
spread @ muage of all the kingdoms of
€arth; aud all their glory and ‘‘barbaric
gems of gold’’ before the eyes of the am-
bitions, and proffer them if only ohe will
install him as master. Alas! how many
fail’ to thrust the tempter through. with the |
sword of ‘the Spirit, and say,‘''It stands
written—an’ abiding, eternal command—=
and: him ‘only ‘shalt
* *
thou.serve.) ” ..... : i
er ie Ta, fg
“Thie’ advantage of perfect familiarigy
*
SETI
/
exemplified. The sword of the spi1is is the
believer's trustiest offensive weapon.
CHILD STUDY AND SUNDAY SCHOOL METH-
ODS.
The danger is of leaning too hard upon
the ‘‘helps;’’ of deeming them indispensa-
‘ble $o the study of the lesson;of putting off
preparation to the close of the week because
the ‘‘help’’ is handy. It may be an ‘‘old
saw,” but it i# a good one, ‘‘Mark, learn,
inwardly digess.”’ This is a work of time.
Again, if one always uses the same help
and follows it closly, he is predestinated to
become stereotyped. - Assert your selfhood
Take the pleasure, occasionally at least, of
a little independent research. Make your
own analysis; find your own illustrations;
emphasize the points you think most im-
portant. Your class will feel the pleasura-
ble thrill which always somes with orig-
inalisy. You will feel it yourself. If
not before at least as you start to the class,
throw away the ‘‘help.”” Have nothing in
your band but a Bible. Have the rest of
it in your head and heart. Don’t hobble
to the class on a crutch, or even a cane.
You have seen, no doubt, the patent-medi-
cine advertisement representing the rheu-
matic, cured and smiling. tossing away his
crutch and cane. That ought to be the
picture of the model teacher as he starts to
his class. The best use one can make of
lesson helps is to throw them away, after
they have once ‘been studied with care.
Pity the teacher who must needs hobble to
his class with a Journal under one arm and
a Times under the other. , Pity the class
mora!
SUNDAY, JANUARY 24TH, 1904.
Jesus Rejected at Nazareth, Lesson IV.
Luke iv, 16-30.
That synagogue in Nazareth was a plain,
small, rectangular structure, its only effort
at embellishment being 1n the form of a
Greek portico, with the conventional He-
brew-twisted foliage for ornament. Here
stand the two alms-boxes—that on the
right for the poor of the congregation, that
on the left for the pilgrim Jew. The inte-
rior vies with the exterior in plainness.
‘Plain as a pipe-stem’’ certainly applies
here. Common wooden benches seat the
congregation. In a recess in the rear wall
is a chest exactly proportioned after the
ark of the covenant, only not overlaid with
gold, and destitute of cherubim. It faces
toward Jerusalem, and contains the scrolls
of the law and prophets. In front is the
reader’s desk, and in front of it the elevat-
ed stalla, the ‘‘chief seats,’’ for which there
was often an unseemly scramble. The con-
gregation gathers. The angel, or president
of the synagogue, is in his place, with
veiled face. The rulers mount to she chief
seats. They are on dress-parade, with
their blue ribbons and white phylacteries.
Strange sight thie, an audience of men !
Where are the women? Talk about sepa-
rate sittings! The women not only sit
apart, but entirely out of view. In a gal-
lery behind the minister sit the matrons
and maids of Israel. Service begins. The
minister steps into the pulpit. The au-
dience rises. They burst out into the reci-
tation of the Shema. (Dent. vi. 4-9, ete.)
The minister, with veiled face and hands
spread toward heaven, chants a prayer. He
opens the ark, takes out the roll of the law,
finds she passage appointed to be read, calls
a layman from the congregation, and has
him read it. The scroll of the law was then
returned, and that of the prophet brought
out. It was just at this juncture, in Naza-
reth, shat the minister, glancing over the
audience, and noticing the benignant coun-
tenance of a stranger, calls him to the pul-
pit and puts the roll of the prophet Isaiah
in his hands. Jesus found the place where
it is written : = ‘The Spirit of the Lord is
upon me.”’ That audience could not have
been ignorant who was occupying their
pulpit that morning. The fame of Jesus
bad reached the city where he had been
brought up. His baptism by John Baptist
his cleansing of the temple,—news of these
matters must have been brought by return-
ing pilgrims. They had certainly heard of
the miracles in Capernaum, if not at Cana,
too.
Jesus did his best to propitiate his audi-
tors. He might have selected a paragraph
setting forth his regal character. But, in-
stead he chose one which pictured him as a
lowly messenger of helpfulness, and he
carefully stopped short of the sentence
which declared his judicial office. He had
purposely delayed his coming in order that
the fame of what he did and said in other
places might reach Nazareth, and overcome,
if possible, the contempt which was bred by
familiarity. He almost succeeded. There
was a sweeb persuasiveness in voice and
manner. There was a veritable impersona-
tion of humility—a self-obliviousness that
was captivating to the last degree. The fate
of Nazareth trembled in the balance. In
audible terms, as well as by look and ges-
ture, according to the free manner of the
synagogue as well as to the demonstrative
custom of Orientals generally, they indicat-
ed their admiration of both speaker and
work spoken. Bat as the sermon proceed-
ed, the reaction set in. Jesus was perfect-
ly aware that it was coming. He knew |
what was in man. He knew he was to be
rejected before he set foot in Nazareth; hut
love and sympathy for his townsmen con-
strained him not to pass them by. Those
who a moment before were wondering at
the graciousness of his words, were now vo-
ciferating about his low birth and bumble
profession, and resenting his mild claim to
the Messiahship. They were saying to him:
‘If you are really the promised one, why
don’t you work a miracle on yourself to be-
gin with? Convert your poverty into
wealth, your weakness into strength, and
we will believe vou!” Then their loeal
pride, their village jealousy, began to as-
sert itself as they cried : **Why did you
not favor your own city with yonr miracles
instead of Capernaum ?’’ Jesus half apolo-
gizes for his fellow-townsmen as he says :
“I am only meeting the prophet’s fate.
My towns-folks are not doing worse than
Israel in general.” But it was hie next
word which proved a veritable firebrand in
their hearts. It was the suggestion that as
Elijah and Elisha passed over the unworthy
descendants of Abraham and conferred their
gracious benefits upon Gentiles, so he, who
was their prototype, must do likewise.
‘“What ! the inalienable rights of the elect
‘people go to Gentile doge ?”’ The syna-
gogue is in an uproar. The pendulum of
feeling has swung from the point of admira-
tion to the opposite extreme of vindictive
batred. :
Service closed. in a most uncommon and
unseemly manner that day. There was no
closing hymn, in which the sopranoand al-
to came pouring through the lattice from
the choir invisible, to blend sweetly with
the tenor and basso. There was no bless-
ing or benediction, as was wont, pronounc-
ed by priest or invoked -by laymen. The
‘synagogue had judicial prerogatives. As
Renan says, ‘‘Each was a little independ-
ent republic, each could pronounce sentence
‘for penal offénse.”’ "This is exactly what
the synagogue of Nazareth did. It excom-
.| municated Jesus on the spot. : It cast him
out judicially. It proceeded to put him to
déath in a legal manuver; casting down fom
a precipice being a lawful sabstitute for
stoning. Jesus did not elnde bis enraged
ueighhors by either striking them with
blindness or making himself invisible to
them. Luke expressly says: ‘‘He passed
through the midst of them.”” They saw
him as he passed, but were powerless to de-
tain him. They instinctively opened an
aisle through the awed mob to let him pass.
As Pfenningersays. ‘They stood, stopped,
inquired, were ashamed, fled, separated.’
THE TEACHER’S LANTERN.
Despicable conduct, that of the Nazar-
enes! Yes! bus they only did what ha-
manity is always doing.
% 4
* * * *
Dejected preachers may find some com-
fort in the fact that even the Master him-
self sometimes failed.
* * %* ® *
A prophet not without honor, save in his
own country. Fenn, the artist, met some
ignoramus in Salem, who remarked to him:
‘‘Hawthorne writ a lot o’ letters. I hearn
tell he wrote a scarlet letter or two, what-
ever that is !”’
* * * * *
Au ideal preacher was Jesus. He ‘‘took
a text.” His style was expository. He
sought a common ground with his hearers.
He read their minds and shifted his matter
to smt their changing moods. He faithful-
ly, firmly, fearlessly made his application.
* * %* % *
Did Jesus return to Nazareth? Stier
says well: ‘“The denial of his return
strikes out of his life a trait as beautiful as
it is significant.”’ That he came again to
*‘his own," the probability is strong,
though the chronology of the visits may
trouble us. But see the inveterate charac-
ter of prejudice and unhelief—they reject-
ed him again !
* * *® *
CHILD-STUDY AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL METH-
ODS.
Jesus thonght it not beneath him to
study the child. No teacher, ancient or
modern, has ever shown a more apprecia-
tive or sympathetic interest in childhood.
Hie own genuine boyhood prepared him for
this. He had all the various experiences,
the hopes and fears of the average youth.
So the children can say, ‘We have not an
high priest who can not.-be touched with a
feeling for us.’’ Jesus and the child has
formed a favorite theme for artist and poet.
The incidents are among the most familiar
of the Bible. He said, ‘‘Suffer them to
come.”” He took them in his arms; he set
a child in the midst; he worked more mir-
acles of mercy on children than on any oth-
er class. He granted the Magna Charta of
childhood when he said, ‘‘Of such is the
kingdom.” .
Heroism at the Iroquois Horror.
The fire at the Iroquois was a bitter test
for human nature, writes H. M. H., in the
Chicago Tribune. The coward never had
less chance to conceal his craven spirit, the
grave man never a better opportunity to
display magnificent courage. Both cowards
and heroes were in the theater that after-
noon. The complete list of either of them
can never be made out. But from the
stories told by hundreds of the survivors
enough may be gathered to make sure of
the general facts. And these facts, on the
whole, are much to the credit of the Amer-
ican man.
At the great bazaar fire in Paris a few
years ago Frenchmen left their women to
perish in the flames and fought together
like frantic wild beasts for escape. They
even, if the stories told since may be be-
lieved, trampled upon: struggling women
and climbed over their prostiate bodies to
safety.
So far as one can discover hy reading the
stories of women who escaped from the
Iroquois or by talking to them personally,
no such poltroonery was displayed by the
men who were in the audience. Itis true
that some men who had their wives or
daughters under their charge made terrific
fights for exit, and in so doing doubtless
hindered the efforts of others, but they
were struggling for the lives of their loved
ones and are not to be set down as miser-
able and utterly selfish cowards.
On the other hand, there are many wom-
en, young and old, who owe their lives to
the efforts of utterly unknown men, who,
when the crisis came, picked them up in
their arms and, so loaded,fought their way
to the streets. 2
**I was in the awful crush, not able to
move one way or the other. when some
man grabbed me in his arms and pulled
me through the mob. I don’t know how
he got ous, but pretty soon he left me. ly-
ing on the sidewalk outside, and I saw
him go rushing back into the theater. I
never saw ‘him before and I should not be
able to recognize him again.”’
That, in substance, is the story told by
many of the rescued women. It is the
story of the unnamed and unknown men
who voluntarily many times risked
their own lives in the effort to save the
lives of the trapped women and children
and who, when further effort was useless,
melted away into the crowd. They were
the real heroes of that fateful afternoon.
A young woman, with bair and dress
aflame, broke with bleeding hands the
glass in a second-story window, leaned far
oub over the stone pavement and shrieked
in helplessness as she saw the fatal leap be-
fore her.
A man standing below, roughly dressed,
hatless, face covered with soot, braced him-
self with legs far apart, and held up both
his arms.
“Jump !’ he cried. ‘‘I’ll catch you.”
The desperate woman took the leap. She
struck full against the uplifted arms, and
‘the momentum of her fall was tremendous.
‘The man, tall and broad shouldered as he
was, was knocked backward to the pave-
ment—but the girl was uninjored. In-
‘stantly the man was on his feet again,
picked up the girl in his arms and ran
with her across the street to a drug store.
“Fix her! She’s burned !”’ he gasped
as he laid her in a chair. Then hedropped
flat, unconseions from the shock and strain
of blocking her fall with his body. :
Five minutes later he was revived and
disappeared again in the crowd outside.
The girl does not know his name, though
twice a day since, on her knees, she has
prayed for him. : Mie
Here is a tall man, a giant in figure.
He ix fighting his way to the door in the
second gallery, Under his right arm he
carries a little girl and a small boy hangs
about his neck. :
He gets to the awful jam at the bottom
of the first landing. “There his way is
blocked. But not for a moment does he
lose his head.
On the other side of the whirlpool which
blocks the way a second man is stauding.
They call across to each other. The man
with the babies takes the little girl in his
: ( Continued on page 7.)