The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1878-01-23

manner that he didn't care" and he never
admitted his disquiet by asking any ques.
lions or standing up in meeting to be prayed
for. But he did care. He heard all the time
that all he had to do was to repent and be-
lieve. But there was nothing thath doubt
ed, and he was perfectly willing to repent if
be could think of anything to repent of.
1t was essential, he learned that he should
have a conviction of SIM" This he earnest
ly tried to have. Other people, no better
than he, had it, and he wondered why he
couldn't have it. Boys and girls whom he
knew were under conviction" and John
began to feel not only panicky, but lone
some. Cynthia Rudd had been anxious for
days and days. and not able to sleep at
night, but now she had given herself
up and found peace. There was kind
of radiance In her face that struck John with
awe, and be felt that now there was a great
gulf between him and Cynthia. Everybody
was going away from him, and his heart was
getting harder than ever. He couldn't feel
wicked. all he could do. And there was Ed.
Bates, his intimate friend, though older than
he, whaling" noisy kind of boy, who was
under conviction and sure he was going to
be lost. How John envied him. And,
pretty soon. Ed. experienced religion"
John anxiously watched the change in Ed
face when he became one OF the elect And
a change there was. And John wondered
about another thing. Ed. Bates used to go
trout fishing, with tremendously long pole,
in a meadow brook near the river; and when
the trout didn't bite right off, Ed. would
get mad" and as soon as one took hold, ne
would give an awful jerk, sending the fish
more than 800 feet into the air and landing
it in the bushes the other side of the mead
ow, crying ont, "God dam We, I'll learn ye."
And John wondered if Ed. would take the
little trout out any more gently now.
John felt more and more lonesome as one
after another of his playmates came out and
made profession. Cynthia (she too was
older than John) sat on Sunday in the sing
ers' seat; her voice, which was going 10 be
contralto, had wonderful pathos in 1t for
him. and he heard it with a heartache.
There she is" thought John, singing away
like angel in heaven, and l am left out.n
During all his after life a contralto voice was
TO John one of his most bitter an 4 heart
wringing pleasures 1t suggested the i'm
maculate scornful, the melancholy unattain-
able
If ever boy honestly tried to work himself
into a conviction of sin, John tried. And what
made him miserable was that he couldn't
feel miserable when everybody else was
miserable. He even began to pretend to be
so. He put on serious and anxious look
like the others He pretended he didn't
care for play: he refrained from chasing
chipmonks and snaring suckers; the songs
of birds and the bright yivacity OF the sum
mer time that used to make him turn hand
springs, smote him as a discordant levity.
lie was not a hypOcrite at all, and he was
getting to be alarmed that he was not
alarmed at himself. Every day and night
he heard that the spirit of the Lord would
probably soon quit striving with him, and
leave him out. The phrase was that he
would ''grieve away the Holy Spirit" John
wondered if he was not dong it, He did
everything to put himself in the way of con-
viction, was constant at the evening meet
ings, wore grave face, refrained from play,
and tried to feel anxious. At length he
concluded that he must do something.
One night, as he walked home from
solemn meeting, at which several of his lit
tie playmates had ''come forward" he felt
that he could force the crisis. He was alone
on the sandy road; il was an enchanting
summer night; the stars danced overhead,
and by his side the broad and shallow river
ran over its stony bed with loud butsooth.
ing murmur that filled all the air with
entreaty. John did not know then that it
sang But 90 on forever" yet there was
In it for him something of the solemn flow
OF the eternal world When he came in
sight OF the house he knelt down in the
dust by pile of rails and prayed. He
prayed that he might feel bad and be dis
tressed about himself As he prayed he
heard distinctly. and yet not as a disturb
ance, the multitudinous croakiny of the
frogs by the meadow spring 1t was not
discordant with his thoughts; it had in it
melancholy pathos. as if it were kind OF
call to the unconverted, What is there in
this sound that suggests the tenderpess of
spring. the despair of a summer night. the
desosteness of young lover Years after, il
happened to John at twilight to be at rail
way station on the edge of the Ravenna
marshes. little way over the purple
plain he saw the dsrkening towers and
heard "the sweet bells of Imola." The holy
Pontiff Plus TX. was born at Imola, and
passed his boyhood in that serene and moist
region. As the train waited, John heard
from miles of marshes round about the
evening song of millions of frogs, louder and
more melancholy and entreating than the
yesper call of the bells. And instantly his
mind went back-for the association of
sound is as subtle as that of odor-to the
prayer, years ago, by the roadside, and the
plaintive appeal of the unheeded frogs, and
be wondered if the little pope had not heard
the like importantly, and perhaps, when he
thought of bimself as q little pope, as
sociated bis conversion with this plaintive
sound.
John prayed, but without feeling any
worse, and then went desperately into the
house>and told the family that he was in an
anxious state of mind This was joyful
news to the sweet and pious household, aud
the little boy was urged to feel that he was
sinner, to repent. and to become that night
Christian; he was prayed over and told TO
read the Bible. and put to bed with the in
junction to repeat all the texts of Scripture
and hymns he could think Of John did
this, and said over and over the few texts
he was master of, and tossed about in a real
discomfort now, for he had dim notion
that he was playing the hypocrite little.
Bat he was sincere enough in wanting to
feel. as the other boys and girls felt, that he
was a wicked sinner. He tried 10 think of
his evil deeds; and one occurred to him
indeed, it often came to his mind. 1t was a
lie; deliberate, awful lie, that never in
jured any body but himself John knew he
was not wicked enough to tell a lie to injure
ANYBODY else.