Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1893-08-24


ucation to pick out the day of the almanacl
Oh, how many there are striving to have
things as well as their neighbors, or better
than their nelghbors and in the struggle
| Fast fortunes are exhausted and business
firms thrown into bankruptcy, and men of
reputed honesty rush into astounding for
geresl
OF course l say nothing against refine
ment or culture. Splendor of abode, sunnptu-
BUSINESS of diet, lavishness in art, neatness
in apparel-there is nothing against them
| in the Bible or out of the Bible. God does
not want us to prefer mud hovel to English
cottage or untanned sheepskn to FGench
broadcloth or hrlsks to pineapple, or the
clumsiness of boor to the manners of
| gentleman. God, who strung the beach
with tinted shell and the grass of the field
with the dews of the night, and hath ex-
quisitely tinged morning cloud and robin
redbreast, wants us to keep orr eye open to
ell beautiful sights, and our ear open to
Rll beautiful cadences, and our heart open
! To all elevating sentiments. But what |
want to impress upon you is that you
ought not to inventory the luxuries OF life
rs among the indispensables, and you
ought not to depreciate this woman OF the
text, who, when offered kngly preferment,
responded, 81 dwell among my own people"
GREAT IN HER PIETY.
Yea, this woman of the text was great
in her piety. Faith in God, and she was
not ashamed to talk about it before hlola-
tors. All, woman will never appreciate
what she owes to Christianity until she
knows and sees the degradation of her sex
under pagansm and Northumberland
Her very birth considered n misfortune.
Sold like cattle in the shambles. Slave of
all work. and at last her body fuel for the
| funeral pyre of her husband Above the
! shrek of the fire worshipers in India and
above the rumbling of the juggernauts, l
hearthe million voiced groan of wronged, in
suited, broken hearted, dOwntrodden won-
an. Her tears have fallen in the Nile
| and Tigris and the La Plata and on the
steppes of Tartary. She has been dshon-
ored in Turkish garden and Persian palace
and Spanish alhambra. Her little ones
have been sacrificed in the Gauges. There
Is not groan. or a dungeon, or an island,
! or mountain, or q river, or lake, or sea
but could tell story of the outrages
heaped upon her
But, thanks to God, this glorious Chris
tianity CONES forth, and all the chains of
this vassalage are snapped, and she rises
up from ignominy to exalted sphere and
becomes the affectionate daughter, the gen
tie wife, the honored mother, the useful
Christian. Oh, if Christianity has done so
much for woman surely woman will be-
come its most ardent advocate and itu sub
FINEST exemplification.
When | come to speak of womanlv in
fuence my mind always wanders OFT to one
model--the aged one, who ~ years ago we
put away for the resurrection About 81
years ago, and just before their marriage
day, my father and mother stood up in the
old meeting house at Somerville, n j., and
took upon them the vows of the Christian
Through a long life of vicssitude she lived
harmlessly and usefully and came to her
end in peace. No child of want ever came
to her door and was turned empty away
No one in sorrow came to her but was
comforted. No one asked her the way to
be saved, but she pointed him to the cross
When the angel of life came to a neigh
boris dwelling, she was there to joice at
the starting Of another immortal spirit
When the angel of death came to a neigh
boris dwelling, she was there to robe the
departed for the burial.
We had often heard her, when leading
family prayers in the absence of my father
say, 80 Lord, ask not for my children
wealth or honor, but | do ask that they
all may be the subjects of thy comforting
grace" Her IL children brought into the
kingdom of God, she had but one more
wish, and that was that she might see her
long absent missionary son, and when the
ship from China anchored in New York
harbor, and the long absent one passed over
the threshold of his paternal home she said
Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant de-
part in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy
salvation" The prayer was soon answered.
THAT GLORIOUS WORD MOTHER"
Ii was an autumual dav when we oath
cred from afar and found only the house
from which the soul had fled forever She
looked very natural, the hands very much
as when they were employed in kindness
for her children. Whatever else we forget
we never forget the look of mothers hands
As we stood there by the casket we could
not help but say, Don't she look beauti-
full" 1t was a cloudless day when with
heavy hearts we carried her out to the last
resting place, The withered leaves crum-
bled under hoof and wheel as we passed.
and the sun shone on the Raritan river I'M
til it looked like fire. But more calm and
beautiful and radiant was the setting sun
of that aged pilgrims life. No more toll,
no more tears, no more sickness, no more
death. Dear motherl beautiful mother.
Sweet is the slumber beneath the sod,
While the pure spirit rests with God.
1 neeu not 90 Dack ana show you Xeno-
bia or Semiramis or Isabella, or even the
woman of the text, as wonders of womanly
excellence or greatness, when in this mo-
ment point to your own picture gallery of
memory and show you the one face that
you remember SO well and arouse all your
holy "reminiscences and start you in new
conservation to God by the pronunciation
of that tender, beautiful. glorious word,
"Motherl Motherl'
Alphonse Daudet's Son.
Mr.. r.. ii. Sherard writes to the London