INDIANAPOLIS, IND., Oct. 26, 1894. Indiana white-ribboners personally bereaved by death of Mary Woodbridge. Read II Samuel, first chapter, last three verses. LENA M. BECK, President. LODIE E. REED, Secretary. ALLIANCE, O., Oct. 26, 1894. Countless thousands mourn. The heroine died at her post. Life for duty and love. The loss strikes the cause of God, home and native land. Ohio Prohibitionists tender heartfelt sympathy. L. B. LOGAN. WEST GROVE, PA., Oct. 27, 1894. My heart bleeds. Mrs. Woodbridge was my inspiration all the years. REBECCA B. CHAMBERS. Mrs. Hall, a near neighbor of Mrs. Woodbridge in Ravenna, sent us the following: It matters not though unaware, Death's angel came at close of day; We chant no dirges while we weep, If we but glean where she has sown, Some golden sheaves at set of sun. GOD WATCHES O'ER HIS OWN. BY MARY T. LATHRAP. The W. C. T. U. has won a name, which has gone to the ends of the earth a synonym for whatsoever is pure, and has translated its high principles into the languages of the world. The W. C. T. U. has developed a rounded, earnest womanhood, and brought to worthy fame some of the best known women of to-day, while its leader easily stands preeminent in the place she holds and the work she has done for her country and her time. All this being true, we should look for near tokens of ultimate victory. But they do not appear. The truths admitted by the brain and conscience of the nation do not get into its laws nor direct its statesmanship. The blood of souls yet stains the gold of her revenues. The actual revolt of Iowa Republicanism from the law and principle of prohibition outlines the future policy of that great division of citizens; and the fact that bishops and brewers both rejoice in the triumph of that party which thus throws off obligation to this greatest of questions is but a token of the moral obstinacy abroad. But That cry rings on and it will not cease! The time grows ripe for the hour of God. What then, says Prophecy, at the gateways swinging across the path of twenty years? This-righteous principles can never be defeated or overthrown. It takes courage and faith to stand for principles where they seem to make no progress but wait silent as the "Sphinx in Egypt sands." Workers long to show results, to say to the world: See what has been achieved! They are often unwilling to wait the triumph of conviction wrought by the spirit of God. Here lies the danger. We need a return to more spiritual weapons, a new consecration to principles which alone are eternal and triumphant. The curse is yet upon us; conscience sleeps, evil is abroad, and the God of nations at the door. We must get right or be punished. Set the trumpet to thy lips, O watcher, Who heard the voice divine; Blow one clear strain to rouse the souls that slumber, This is an evil time. Set the trumpet to thy lip, O watcher! Cry out across the night; Stay by the truth, wherever it may lead thee, At last 'tis crowned in light. Set the trumpet to thy lip, O watcher; Speak all thy soul hath known; Fear not, for in the stress of any battle, Jackson, Mich. CHAPTER XXIV. THE AUTHOR'S ESTIMATE OF MRS. WOODBRIDGE-JOHN G. WOOLLEY'S TRIBUTE-CONCLUSION. Those who have passed into the world beyond the grave are, in God's sight, and before our own hearts, still one with us. Whosoever it be that we have so lost, they still call upon us by what we cherish and know of them, to remember that their wishes and their hopes for us are not buried in their graves, but will continue as long as our own immortal souls. The good thoughts, the good deeds, in good memories of those who have been the salt and the light of the earth do not perish with their departure-they live on still; and those who have wrought them live in them.-Dean Stanley. God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What He hath given; They live on earth in thought and deed as truly As in heaven. A BRILLIANT writer has said: -J. G. Whittier. "A radiant and spark ling woman, full of wit, reason and fancy, is a whole crown of jewels. A poor, opaque copy of her is the most that one can render in a biographical sketch." I feel painfully conscious of having given but a poor, opaque copy of the jeweled womanhood of my beloved friend, even in this volume. When Michael Angelo made his matchless statue of Moses, he looked upon his finished work, and was so lost in rapturous admiration that he struck it with the chisel on the limb and said: "Moses, why don't you speak?" The mark of the blow is there still; but "there was no voice that answered." It was, after all, only an image in stone of the great soul that lived |