The Bossier banner., 1891-10-15

4 OIL DIN VI HAftlSC anu OlhLASS eIAN
wish to God that l had such circum-
stances around me that l could throw
my pen into oblivion" Buchanan, the
world-renowned writer, exlled from his
own country, appealing to Henry VIII.
for protection! Happy? mo. Over
mountains covered with snow, and
through valleys flooded with rain, |
come fugitive" Moliere, the popular
dramatic author! Happy? mo. That
wretch of an actor just now recited four
of my lines without the proper accent
and gesture. To have the children of
my brain so hung, drawn and quartered
tortures me like condemned spirit"
/ went to see a wording die. AS |
went into the hall l saw its floor was
gallery. l found his death-chamber
adorned with tapestry until it seemed
as if the clouds of the setting sun had
settled in the room. The man had
given forty years to the world-his wit,
his time, his genius, his talents, his
soul. Did the world come in to stand
at his death-bed, and clearing off the
NAeSAo VI OINSSA lAACNAIClLlCS pun uOh II
compensation? Oh, no! The world
does not like sick and dying people,
and leaves them in the lurch. It ruined
this man, and then left him. He had
magnificent funeral All the ministers
wore scarfs, and there were forty-three
carriages in a row; but the departed
man appreciated not the obsequies.
7 10 oSlo fho4
this world is a poor investment; that it
does not pay ninety per cent. of salts
faction, nor eighty per cent, nor twen-
ty per cent, nor two per cent. nor one;
that it gives no solace when a Glad babe
lies on your lap; that it gives nopeaee
when conscience rings its alarm; that
it gives no explanation in the day of
dire trouble; and at tn time of your
decease it takes hold of your pillow
case, and shakes out the feathers, and
then jolts down in the place thereof
signs, and groans, and execratiOns, and
then makes you put your head on it.
Oh, ye who have tried this world, is it
a satisfactory portion? Would you ad
wise your friends to make the invest
ment? No. "Ye have sold yourselves
for nought." Your conscience went.
Your hope went. Your Bible went.
Your Heaven went. Your God went
When sheriff under a writ from the
courts sells man out, the officer gen.
orally leaves a few chairs and a bed,
and few cups and knives; but in this
awful vendue in which you have been
nnaranol Ahn 1o4 loe
come down upon body, mind and soul.
Going! Gone! "Ye have sold your
selves for nought."
How could you do SO? Did you think
that your soul was mere trinket which
for few pennies you could buy toy
shop? Did you ever think that your
soul, if once lost, might be found again
if you went out with torches and Ian
terms? Did you think that your soul
was short-lived, and that, painting, it
would soon lie down for extinction?
Or had you no idea what your soul was
worth? Did you ever put your fore
fingers on its eternal pulses? Have
you not felt the quiver of its peerless
wing? Have you not known that, after
leaving the body, the first step of your
soul reaches to the stars, and the next
step to the farthest outposts of Gods
universe, and that it will not die until
the day when the everlasting Jehovah
expires? Oh, my brother, what possessed
you that You should part with your soul
so cheap? ''Ye have sold yourselves
for nought."
But l have some good news to tell
you. l want to engage in litigation
for the recovery of that soul of yours
| want to show that you have been
cheated out of it. l want to prove, as
will, that you were crazy on that sub
ject, and that the world, under such cir
cumstances, had no right to take the
title deed from you; and if you will join
me shall get decree from the High
Chancery Court of Heaven reinstating
you into the possession of your soul.
"Oh," you say, 81 am afraid of law
suits; they are SO expensive, and can
not pay the cost" Then have you for
gotten the last half of my text? "Ye
have sold yourself for nought; and We
shall be redeemed without money"
Money is good for a great many
things, but it can not do anything in
this matter of the soul You can not
buy your way through. Dollars and
pounds sterling means nothing at the
gate of mercy. If you could buy your
salvation. Heaven would be a great
speculation, an extension of Wall street.
Bad men would go up and buy out the
place, and leave us to shift for our
selves. But as money is not lawful
tender, what is? ! answer: Blood!
Whose? Are we to go through? Oh.
no; it wants richer blood than ours
1t wants a kings blood. 1t must
be poured from royal arteries. It
must be sinless torrent. But
where is the king? 1 see a great
many thrones and a great many occu-
pants, yet none of them seem to be
coming down to the rescue. But after
awhile the clock of the night in Bethle-
hem strikes twelve, and the silver pen
dulum of star swings across the skv.
and see the King of Heaven rising up,
and He descends and steps down
from star to star, and from cloud
to cloud, lower and lower, un-
til He touches the sheep-cov-