*THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY.”
Could we but know
The mana thas ends our dark, uncertain
travel,
Where lie those happler hills and mead-
ows low— :
Ab! if beyond the spirits inmost cavil
Aught of that country could we surely
know, ¢
\v no woulda not go?
Might we bat hear
The hovering angels’ high imagined chorus,
Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and
clear
One radiant vista of the realm before us—
With one rapt moment given to see and
hear— -
: Ah! who would fears
Were we quite sure
4c find the peerless friend who left us lone-
Iy,
Or there, by some celestial stream as pure,
To gaze in eyes that heres were lovelit only—
This weary mortal coil, were wa quite
sure,
w ho would endure?
—Edmund Clarenc: Steaman,
. HER ONLY SON.
DY OELEN FORREST GRAVES.
{ HE'S the sweetest
girl in the world,
mother,’ said Mar-
) cus Wilde.
He sat on the
edge of the old
claw-legged table,
his curly brown
— » hair all irradiated
il, \= dems, by the specks of
gale, gi I sunshine that sifted
f ome i through the foliage
. of the scarlet
geraniums in the window.
Mis. Wilde, in her slowly-moving
rocking-chair, shook her plum-colored
cap-strings.
+(]'ve heard young men talk that way
before,” observed she.
«She will be all to you that a daugh-
ter could be,” pleaded Marcus. *:All
that your little Nelly would have been,
had she lived!”
+tPerhaps,” said Mrs. Wilde, knitting
energetically away, ‘‘perhaps not.
Makes her livin’ mending lace, don’t
she?”
«Why, yes.”
¢¢Ain’t much of a preparation for up-
and-down New England housekeepin’,
is it?”
«No; but she’s anxious to learn.”
¢¢Perbaps she is, perhaps not.”
siIt's beautiful work that she does,
mother—Mechlin lace, Point de Venise.
The materials look to me like fairy webs
in her basket. See, here's her photo-
graph that she sent you,” passing his
arm caressingly around her shoulder, and
holding the picture so that it should
gain the best light.
But Mrs. Wilde turned her obdurate
old face away.
«I don’t like photographs,” said she.
«They stare you out of countenance,
and they don't never look like people.”
«But this does look like Alice.”
‘Perhaps it does, perhaps not.”
“She would so like to know you,
mother.”
«Perhaps she would, perhaps not.
Girls ’ll say ’most anything to please
their lovers.”
, ‘Mother, she's an orphan, who has
always been alone in the world. She
will be so glad to have a mother.”
tw. ¢‘Perhaps she will, perhaps not.”
i" Marcus bit his lip. Dearly as he loved
this unreasonable old lady, it was diffi-
cult to preserve his temper at times.
«Mrs. Stayner can tell you all about
her,” said he, wisely changing his base.
«That old Mrs. Stayner, don’t you re-
member, who used to live at the parson-
age? She keeps house in the next suit
of rooms. Alice often runsin there.”
«Does she?’ in the most uninterested
way. ‘‘Well, I guess when I want to
find out about my own daughter-in-law,
JT shan’t go pryin’ and questionin’ to
Maria Stayner.”
«*May 1 bring her down to visit you,
mother?”
«‘Not this week, Marcus,” drily re-
sponded the old lady. ¢‘I’'m lookin’ for
Dessie Ann Holley pretty soon, and
there's your Uncle and Aunt Jepson,
from Maine, expected every day.”
“Well,” swallowing his disappoint.
ment as best he might, *‘there’ll be a
chance for Alice to come later?”
‘Perhaps there will—and perhaps
not.”
And Marcus Wilde went back to the
city, feeling baffled at every point.
Alice Hooper listened with that sweet,
sunshiny smile of hers.
¢¢Never mind, Marcus,” soothed she.
«It's perfectly natural. What mother
wouldn’t feel just so! Of course she
looks upon me as a perfect pirate, trying
to get away her only son. But I shall
conquer her prejudices-~only see if I
don’t!”
*‘You’re an angel, Alice!” cried the
lover.
And Alice told him he was talking
nonsense, which perhaps he was.
Scarcely a week had elapsed, when an
elderly lady, round and ‘comfortable of
visage and plump of figure, with a green
veil pinned over her brown felt bonnet
and a covered basket on her arm, stood
knocking at Mrs. Stayner’s door, which,
after the fashion of city flats, almost ad-
joined that of pretty Alice Hooper.
It was Mrs. Wilde.
¢‘Hush-sh~sh!” she whispered to old
Mrs. Stayner, when that venerable fe-
male would have uttered a cry of hos-
pitable surprise. ‘I don’t want nobody
to know I'm here. I've just run up to
do a little shopping, and I knew you'd
mske me welcome.” .
«*But Miss Hooper—you'll let me call
her?” gasped the old lady.
+Not tor the world!” cried Mrs,
Wilde. ‘Do you suppose I want to be
paraded before strangers in this old
traveling suit, all powdered with dust
and ciaders? All I want is a chance to
set down and rest, and drink a cup 0’
tea. Things has changed—yes, they've
changed. Hush! What's that?”
‘| worthy of my Barcus’ love!
‘| That's a sweet voice, and how—just like
‘1a woodthrush’s note!
“Don’t be skeered, Mrs. Wilde,” said
Mrs. Stayner, in an encouraging whisper.
¢“We hear all sorts o’ noises in this flat.
And, sures I live, it's your sor Marcus,
comin’ up to spend the evening with
Alice Hooper! Now you'll goin, sure,
or let me send for them!"
Mrs. Wilde caught at her {riend’s
dress.
«Not for the world!” she cried again.
¢]—I don't want them to know.I'm here!”
and she retreated back into the tiny sit-
ting room of the flat. *‘Bless me, what
corner cupboards of rooms these are!
All I want is to Jay down on the sofa and
rest a little, and if you'll make me a cup
o’ good, strong green tea, Maria Stayner,
I'll be greatly obliged?”
Mes. Stayner hurried into her kitchen.
“Something must ha’ happened,” said
she. *¢I never saw Mrs. Wilde look so
flurried and upset afore. I do wonder
what 1t is?” '
Mrs. Wilde herself stood close to the
pasteboard like partition that separated
the two suits ot rooms, white and trem-
bling.
«I'm a reg'lar conspirator!” muttered
she to herself. ¢I'd ought to be hung!
But—but 1 must koow if that girl’s
Hush!
He's a kissin’
I do b’lieve she's glad to see him;
but—" : :
She Eeld up her finger, all alone though
she was, and took a step or two nearer
the thin partition. 4
She trembled ; the color came and went
on her old cheek.
‘He's talkin’ now,” she muttered,
every line and feature of her face on the
alert. ¢He's tellin’ her. Oh, I’most
wish now that I hadn’t! No, I don’t,
neither. I couldn’: be kept in the dark.
I must know—I must hear with my own
ears before I can be satisfied! He's my
boy—he’s my only. son—and ine a
widow.”
She leaned forward and trembled more
than ever as Marcus's voice sounded, in
perturbed accents.
“Darling,” ne said, *‘I don’t know
how I'm going to tell you, but—but I'm
afraid our marriage will have to be put
off. I’ve just had a letter from my
mother. It seems she has closed the
house and is coming to New York—
probably to me. It must be that those
Tallahassee bonds have proved a failure.
I never quite liked them. She told me
she was going to sell them, but she can’t
have done so, or—" .
His husky voice failed him. A mo-
ment’s silence ensued, during which Mra.
Wilde stood more immovable than ever,
her ears strained to their utmost listen-
ing capacity.
«Now I shall know,” she murmured
to herself.
«Then of course, Mark, you and I
must wait,” said the sweet, thrush-like
voice. ‘‘[ know you love me, but your
first duty is to your mother. Don’t you
remember the old Scotch ballad, dear?
* ‘True loves ye may has mony an one,
But mithers, ne'er anither!"
¢But, Alice,” protested tne lover,
‘we were planning to be married in the
spring.” .
‘We must wait, Mark. Weare young,
and dearly as I love you, I can but feel
that she-——your mother—has the first
claim. Oh, Mark, don’t you understand
that I can comprehend how a mother
feels when some outsider steals away a
portion of her son's heart? There's no
sacrifice that I can make great enongh
to atone for the miscaief I have invol-
untarily wrought her!”
*‘But,” urged Marcus, ‘‘we might be
married, and she could come to live with
us. Couldn't it be arranged so?”
“On, if it only might, how glad and
willing I should be!” breathed the soft
voice. ¢‘Butshe would not conseut to
that, and she has the first right to her
son’s home. And perhaps in time I can
manage to make her love me a little, so
that we can all be happy together.”
«*Alice,” exciaimed the young man,
‘if you could only go to her and tell
her this with your own lipsl But she
won’t see you.”
«Wait, dearest—wait!” sobbed the
girl. “All will come right in good time.
Remember she is your mother.”
Mrs. Wilde's hands were tightly
clasped; tears were running down her
cheeks.
She opened the door and passed out
into the hall, knocking urgently at the
adjoining portal.
*‘Children,” she ssid, her voice
choked with emotion, ‘you needn't
wait; I've heard it all. I—I won’t stand
in the way of your happiness. I'm a
base conspirator. I only wrote that let-
ter te try Marcus's love and Alice's loy-
alty. I did shut up the house, but only
for a little while. The Tallahassee
bonds have sold at a premium, and I'm
going howe to make the old house pretty
for your bridal trip. Kiss me, Alice! I
know I’m a wretched eavesdropper, but
my heart did ache so to to be sure that
Marcus’s sweetheart was worthy of his
love.”
«And you're satisfied now, mother?”
Marcus's eyes were all alight with
pride and joy.
Mrs. Wilde was holding the fair
haired young girl close to her breast,
looking lovingly into the blueness of her
soft eyes like one who drinks irom a
deep, deep spring.
“Yes, I’m satistied, Marcus,” said she.
“The girl who was willing to postpone
her own young happiness, so that the
old mother might have a chance—there
can’t be much wrong with her head.
Kiss me again, daughter Alice.”
«Oh, mother—may I call you by that
name?” faltered Alice Hooper, tears
brimming into her eyes.
«I'll never let you call me by any
other,” said Mrs. Wilde. ‘‘Oh, here's
Maria Stayner with a cup of tea! You
see, I've intrcduced myself to this young
woman, Mrs. Stayner.”
«Well, I couldn’t think where you'd
gone to,” said Mra. Stayner, with a deep
sigh of relief.
Mrs. Wilde stayed a week with Miss
Hooper, and helped select the wedding
dress before she went home.
«I'm sure I shall like my new daugh-
ter.” said she, in her positive way.
¢¢And Pm sure,” warmly added Mrs.
Stayner, ‘‘she’ll like you.”
Mrs. Wilde shrugged her shoulders.
«Perhaps she will,” said she—*‘per.
haps not.”
msm Rarer.
In Russian Barraeks.
¢:Shall we take a look at the barracks?”
suggested the colonel. ‘Nothing would
suit me better,” I answered; so leayinz
our horses in charge of the Cossack,
Chumski led the way through a series of
vast spaces occupied mainly by little
wooden beds. Each little bed had oanit
a hard mattress, a pillow and a coarse
woolen blanket. Beneath each bed was
abox, in which the soldier's kit was
‘kept, and at short intervals throughout
the buildings were chromo portraits of
the Czar, and very gaudy pictures of
Russian saints. The barracks were en-
tirely of wood, the ceilings low and the
windows infrequent, yet so clean was
everything kept that I detected no dis-
agreeable odor. In the kitchen I helped
myself to a taste of the soup that was
simmering in vast cauldrons over the
brick oven, and made up my mind that I
could stand a pretty long canoe cruise if
my food were no worse than this. There
are two fast-days in the week— Wedunes-
day and Friday—anod this was one of
them, so that all they had was leatil
soup. Black bread went with the soup
-—not such very bad bread either. They
had a drink that sugzested the mead we
use at harvest.vime, consisting of water
in which rye bread had been absorbed.
Of this I drank a whole glass with relish.
So far, then, I had stumbled on nothing
about the Russian soldier's life thas
would have discouraged me from en.
listing, had I been brought up to accept
the Czar’s word as law.
“Do you have much desertion?” I
asked.
«Not many in my regiment,” answered
the colonel, complacently; ‘‘my men are
pretty well cared for.” * x *
As we galloped home to the noon-day
dinner, I noticed that my colonel greetef
the men of other regiments than his own
by merely conforming to the usual mili-
tary requirements; but when he met any
of his 170th, he shouted out a hearty
good-day to them, which they answered
with a burst of strange sound intended to
convey the cotion, ‘we are glad to have
our colonel’s greeting.” This struck me
as a very pleasant interchange of civility
—much better than the silent and per-
tunctory ordeal in vogue among western
armies. In the German army, the Em-
peror still greets his Grenadier Guards
by a hearty *‘Good-morning;” and is
answered as heartily, as in Russia. But
this is, in Germany, a3 historically
unique as the ¢‘‘beet-eaters” at the
Tower of Londo. In Russia, the life ot
the people is what it was in England
when Queen Bess boxed the ears of her
favorites—an odd medley of barbarism
and parental gentleness.— Harper's
Magazine.
mm EE fe
Submarine Mines.
The engineer corps of the Uaited
States army has been activelyenzased in
experiments with submarine mines.
These explosive traps, desigaed to blow
up hostile ships that enter harbors, are
of two kinds — sunken and floating.
They are steel cases holding dynamite,
that being the explosgive regarded by
this Government as most suitable for the
purpose. Dynamite consists of seventy-
five per cent. of nitro-glycerine, which
is too dangerous to be used by itself, ab-
sorbed by twenty-five per cent. of a
highly porous infusorial earth called
«rottenstone.” Other substances besides
rottenstone have been utilized as an ab-
sorbent, such as cornmeal and brown
sugar. The sunken mines are lowered
to the bottom of the water, where they
are held in position by their own weight.
Each of them contains a battery so ar-
ranged that a shock communicated by
the hull of a vessel will ses off the
charge, probably sinking the ship by
blowing a hole beneath her water line.
Infernal machines of this description
have the disadvantage that it is hardly
possible without great danger for those
who put them down to take them up
again. More serviceable in a general
way are the floating mines, which are
anchored out and connected by wire
with stations on shore. So long as no
danger is anticipated the electric cur-
rents are shut off and the steel ca ses roll
about on the waves as harmless asso
many barrels.
er— I ————
London's Thirst for Milk.
In London the consumption of milk
has been increasing, the supply is short,
yet the price does not rise. = It is esti-
mated by the managing director of one
of the large dairy companies, that Lon-
dommeonsumes upwards of 42,000,000
gallons of milk yearly. The: manager
of the Great Western Railway stated be-
fore the joint committee of both Houses
of Parliament last year, that his company
brought 11,000,000 gallons per annum
inte London, The Midland brings some
7,000,000 gallons, the Great Northern
3,000,000 gallons, the Southwestern
6,000,000 gallons, the Northwestern
7,000,000 gallons, the Great Eastern
3,000,000, and the Southern lines
2,000,000 gallons. Mr. Barham calcu-
lates that the milk produced in London
and the immediate neighborhood is
about 4,000,000 gallons.—American
Agriculturist.
Sr ———— I ———————
Disiribution of Foreigners.
Generalizing regarding the leading
Nationalities, it may be broadly stated
that the Irish are found mainly in New
York. The Germans are widely distrib-
uted, mainly in the cities from New
York through the Northern States to
the Dakotas. The Italians live mainly
in the Northeastern States and in New
Orleans. The Scandinavians are found
mainly in Wisconsin, Minnesota and the
Dakotas. The Hungarians, Bohemeians
and Poles are found mainly 1n the great
cities and in the mining regions of the
North. The French Canadians have
swarmed over the border into New En-
gland and New York, where they have
largely replaced the Irish as factory!
hands.—St. Louis Republic.
REV. DR. TALMAGES SERMON
ON THE 24TH ANNIVERSARY OF
——t
His Tabernacle Pastorate. He Speaks of
What Has Made the Church Suc.
cessful and Tells of a Minister’s
Trials and Triumphs.
Ss
TEXT: “And rownd about the throne were
four and twenty seats, and upon the seats
i san four and twenty elders.”—Revelation
Ve, 4.
This text I choose chiefly for the numerals
it mentions—namely, four and twenty. That
was the number of elders seated around the
throne of God, but that is the number of
years seated around my Brooklyn ministry,
and every pulpit Is a throne of blessing or
blasting, a throne of good or evil. nd to-
day in this my twenty-fourth anniversary
sermon 24 years come and sit around me,
and they speak out in a reminiscence of
gladness and tears. Twenty-four years ago
I arrived in thiscity to shepherd such a flock
as might come, and that day I carried in on
my arms the infant son who in two weeks
from to-day I will help ordain to the gospel
ministry, hoping that he will be preaching
long atter my poor work is done,
© have received into our membership
over 5000 souls, but they, I think, are only a
small portion of the multitudes who, com-
ing from all parts of the earth, have in our
house of God been blessed and saved.
Although-we have as a church raised $1,100,-
for religious purposes, yet we are in the
strange position of not knowing whether
in two or three months wa shall have any
church at all, and with audiences of 600) or
%000 people crowaed into this room and the
adjoining rooms we are confronted with
the question whether Ishall go on with my
work here or go to sothe other field. What
an awful necessity that we should have
been obliged to build three immense
churches, two of them destroye { by fire.”
A misapprehension is abroad that the
financial exigency of this church is past.
Through journalistic and personal friends a
kreathinz spell has been afforded us, but be-
fore us yet are financial obligations which
must promptly be met, or speedily thishouse
of God will go into worldly uses and become
a theater or a concert hall. The $12,000
raised cannot cancel a floating debt of
$140,000. Through the kindness of those to
whom we are indebted $60,000 would set us
forever free. Iam glad to say that the case
is not hopeless. We are dally in receipt of
touching evidences of practical sympathy
from ali classes of the community and from
all sections of the country, and it was but
yesterday that by my own hand I sent for
contributions gratefully received nearly 59
acknowledgments east, west, north and
south.
Our trust is in the Lord who divided the
Red Sea and **made the mountains skip like
lambs.” With this paragraph I dismiss the
financial subject and return to the spiritual.
This morning the greatness of God's kind-
ness obliterates everything, and if I wanted
to build a groan I do not know in what for-
est I would hew the timber, or from what
quarry I would dig the foundation stone, or
who would construct for me an organ with
a tremelo for the oniy stop. And so this
morning [ occupy my time in building one
great, massive, high, deep, broal, heaven
pleroine halleluial In the review of the
t 24 years I think it may bs useful to
consider some of the characteristics of a
Brooklyn pastorate.
In the first place 1 remark that a Brook-
lyn pastorate is always a difficult pastorate.
No city under the sun bas a-grander array
of peli talent than Brooklyn. The Metho-
dist, the Baptist, the Congregntionalist, the
Episcopalians, all the denominations send
their brightest lights here. He who stands
in any pulpit in Brooklyn preaching may
know that he stands within fifteen minutes’
walk of sermons which a Saurin, and a
Bourdalone, and a John M. Masonand a
George Whitefield would not be ashamed of.
No city under the sun where a poor sermon
is such a drug on tha market.
For forty years Brooklyn has been sur-
charged with homiletics, an electricity of
eloquence that struck every time it flashed
from the old pulpits which quaked with the
powers of a Bethune, and a Cox, and a
Spencer, and a Spear, ard a Vinton, and a
Farley, and a Beecher, not mentioning the
magnificent men now manuing the Brooklyn
pulpits. So during all ths time there has
been something to appeal to every man’s
taste and to gratify every man's preference.
Now, let me say to all ministers of the
gospel who are ambitious for a Brooklyn
pis that it is always a difficult pastorate.
a man shall come and stand before any
audience in almost any church in Brooklyn
he will find before him men who have heard
the mightiest themes di in the
mightiest way. You will have before you,
if you tail in an argument, fitty logicians in
a fidget. If you make a siip in the useof a
commercial figures of s h, there will be
500 merchants who will notice it. If you
throw out an anchor or furl a sail in the
wrong way, there will be ship captains right
off who will wonder if you are as ignorant
‘of theology as you are of navigation! So
it will be a place of hard study. Lf you
are going to maintain yourself, you will
find a Brooklyn” pastorate a difficult pas-
torate.
1 remark stfll further, a Brooklyn pasto-
rate is always a conspicuous pastorate. The
printing press of the country hasnogreater
force than on the seacoast. Every pulpit
word, good or bad, wise or ignorant, kind
or mean, is watched. The reportorial corps
of these cities is an organized army. Many
of them have collegiate educationand large
culture, and they are able to weigh oration
or address or sermon. If you say a silly
thing, you will never near tie end of it, and
if you say a wise thing it will go into per-
petual multiplication. There is no need of
d ing that fact. Men whose influence
ras Leen built by the printing press spend
the rest of their lives in denouncing news-
papers. The newspaper is the pulpit on the
wing. More preaching done on Monday
than on Sunday. The omnivorous, all eyed
inting press is ever vigilant.
Besides that, a Brooklyn pastorate is
always conspicuous in the fact that every-
body comes here. Brooklyn is New York
in its better mood. Strangers bave nol sesn
New York until they have seen Brooklyn.
The East River is the chasm in which our
merchants dro their cares, and their
anxieties. and their business troubles, and
by the time they have greeted their families
in the home circle they have forgotten all
about Wall street ana Broadway and the
shambles. If they commit business sins in
New York during the day, they come over
to Brooklyn to repent of toem.
Everybody comes here, Stand at the
bridge entrance or at the ferry gates on
Sabbath morning at 10 o'clock, or Sabbath
evening at 7 clock and you see north,
south, east. west—Europe, Asia, Africa,
New Zealand, Australia—coming to Brook-
lyn to spend the Sabbath, or part of itin the
persons of their representatives—some of
them fresh from the sea. They have just
Janded, and they want to seek the house of
God publicly to thank the Lord for their
deliverance from cyclones and fog banks off
Newfoundland. Every song sung, every
prayer offered, every sermon preached in
New York and Brooklyn and all along this
sea coast in some shape goes all round
the worid. A Brooklyn pastorate is at
the greatest altitude ot conspicuity.
Again I remark that a Brookiyo pastorate
{s characterizad by brevity. I bethink my-
self of but three ministers of the gospel now
preaching hera: who were preaching when x
came to Brooklyn. Most of the pulipits
around. me have changed seven or eight
times since my arrival. :
Sometimes the pastorate has been brief
for one reason and sometimes for another
reason. Sometimes the ministers of the gos-
pel have been too good for this world, and
heaven has transplanted them. Sometimes
they changed places by; the decree of their
denomination, Sometimes they came with
great blare of trumpets, proposing to carry
everything befors them, and got extin-
guished before they ‘were distinguisaed.
Some got preached out in two or three years
{ and told tne people all they knew. Some
ha]
which it takes a great many years to do.
‘Whether for good or bai reasons a Brook-
lyn te is characterized by brevity,
not much of the old plan by which a minis-
ter of the gospel baptized an infant, then re-
ceived him into the church, after he had be-
come an adult married him, baptized his
children, married them and lived on long
enough to bury almost everybodv but him-
self. Glorious old pastorates they were.
Some of us remember them—Dr. Snoring,
Peter Labaugh, Dominie Zabriskie, Daniel
Waldo, Abram isey.
en the snow meltel from their fora-
heads, it revealed the flowers of an unfadine
coronal. Pastorates of 30, 40, 50, 55 years’
continuance. Some of them had to be
helped into the pulpit or into the carriage,
they were so old and decrepit, but when the
Lord’s chariots halted one day in front of
the old parsonaga thev stepped in vigorous
as an sthlete, and as we saw thé wheels ot
fire whirling through the gates of ths sun.
sot we all cried out, ‘ ‘My father, my father,
the chariots of Israel anil tha horsemen
thereof I”
I remark again, a Brooklyn pastorate is
characteriz2d by its happivess.
No city under the sun where veople take
such good care of their ministers. In pro-
portion as the world outsile may curse a
congregation stands close up by the man
whom they believe in. Brooklyn society
has for its foundation two elements—the
Puritanic, which always means a quiet Sab-
bath, and the Hollandish, which means a
worshipful p-ople. On the top of this an
admixture of all nationalities—th» brawny
Scot, the solid English, the vivacious Irish,
the polite French, the philosophic German
—and in all this intermingling of population
the universal dominant theory thata man
can do as he pleases proviled he doesn’t dis-
turb anybody alse. er
A delightful climate, While it is hard on
weak throats, for ths most of us it is
bracing. Not an atmosphere made un of
Ibe discharged gases of ehemsical factories or
he miasms of swam ut cominz panting
right off ot Atlantic Ocean ba-
fore anybody else has had a chance to
breathe it! All throuzh the city a society
of kind, genial, generous. sympathetic
people. How they fly to you when you are
in trouble! How they watch over you when
you ara sick! How tender they are with
Ton when you have buried your deadl
rooklyn isa good place to livs in, a good
placa to die in, a8 good place to be buried in,
a good place from which to risein the
beautiful resurrection.
In such a city I have been permittad to
have 24 years of pastorate. During these
ears how many heartbreaks, how many
osses, how manv bereavements! Hardly a
family of the church that has not been
struck with sorrow. But God has sustainad
you in the past, and Hs w.ll sustain you in
the future. I exhors you to be of good
cheer, Oa thou of the broken heart. “Weep-
ing may endure for a night, but joy cometh
in the morning.” I wish over every door of
this church we might have written the
word *‘Sympathy”’—sympathy for all the
young.
We must crowd them in here by thou-
sands and proposs a radiant gospzl that
they will take on the spot. We must makes
this place sc attractive for the young that a
young man will come hera on Sabbath morn-
ing, put down his hat, brush his hair back
from his forenead, unbutton his overcoat
and look aronnd wondering if he has not by
mistake got into heaven. He will see in the
faces of the old people not the gloom which
some people take for religion, but ths’ sun-
shine of celestial peace, and hs will say,
“Why, I wonder if that isn’t the sams pace
that shone out on the face of my father and
mother, when they lay dying?’ * |
And then there will come a dampness in
and he will close his eyes to imprison ths
emotion, but the hot tear will break through
the fringes of eyelasnes and drop upon the
coat sleeve, e will put his head on the
back of the pew in front and sob, “Lord
God of the old people, help me!” We onght
to lay a plot here for the religious capture
of ali the young people in Brooklyn.
Ves. sympathy for the old. They hava
their aches and pains ani distresses. They
cannot hear or walk or sea as well as thay
used to. We must be reverential in their
resence, Ondark days we must help them
throuzh the aisle and help them find the
place in the hymn book. Some Sabbath
morning we shall miss them fro: their place,
and we shall say, “Waere is Father So-and-
so to-day?” and tae answer will be: “What,
haven't you heard? Tae King’s wagons
have taken Jacob up to the palace where his
Joseph is yet ative.”
Sympathy for business men. Twenty-
four years of commercial life in New York
and Brooklyn are enough to tear one's
nerves to pieces. We want to make our
Sabbath service here a rescue for all thess
martyrs of traffic, a foretaste of thet land
where they have no rents to pay, and there
are no business rivalries, and whera riches,
instead of taking wings to fly away, brood
over other riches. r
Sympathy for the fallen, remembering
that they ought to be pitied as much asa
man run over with a rail train. The fact is
that in the temptations and misfortunes of
life they get run‘over. You and I in the
same circumstances would have done as
badly. We should have done worse perhaps.
1f you and I hai the same evil surroundings
and the same evil parentage that taey had
and the same native horn proclivities to evil
that they had, you 4nd I should have been
in the penitentiary or outcasts of society.
“No,” says soms self righteous man, “I
couldn’t have been overthrown in that way.”
You old hyoocrite, you would have oeen the
first to fall!
We want in this church to have sympathy
for ths worst man, remembering he is a
brother; sympathy for the worst woman,
remembering she is a sister. If that is not
the gospel, I do not know what the gospel
is. Ah, yes, sympathy for all the troubled,
for the orphans in their exposure, for
widowhood with its weak arm fighting for
bread, for the housebold which erst re-
sounded wita merry voices and pattering
feet now awfuily still—broad-winged sym-
pathy, like the feathers or the Almignty:
warm-blooded sympathy, everlasting sym-
pathy; sympathy which shows itself in the
grasp of the hand, ian the glittering tear of
the eye, in the consoling word of the
mouth; sympathy of blankets for the cold,
of bread for the hungry, of medicine for the
sick, of rescue for the lost. Sympathy!
Let it thrill in every sermon. Let it
tremble in every song. Latitgleamin every
tear and in every light, Sympathy! Men
and women are sighing for sympathy,
groaning for sympathy, dving for sym-
pathy, tumbling off into uncleanliness and
crime and perdition for lacz of sympathy.
May Gol give it to us! Fill all this pulpit
with it from step to step. Let the sweep of
these galleries suggest its encircling arms.
Fill all the house wita if, from door to
door, and from floor to ceiling, until thers
is no more room fer it, and it shall overflow
into the street, and passersby on foot and in
carriage shall feal the tarob of its magnifi-
cent benediction.
Let that be our new departure as a
church. Let that be my new departure as a
pastor. Sympathy! Gratitute to God de-
mands that this morning I mention the
fact that durinz all these 2% years I have
missed but one service through sickness.
When I entered the ministry I was so deli-
cate I did nct think I would preach three
months, but preaching has agreed with me,
and I think the healthiest thinz in all ths
earth is the religior. of Jesus Carist! Bless
the Lord, © my soul! Whaat ingrates we
are in regard to our health!
I must, in gratitude to God, also mention
the multitudes to whom I hays been per-
mitted to preach. Itis simply miraculous,
the attendance morning by mo=ping, night
by night, and year by year, and long after
it has got to be an old story. 1 know somz
people are dainty and exclusive iu their
tastes. As for myself, I like a big crowd.
I would like to see an andience large enough
to scare me! Lf this gospel is good, the mora
that get iv tha better.
Many have received the gospel here, but
| others have rejected it. Now, tell you
| whay I am going to do with some of m
dearest friends who have hitherto rejected
with holy did in a short time work | the
bis eyes through which he can haraly ses, |
. You are not afraid of andl
am not afraid of you, and some day, O
brother, I will clasp your hands together,
and I will turn your face the other way,
and I will take hold of your shoulders, and
while you are heloless in my grasp I will
give you one headlong push into the king
dom of God. Christ says we must compel
you to come in. I will compel you to coma
in. Can I consent to anything elss with
these men, who are as dear to me as my own
soni? I will compel you to come in. *
Profiting by the mistakes of ths past 1
must do better work for you and better
work for God. Lest I might. throuzh some
su iden illness or casualty, be snatched away
before I have the opportuaity of doing so, L
take this occasion to declars my love for
youtas a people. Itis different work if a
pastor is placed in a church already built
up, and he is surroundad by established cir-
cumstancas, There ara no% ten le in
this church that have not been brouzht into
the church through my ministry. You are
my family. I feel as much at home hers as
I do in mY residence on Oxford street, You
are my family—mv fatier, my mother, my
sister, my son, my dauzhter. Yon are'my
jov and crown, the subject of my pravers.
our present and everasting welfars is
the object of my ambition. I have no
worldly ambition. [ had onecz.r I have not
now. | know the world about as well as
any one knows it. I have heard the hand-
clapping of its applause, and I have heard
the hiss of its opposition, and 1 declare to
you that the former is not especially to be
sought for, nor isthe latter to. be feared.
Ths world has given me aboutall ths com-
fort and prosperity it can giva a man, and I
have no worldly ambition. [ have an all
consuming ambition to make full proof of
= ministry, to get to iss ven real and
0 take a great crow] with me. r
table and cradle and armchair ant pion
and lounge and nursery and drawing room
and kitchen may the blessing of the
Alaighty God come down!
During thess 24 years there is hardly a
family that has not been invaded by sorrow
or death. Where are those grand, old mea, *
those glorious Christian women, who
to worship with us? Why, they went away
into the next world so gradually that they
had concluded the second stanza or the
third stanza in heaven before you knew they
were gone. They had on the crown before
you thoucht they had dropped the staff of
the earthly pilgrimage.
And then the dear children. O", how
many have gone out of this church! Yon
could not keep them. You folded taem in
your arms and said: “0 God, I cannot
give them up’ Take all else, tak> my prop-
erty, take my reputation, but lev me keep
this treasure. Lord, I cannot bear this.”
Oh, if wa could all die together! If wa
could keep all th: saesp and the lambs of
tae family fold tog:ther until soms bright.
spring day, the oirds a-caant, ani
waters a-glitter, anl then we could alto-
gethar hear the voic20of tie godd Saepherd
and hand in hand passs throuzh tae flood!
No, no, no, no! Oh, ii wa oniy had notice
that we are all to depart tox:ther, ani wa
could sav to our families: *‘Tae time has
come. The Lord bids usaway.” Ani then
we could take our little caildren to their
beds and straighted out their limbs and say:
“Now sleep the last sleep. Goo1l night ua-
til it is good morning.” And then we could
go to our own couches and say: “Now,
altogether we are ready to go. Our cail-
dren are gone; now let us depart.” .
No, no! Itis one by one. lt may be in
the midnight. It may bein the winter and
in the snow cominz down twenty inches
deep over our grave, It may be in the
strangs hotel and our arm tio weak topull
the beil for help. Itinay be s> suddenly we
hava no tims even to say gooiby. Deathis’
a bitter, crushing, tramendous curse.
I play you three tuneson the gospel harp
of comfort. ‘Weeping may endure for a
night, but joy cometa ia tha morning.”
That is one. “All things work together ior
good to those waolova God.” That is the
second. “And the Lamb which is in the
midst of the throne shall lea:l them to liv-
ing fountains-of water, and God shall wips
all tears from their eye=.” That is 9
third. During these 2¢ years I have tried
as far as I could by argument, by illastra-
tion and by caricature vo fill you with dis-
gust with much of thiz modern religion
which people are tryinz now to substitute
for the religion of Jesus Christ and ths relig-
ion of the apostles.
I have tried to persuade you that the worst
of all cant is the cant of skepticism, and in-
stead of your apologizing for Christianisy
it was high time that tnose who do not be-
lieve in Caristianity should apologiz2 to you,
and I have tried to show that the biggest
villians in the universe ares those who would
try to rob us of this Bible, and that the
grandest mission of the churca of Jesus
Christ is that of bringing souis to the Lord
—a soul saving church.
But now tnoss years. ara gone. If you
have neglected your duty, if I have nez-
jected my duty, it 1s nezlected forever.
Each year has its work. If the work is
performed within ths 12 months, it is done
forever. If nezlected, it is naziectad rore
ever. -
Waoen a woman was dyinz she said,
“Call them back.” They did not know
what she meant. She had been -a disciple
of the world. She said, “On, call them
back?” They said, **Wno do you wans us
to call back? *On,” she said, ‘call them
back, the days, ths months, the years I have
wasted. Call them back!’ But you cannot
call them t icq; you cannot call a year back,
or a month bacz, or a weex back, eran hour
back, or a second back. Gone once, it 18
gone forever.
When a great battle was raging, a mes-
senger came up aud said to tke general. who
was talking with an officer, ‘‘General, we
have taken a standard from the enemy.”
The general kept rigat on coaversing with
his fellow officer, and the messenger said
again, “*General. we have taken a stand
from the enemy.” Still the general kept
right on, and the messenger lost nis patience,
not having his message seemingiy apprecia=
ted, and said again, ‘‘General, we have taken
a standard from the enemy.” The general
then looked at him and said, **Take another.”
An, forgetting the things that are behind,
126 us look to those that are before. Win
another castle; take another standard; gain
another victory.
il op, sweet day of the world’s emanci-
pation, waen ‘‘the mountains and the hills
shall break forsa into singing, and all the
trees of tone wood snall clap their hands,
and instead of tho thorn shail come up the
fir tree, and instead of the brier will come
up the myrtle tree, and it shall be unto tae
Lord for a name, for an everlasting sign
that caniot be cut off.” e
rere ——
Photographs en Cups and Saucers.
A novelty has been introduced bya
Boston woman that bids fair to become
a mania in the culgured society of that
city. She has a complete breakfast ser-
vice of cups, saucers and plates for ner
large family on which are given, from
photographs, the likeness of the mém-
bers, so that the, servant can properly
place the china to be used.
—— Trt
Old Hats Supersede Autozraphs.
An old man who formeriy dealt in
second-hand clothing now does a brisk
trade in the discarded hats of New
York's eminent men. He buys them for
a song and sells them to relic biinters at
fancy prices. On Monday he sold a
derby once worn by Grover Cleveland.
The object fetched $2L.—~New York
Herald.
Whalebone is becoming very scarce.
In this country it is worth from $5 to
$6 per pound, and in England it fetches
$15,000 a ton, aad cannot be got at
that price.
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