The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1876-11-01

In the starless night and the fearful rain
I.eapeth the grass and springeth the grain;
Meath Swallowed skies souls grow amain.
And, thankful for sun, and grateful for dew
when the harvest is gold and the work Is
through
We may bless Him less for joy than rue.
In the gracious dawn that men call death.
Scanning the years with bated breath
We shall learn how the Lord rememOecth;
And know. mt last, how tender and sweet
Is the love that guardeth our needless feet,
That mouldeth our warped sOulsf;lr ana COM
plete:-
That loss is ever the seed of gain;
That pleasure enfolds its need of pain;
That prayers denied rise not in vain:
The native Baptist preachers of the Indian
Territory have SONS very uneyangelical
names. Brother J. Williams is Tri-a-ma-
tub-bv. which means Jump around and kill
him. Brother Lewis Cas- i Ii-la-ho-mat-
che. which means "uaint him red. Among
the licensed native preachers are Ho-las-sc-
chubby. Draw near and Kill him, and
Comparatively, or NIL HIM ana throw nm
away
The Congregationalist well styles expen-
sive churches which impose Il heavy debt on
the builders. costly inconvenience and
frescoed debtors prisons in which the long
suffering people of God permit themselves TO
be- cast weekly, cheated of light and of air,
and taxed into bankruptcy for the support
OF a gospel which to many of them is rend-
cred gothically inaudible by the high art OF
the structure"
pastor, retiring from church which he
has served for several years, writes thus to
who are not able or willing To give one
the Journal and Messenger: l leave
here a people needing a pastor, but
good support They want a man OF talent
and one who can stand all the gossip OF
small town. and live on faith. One who can
let the deacOns do all the work, seld then be
blamed for not meeting with success, and
bear it as meekly as lamb.
Rev. Dr. J. II. Vincent is seldom wrong in
Sunday-school matters He is certainly right
in this. which we take from the Normal
Glass: We sometimes read, in reports of
Sunday-school conventions. suggestions that
teachers superintendent and Others who
have received special training for their work,
and exhibit marked ability in it. are entitled
to pecuniary compensation. and that III the
Sunday-school of the future all the leading
officers and workers will be saiaried. We
hope that this sentiment will receive a
prompt ana hearty condemnation whenever
and wherever it may chance to be presented
III the time shall ever come when Sunday
school teaching-like the singing in some
idNuiOIldDlt DCCOiuC
ketable commodity, put up 10 be bought by
those churches where there is abundance of
money. with a poverty OF personal conseera-
ton TO the work, the power of the sunday
school will be greatly crippled and its glory
will have utterly departed"
English poets do not always deal rever-
emily with the national clergy" A some
what well-known writer. i. q. Ice, photo
graphs in a late publication, a variety OF
Characters We take two specimen bits:
worIdIy-wise.
Wayward. uncertain, blown about
With every Whit andHevery wind:
Three ways before him, yet path
He would bat choose, yet will not find:
High, low, or broad; broad, low, or high.
Which way the wind blows waits to see;
Complains of each, agrees with all,
But OScillateS between the three.
Honeybun.
The womanliest voice, the softest words,
Hopes pleasant, rosy, white-tie fair;
Two puffs of rich and thick ribbed silk,
\ dolls face with a fringe of hair:
Five rings upon two slender hands,
OdOurs unique excelled by none;
Politest reference to sin
The Reverend Julius Honey bun
The lutter of q tiny scarlet dress, the
white face and dimpled hands the baby
girl ran along the track, stumbling now and
then over the timbers that were so huge 10
her toddling feet. She had slipped out of
tlie gate when no one was watching, and
was running down the road after her father,
whom she had watched going to the train.
She heard the noise of the locomotive and
the long, rumbling train of cars, and as they
gained on her she ran faster and
faster. She was very frightened.
and yet she could not stop, for
ON either side was the steep embank-
ment, and she dare not jump even il her
childish reason had taught her. her only
hope of escape. In a moment the iron
wheels would tangle in her golden curls. and
blot out the sweetness from the pure young
face and the life from the fragile form.
Faster and faster the train came
and the hot breath OF the engine
beat upon her out-stretched hand and kissed
the blanched check with the kiss of death
There was no hope of relief. no saviour. no
retreat. no arm that could save On either
side was the yawning depth, before nothing
but the straight lines of cleaning
irno. and behind the terrible death, the
heavy wheels that would tear and mash the
frail body and young life. y second. an in
slant more, and the baby would prattle
never again, would smile no more in its
mothers face, nor kneel at its fathers knee;
a moment more and the sunshine and bright
ness of some home would be blotted out
The engineer caught the glimpse of the little
one and his heart stopped its wonted
beating The strong body trembled, and
his hand flew to the throttle But
too late would have been the
slackening of the train There was no hope
In a moment, through the open window
dashed man, caught the baby girl from un
der the wheel, and fell down the steep
clasping her to his breast. The train backed
to the spot On the white frosty ground
there was dark blot. Amid the dry rank
grass man lay breathing in hard hoarse
Dreaths that shook his frame, and made the
bearded lips tremble with pain. His
hair was damp with the mois-
ture of agony and the drops
stood large on his brow. but still clasped
closely to his breast was the baby. Her curls
were covered by his strong hands as he had