The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1891-08-26

half gong UP and down Paternoster
row with volcano in my breast"
Smollett the witty author! Happy?
mo. am sick of praise and blame,
and wish to God that had such cir
cumstances around me that / could
throw my pen into oblivion" Buchan.
an the world-renowned writer, exiled
from his own country, appealing to
Henry VIII. for protection! Happy?
mo Over mountains covered with
snow, and through valleys flooded with
rain, come a fugitive" Moliere, the
popular dramatic author! Happy? mo.
That wretch of an actor just now re-
cited 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 a
condemned spirit" l went to see a
wording die.
As went into the Jail saw its floor
was tessallated, and its wall was pic
ture gallery. l found his death-cham-
Der adorned with tapestry until it seem.
ed 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 talent, his soul.
Did the world come in to stand by his
death-bed and clearing off the walls of
bitter medicine, put down any compen-
sation? Oh, no! The world does not
like sick and dying people, and leaves
them in the lurch. 1t ruined this man
and then left him. He had a magnifi-
cent funeral All the ministers wore
scarfs, and there were forty-three car
riages in row; but the departed man
appreciated not the obsequies
want to persuade my audience that
this world is poor investment; that 1t
does otpay 30 per cent Of satisfaction,
nor so per cent, nor 20 per cent nor
2 per cent, nor /: that it gives no
solace when dead babe lies on your
lap; that it gives no peace when
conscience rings its alarm: that II gives
no explanation in the day of dire
trouble, and at the time of your decease
it takes hold of the pillow-case and
shakes out the feathers and then jolts
down in the place thereof sighs, and
groans, and excavations, and then
makes you put your head on it Oh,
We who have tried this world, is it a
satisfactory portion? Would you adj
wise your friends to make the invest
ment? No. ''Ye have sold yourselves
for naught." Your conscience went.
Your hope went. Your Bible went.
Your Heaven went Your God went.
When sheriff under writ sells man
out, the official generally leaves few
chairs and bed, and a few cups and
knives; but this awful vendue in which
you have been engaged the auctioneers
mallet has come down upon body, mind,
and soul: Going! Gone! "Ye have
sold yourselves for naught."
How could you do so? Did you think
that your soul was mere trinket
which for few pennies you could buy
in a toy shop? Did you 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 SOU
was short-lived, and that, painting, il
would soon lie down for extinction
Or had you no idea what your soul wa:
worth? Did you ever put your fore
fingers on it's eternal pulses? Have
you not felt the culver of its peerless
wing?
Have you not known that, after leav
ing the body, the first step of your SOU
reaches to the stars, and the next steE
to the farthest outposts OF Gods uni
verse, and that it will not die until the
day when the everlasting Jehovah ex
pires? Oh, my brother, what possessed
you that you should part with you
soul so cheaply? Eye have sold your
selves for naught."
But have some good news to tel
you. want to engage in litigation
for the recovery of that soul of yours
want to show that you have beer
cheated out of it. l want to prove, a.
l will, that you were crazy on that sub
ject, and that the world, under such
circumstances, had no right to take tn,
title-deed from you; and If you will joii
me shall get decree from the Higl
, Chancery Court of Heaven reinstatin
you into the possession of your soul
"Oh," say you, II am afraid Of law
suits! They are SO expensive, and
can not pay the cost" Then have yo,
forgotten the last half of my text
"Ye have sold yourselves for naught
and We shall be redeemed withou
. money"
Money is good for q great man
things but it can not do anything i
this matter of the soul. You can nc
, buy your way through. Dollars an
pound sterling mean nothing at tn
, gate of mercy. If you could buy you
salvation Heaven would be q grea
, speculation. an extension of Wa
| street BAD men would go up and bu
: out the place, and leave us to shift fo
) ourselves But as money is not law
full tender, what is? l will answer
| Blood! Whose? Are we to go throug
: the slaughter? Oh, no; it wants richie
3 blood than ours. 1t wants King
, blood 1t must be poured from Roya
3 arteries. 1t must be a sinless torren
l But where is the King? l see
9 great many thrones and great man
e occupants, yet none seem to be comm
J down to the rescue. But after Will
t the clock of night in Bethlehem strike
: twelve, and the silver pendulum of
g star swings across the sky, and sc
a the King of Heaven rising up, and X
=. descends and steps down from star (