The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1882-04-28

time when one thinks a great deal
but says nothing. We both tried to
arrange plan for meeting again,
sometime, somewhere, but there was
a feeling withal that very likely we
should not. AT last we must separate,
said he. If you meet Miss Doane on
the way, tell her it is all arranged that
she is to come and live with us, and
we shall be glad enough to see her.
And when you get back to Owosso,
and the people ask you about us, you
have seen how we are situated and
you can tell them everything. If
they ask you how we like it, you
can say that we didn't come here so
far from home and friends and coun-
try because we expected to like it. l
think we came for a higher reason
than that. There is great work
here to be done, as you have seen
yourself, and we are going to stay and
do it, and you may say that we are
not sorry we came. Give my love to
them all. Goodbye! We rode
nearer together to shake hands, and
as he turned and went back slowly
toward the city and disappeared in
its gloomy streets, l could not help
looking after him with mingled feel
ing of sorrow and admiration. Sor-
row at the great sacrifice which I
knew he was making in burying him
self with all his talent and tastes COM
pletely out Of this present world, as it
seemed to me, and admiration at the
noble heroic spirit in which he made
that sacrifice for Christ's sake.
l could not help saying to myself as
far as l could see him, Lord bless
you, and then there came to me the
words of one who had set the exam
pie of all self.sacrifce. He that
loseth his life in this world, shall find
it unto life eternal.
1t was now about four O'Clock, and
the night was growing darker and
more ghostly as it approached the
morning. 1t was good time to
think about something else if posi-
BILE, but it's just the time when a man
never can think of anything else but
boogars and spooks and hob.goblins,
and all terrifying things that his
imagination can create for itself out
of sounds and shadows and awful
silences. 1t called to mind that
August night eight years before when
three of us were riding in single file
as we were that night, softly and
warily through an enemy's country on
the Kansas prairie. thought Of all
the stories of robbers thatI had heard
the missionaries tell. How that only
last fall, an old white haired doctor
Of divinity was travelling to Constan-
tinople, and was set upon by robbers.
They took his horse and money and
all that he had, and the old mission
ary stood up bravely and began to
preach them a sermon. He took for
his text "thou shalt not steal," and
as he went on with his discourse, they
began to give back one thing and
another until he mounted his
own horse again and rode off, leaving
the robbers sitting by the roadside
ashamed and confounded. They had
never been to church before, or, prob
ably the sermon would not have had
such marvellous effect.
l remember another instance of
missionary in similar circumstances.
They stopped his horse and ordered
him to get down. Then they began
to ask questions. "What are you
doing in this country" He told
them. "Well, what part of the world
did you come from1" Said he, l came
from the most wonderful country you
ever heard of, and the most wonder
full people, and then he began to tell
them stories, how people travelled in
that country, without horses or mules
or camels, and yet went like the wind
on'hying wheels. Marvellous stories
about running under mountains and
talking across oceans, and riding
through the air, and finally, said he,
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