The weekly intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1891-1901, 1891-03-21

me- No mistake about it, no delusion.
l saw her, the cap and the apron and
the spectacles, just as she used to look
twenty years ago, but | do wish you
would take these strings away. They
annoy me so. can hardly talk. Won't
you take them away?"
/ knelt down and prayed, conscious of
the fact that he did not realize what /
was saying. / got up. said: Good
by, / hope you will be better soon"
He said: 'Good-by, good-by." That
night his soul went to the God who
gave it. Arrangements were made for
the obsequies. Some said: Don't
bring him in the church. He was too
dissolute." co. said, bring him in;
he was a good friend Of mine while he
was alive, and | shall stand by him
now that he is dead. Bring him to the
church."
As / sat in the pulpit and saw his
body coming up through the aisle | felt
as If l could weep tears Of blood. / told
the people that day: This man had his
virtues and a good many of them. But
If there is any man in this audience
who is without sin, let him cast the first
stone at this coffin lid" On one side of
the pulpit sat the little child, rosy,
sweet faced, as beautiful as any little
child that sat at your table this morn.
ing, l warrant you. She looked up
wistfully, not knowing the full sorrows
of an orphan child. On the other side
of the pulpit were the men who had
destroyed him. Did they weep? No.
Did they sigh repentingly? No. Did
they say: What n pity hat such a
brave man should be slain?" No. no;
not one bloated hand was lifted
10 wipe u tear from n bloated check.
They sat and looked ut the coffin like
vultures gazing at the carcass of u lamb
whose heart they had ripped out! l
cried in their n as plainly as l could:
''There is a God and a Judgment dayl"
Did they tremble? o no, no. They
went back from the house of God, and
that night, though their victim lay In
Lakewood cemetery, l am told that they
blasphemed and they drank and they
gambled, and there was not one less
customer in all the houses of iniquity.
Again Any amusement that gives
you n distaste for domestic life is bad.
How many bright domestic circles have
been broken up by sinful amusements!
The father went off, the mother went
off, the child went off. There are to-
day the fragments before me of blasted
households. o, if you have wandered
away, l would like to charm. you back
by the sound of that one word home"
saw a Maynard husband standing
at the death bed of his Christian wife,
and 1 saw her point to a ring on her
finger, and heard her say to her hus-
band, DO you see hat ring?" He re-
piled, eyes, | see it, well" said She.
do you remember who put it there?"
EYES," said he, If put it there" and all
the past seemed to rush upon him. by
the memory of hat day when, in the
presence of men and angels, you prom
ised to be faithful in joy and sorrow,
and in sickness and in health; by tho
memory of those pleasant hours when
you sat together in your new home talk
ing of Il bright future; by the cradle and
the joyful hour when one life was
spared and another given; by that sick
bed, when the little one lifted up the
hands and called for help, and
you KNEW III luuSI ule, uuu lie put
one arm around each of your necks and
brought you very near together in that
dying kiss; by the little grave in Green
wood that you never think of without a
rush of tears; by the family Bible,
where, amidst stores of heavenly love,
is the brief but expressive record of
births and deaths; by the neglects Of
the past and the agonies of the future;
by n Judgment day, when husbands and
wives, parents and children, in immor-
tai groups, will stand to be caught up
in shining array or to shrink down into
darkness; by all that beg you TO give
to home your best affections.
All my friends, there is an hour COM
ing when our past life will probably
pass before us in review. 1t will be our
last hour. If from our death pillow we
have to look back and see u life spent
in sinful amusement, there will be a
dart that will strike through our soul
sharper than the dagger with which
Virginius slew his child. The
of the past will make us quake like
Macbeth. The iniquities and rioting
through which we have passed will
come upon US, weird and skeleton as
Meg Merrilies. Death, the old Sbylocls,
will demand, and take, the remaining
pound of flesh, and the remaining drop
of blood; and upon our last opportunity
for repentance, and our last chance for
Heaven, the curtain viii foever drop.