The age-herald., 1898-01-02

which followed. The good old deacon
 hurried to his home. changed his clothes, bade his family goodbye, and at once
 began his work of mercy. What work 1t was! The epidemic lasted nearly all winter; large numbers died; few in the village escaped the disease. The deacon's example was followed by others Men went to their homes, told their wives and children what the deacon had said and was doing, arranged their business, pro- vided fuel and provisions, kissed their dear
 ones, and went to the aid of the unfor- tunate. Like the deacon, they went with out reward or hope of reward Like him, they spent weeks and some of them months in that service, without daring to go home, lest their dear ones catch the disease.
 The strangest of all this strange experi- ence is the fact that neither the deacon. | the cood sorIe who initiated lhis examnle nor their families, were overtaken by the | malady. notwithstanding the fact that the watchers, helpers, and nurses were | almost constantly in the presence of the suffering patients notwithstanding the | fact that they laid out and helped to bury l the dead
 Nearly half of the deacon's congregation l had disappeared when, the next spring, he resumed services in the schoolhouse It was sorrowful Sunday. Those in the | audience who had not lost members of l their family had lost neighbors and dear | friends. When the good old Christian had | read chapter, prayed, and talked prac- tical sermon, he referred feelingly to the | scenes through which the community had passed. I think every man, woman and | child in the room, including the deacon. wept. At the close of the talk he asked | all present to join him on their knees in asking that the community might escape | such visitations for all time to come. It | was most earnest appeal. I believe that that prayer has been answered. There may have been a few cases of smallpox there since then, but there has never been an epidemic.
 The Sunday after Sumter was fired upon, | and while Deacon Trowbridge was con- I ducting services in the Baptist church, the denomination to which he belonged for cver eiC}ltv- wears. he and his cor~rega- ton were disturbed by great commotion | .i- tne street right in front of the church. l There was beating of drums and sounds of l fife, much out of tune. It was so uncom- | mon a thing that the most of the congre- gation walked or ran out of the church l Finally, the deacon closed the Bible, and l slowly followed his fleeing flock. Wher 1 outside he asked the cause of "this un. l seemly disturbance on the Lords day. l Some one told him that the president had l called for soldiers to uphold the honor and
 the flag of the nation, and that they were 1 going to raise a company right then ani l there
 The old deacons eyes flashed as ht l walked out into the street, where a young fellow was irregularly pounding a bas. l drum, and said: Nathan. I know it i: l Sunday, and that all but the Lords worl l should be abandoned; but the saving of oul
 country and the shielding of its flag from
 dishonor is the Lords work. Give m, l that drum" And that model of piety strapped on the big drum and went tt l pounding, greatly outdoing Nathan in two | respectable made more noise and kep | perfect time. He drummed as no one be ] Tore had ever drummed In the little village | AS If 1t had gone on lightning wings, wort | flew through the community that Deacor | Trowbridge had left his pulpit to beat z
 drum, and on Sunday, too.
 Within half an hour nearly every one fl | town and many from the outskirts hat | gathered around the old drummer al
 cheering him, and on Sunday, too Tha | night Nathan Cole, who had been relieved | as drummer by the deacon, went to She
 boygan with enough men to make up what
 became Company of the Fourth Wiscon | sin.