The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1888-08-02

their wives. That Is not poetry That
| is prose. But the wrong is generally in
the opposite direction. You would not
have to go far to find wife whose life is
perpetual martyrdom. Something
heavier than stroke of the fist; unkind
| words, staggerings home at midnight, and
constant maltreatment which have left
her only a wreck of what she was on that
| day when in the midst of a brilliant as
| semblage the vows were taken, and full
organ played the wedding march, and
| the carriage rolled away with the bene-
diction of the people. What was the
| burning of Latimer and Ridley at the
stake compared with this? Those men
soon became unconscious in the fire, but
here Is a fifty years martyrdom, fifty
years putting to death, yet uneomplain-
| ing. No bitter words when the rollick-
! ing companions at o'clock in the morn
| ing pitch the husband dead drunk into
| the front entry. No bitter words wheN
| wiping from the swollen brow the
| blood struck out In midnight carousal.
Bending over the battered and bruised
| form, of him, wh,, when he took her
from her fathers home, promised love,
and kindness and protection, yet nothing
| but sympathy, and prayers and forgive
ness before they are asked for. No bit
| ter words when the family Bible goes for
rum, and the pawnbroker's shop gets the
| last decent dress. Some day. desiring to
evoke the story of her sorrows you say:
| ''Well, how are you getting along now?"
and rallying her trembling voice, and
| quieting her quivering lip. she says:
'Pretty well, l thank you, pretty
WE'LL" She never will tell you. In the
delirium of her last sickness she may tell
all the secrets of her lifetime, but she will
not tell that. Not until the books of
eternity are opened on the thrones of
| Judgment will ever be known what she
| has suffered Oh! We who are twisting a
garland for the victor, put it on that
pale brow. When she is dead the neigh
bors will beg linen to make her shroud,
and she will be carried out in plain box
with no silver plate to tell her years, for
she has lived thousand years of trial
and anguish. The gamblers and swim
dlers who destroyed her husband will
not come to the funeral. One carriage
will be enough for that funeral-one car
riage to carry the orphans and the
| two Christian women who presided
over the obsequies. But there is fash,
and the opening of celestial door, and a
shout: ''Lift up your head, ye everlast-
ing gate, and let her come inf" And
Christ will step forth and say: ''Come
in! Ye suffered with me on earth, be
| glorified with me in heaven" What is
the highest throne1n heaven2 You say,
THE throne of the Lord God Almighty
and the Lamb" No doubt about it.
What Is the next highest throne in
heaven? While L speak it seems to me
that it will be the throne of the drunk
ards wife If she with cheerful patience
endured all her earthly torture. Heroes
and heroines.
[ find also in this roll the heroes of
Christian charity. We all admire the
| George Peabodys and the James Lenoxes
of the earth, who give tens and hundreds
of thousands of dollars to good objects
But I am speaking this morning of
those who out of their pinched poverty,
! help others-of such men as those
Christian missionaries at the west, who
are living on $3.50 year that they may
proclaim Christ to the people, one of them,
writing to the secretary IN New York,
saying: Il thank you for that $25. Until
yesterday we have had no meat in our
house for three months. We have suf-
fered terribly. My children have no
shoes this winter And of those people
who have only half loaf Of bread,
but give piece of it to others who are
| hungrier; and of those who have only a
scuttle of coal, but help others to fuel;
and of those who have only dollar in
| their pocket, and give twenty-five cents
to somebody else, and of that father who
wears a shabby coat, and of that mother
who wears faded dress, that their chill
dren may be well appareled. You call
! them paupers, or ragamuffins. or emf
grants. call them heroes and heroines.
You and | may not know~where they
live, or what their name is. God knows,
and they have more angels lowering over
them than you and have, and they will
| have higher seat in heaven.
They may haye only cup of cold
water to give a poor traveller OF may
have only picked splinter from under
the nail of child's finger or have put
only two mites into the treasury, but the
Lord knows them. Considering what
they had, they did more than we have
ever done, and their faded dress will be-
come white robe, and the small room
will be an eternal mansion, and the old
hat will be a cOronet of victory, and all
the applause Of earth and all the shout
ing of heaven will be drowned out when
God rises up to give his reward to those
humble workers in his kingdom, and to
say to them: ''Well done, good and
faithful servant
You have all seen or heard of the
ruin of Melrose Abbey. I suppose in
some respects it is the most exquisite
ruin on earth. And yet, looking at it
was not SO impressed-you may set it
down to bad taste-but I was not SO
deeply stirred as | was at a tombstone at
the foot of that abbey-the tombstone
placed by Walter Scott over the grave of
an old man who had served him for a
good many years in his house the in
scription most significant, and I defy
any man to stand there and read it with
out tears coming into his eyes-the epi-
taph, "Wen done, good and faithful SER
vantw Oh, when our work is over, will
it be found that because of anything we
have done for God, or the church, or
suffering humanity, that such an in
scripiioh is appropriate for us? God
grant it.
Who are those who were bravest and
deserved the greatest monument-Lord
Claverhouse and his burly soldiers, or
John Brown, the Edinburgh carrier, and
his wife? Mr.. Atkins, the prosecuted
minister of Jesus Christ in Scotland, was
secreted by John Brown and his wife,
and Ciayerhouse rode up one day with
his armed men and shouted III front of
the house. John Browns little girl came
out. "Well, miss, is Mr.. Atkins here?''
She made no answer, for she could not
betray the minister of the Gospel. HAP
Claverhouse said, 'ssthen you are chip
of the old block, are youa l have some
thing in my pocket for you. 1t is nose
gay. Some people call it a thumbscrew,
but call it nosegay." And he got off
his horse, and he put it on the little girls
hand, and began to turn it until the