St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1900-02-03

ly get over the bewildering fatigue Of
selecting gifts for children and
friends and see that the presents ret
off in time to arrive on the appropri-
ate day than we see another adsAnc-
ing group of holidays. AutumnaI
fruit so sharply chases the summer
harvest, ad the snow of the white
blossoms of springtime come SO sooD
after the SHOWS of winter. 1t is re-
mark so often made that it fails to
make any impression and the plahr
tude that calls forth no reply: How
rapidly time goes
A third reading of my text reminds
me that life is not only story told, but
a story listened to. There is nothing
more We xatious to anyone than to tell
a story when people are not attending.
They may whisper on some other sub
iect, or they are preoccupied. One
cannot tell story effectually unless
there are good listeners. Well, that
which in my text is called the tale that
is told" has plenty of listeners There
is no such thing as solitude. no such
thing as being alone. God listens, and
the air is full of spiritual intelligences
all listening, and the world listens to
the story of our life, some hoping 1t
will be successful, others hoping il viii
be failure.
We talk about public life and private
life, but there is no private life. The
story of our life, however Insignificant
it may seem to be, will win the applause
or hiss of a great multitude that no
man can number. As a '.tale that II
told" among admipers or antagonists,
celestial or pandemoniacs, the universe
is full of listening ears as well as Of
cleaning eyes, If we say or do tae
right thing, that is known. / suppose
the population of the intelligences in
the air is more numerous than the pop
ulation of intelligences on the earth.
Aye, all the world will yet. listen to
and be redeemed by a tale that is told"
We. aye all telling it, each in his own
swayTsome by voice, some by pen, SONS
sbys artists pencil, some by harp and
some by song; mother telling it to
child, teacher telling it to Sabbath
class, reformer telling it to outcast,
preacher telling 1t to assemblage. The
story of the Loveliest of Heaven coming
down to this SCARED and blasted island
of a world. He was ordered back from
its shores and struck through with
lances of human hate as soon as he
landed. Shepherds dog baying on the
hills that Christmas night was better
treated than this rescuer of = race, yet
keeping right on, brambles on brow.
feet on spikes, fagellated with whips
that had Jumps of lead fastened to
them, through midnight without Lam
terms, through storms without q shell
ter, through years that got blacker uq-
til they ended in a MONDAY with the
sun blotted out. Mightiest tale ever
told, and keep on telling it until the
last sorrow is assuaged and the last
animosity il quenched and the last des-
ert is white with the lily and golden
with the cowslip and blue with the
gentian and crimson with the rose.
Ny text, in referring to the years, re-
minds me that in IL hours this year win
forever have gone away. Ninety-nine
out of the hundred years OF this century
will have disappeared. We have only
one year of the century left There
ought to be something especially sug-
gestive in the last year of q century.
1t ought to be a year of unparalleled in
dustries, of unheard of conservation.
Not person in any of our audiences
this day can remember the first year
of this century. Not a person in any of
our audiences to-day will ever again see
the last year of a century.
Through medical science the worlds
longevity may be greatly improved in
the future, as it has been in the past,
but it would not be well for people to
live too long. Some of them would,
through their skill at acquisitiveness,
gather too much, and some multi
millionaires would become billionaires
and trillionaires, and some one would
after awhile pocket a hemisphere. No.
Death is useful in its financial limita-
tions, and then all have enough sorrows
and annoyances and sufferings by the
time they become nonagenarians or
centenarians to make it desirable to
quit. Besides that, it would not be fair
so long to keep so many good old peo-
pie out of Heaven. So it is well ar
ranged that those who stand by the
deathbed of the nineteenth century
will not be called to stand by the DEATH
bed of the twentieth century.
Oh, crowd this last year with prayers,
with hosannas, with kind words, with
helpfulness. Make the peroration of
the century the climax Of Christlike
deeds. Close up the ranks OF God and
during this remaining 12 months
charge nightly against the host of
Abaddon. Have no reserve corps. Let
swiftest gospel cavalry gallop, and
heaviest moral artillery roll, and
mightiest evangelistic batteries thun-
der on the scene. Let ministers Of the
Gospel quit all controversy with each
other, and in solid phalanx march out
for the worlds disinthrallment. Let
printing presses, secular and religious,
make combined movement to instruct
and emancipate the world. On all the
hills let there be Elijah, praying for "a
great rain," and on every contested
field Joshuas to see that final victory is
gained before the sun goes down, and
every mountain become transfgura-
tion and every Galilee walking place
for the worlds disenthrallment. Let
us be jealous Of every month, of every
week, of every day that passes without
something significant and glorious
wrought for God and this sin cursed
world. Let our churches be thronged
with devout assemblages. Let the
chorals be more like grand marches
than requiems. Let this coming year
see the last wound Of Transyaal and
Philippine conflict, and the earth quake
with the grounding arms Of the last
regiment ever to be marshaled, and the
furnaces of the foundries blaze with the
fires that shall turn the last swords into
plowshares.
And may all those whose lives shall
go out in this last year of a century, as
many will, meet in the Heavenly world