# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1880_S47
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

The Lutheran Pioneer.

47

Boyle again spurred the gallant horse. It
fiercely reared and plunged—he lost his seat,

and expected at the moment to feel him-

self dashed to the earth. But not so; for
he continued to fall—fall—fall. ‘‘Where’’,
he cried out, ‘‘where are you taking me—
where am J—where am I going?”’ “Zo Hell’’,
said the same iron voice, and from the depths
below, the sound so familiar to his lips came
back, ‘To hell’’.

“To Hell’’, onward, onward they hurried,
until they entered the high gates of hell.
What a scene! Multitudes, gnashing their
teeth in the hopelessness of mad despair, cursed
the day that gave them birth. They thought
of opportunities lost, and of mercies despised.
Fancy still pictured to them the young and
lovely moving up and down in the giddy mazes
of the midnight-dance—the drunkard still
drawling over the midnight bow] or the obscene
song. There the slave of money bemoaned his
folly in selling his soul for wseless gold! while
the gambler bewailed, alas! too late, the mad-
ness of his choice. :

Boyle saw that he was surrounded by those
whom he had known on earth, but were some
time dead, each one showing his agony at the
bitter recollections of the vain pleasures to
which he had given his time here—time lent to
prepare for a far different scene!

His unearthly guide having disappeared,
Boyle dared to speak to his former friend, Mrs.
D—, whom he saw playing at her favorite game.
“Ha, Mrs. D—! delighted to see you; do you
know a fellow told me to-night he was bringing
me to hell!—ha, ha! If this be hell, what a
devilish pleasant place. My good Mrs. D—, do
you just stop for a moment, rest, and’’—but
with a shrick that seemed to cleave through his
very soul, she cried out, “Resr! there is no rest
in hell!’ and from endless vaults, voices, as
loud as thunder, repeated the awful sound,
“THERE IS NO REST IN HELL!’’ In her bosom
his scared and shuddering eye saw a coil of
fiery living snakes—‘‘the worm that never
dies’’—the worm of accusing conscience and

Of despair; .

—For hell were no hell

If Hope had ever entered there!”
He saw Maxwell, the former companion of his
sins, running on as if still pursuing the head-
long chase. ‘‘Stop, Harry, stop. Speak to
me! Oh, rest one moment!’’ Scarce had the
words fallen from his faltering lips, when again
his terror-stricken ear was stunned with the
same wild yell of agony, re-echoed by ten thou-
sand thousand voices: ‘“THERE I8 NO REST IN
HELL!’?

Boyle tried to shut his eyes. He found he
could not. He threw himself down, but the
Pavement of hell, as with a living movement,
threw him back, and from all quarters again
“rose that cry of agony: “THERE 18 NO REST IN
Petul’” Forced upon his feet, he looked with
horror at
eee of eternal torment. And this was hell!

© scoffer’s jest—the by-word of the mocker!

The other companions heard it all.

the ever-changing, yet ever-steady

All at once he saw his unearthly guide once
more by hisside. ‘‘Take me’’, shrieked Boyle,
“take me from this place. By the living God,
whose name I have so often outraged, I beg
thee, take me from this horrible place.’’

“Canst thou still name his name?’’ said the
fiend, with a sneer; ‘‘go, then; but—in a year
and a day, we meet, to part no more!”’

Boyle awoke, feeling as if the words of the
fiend were written in letters of living fire upon
his heart and brain. The horrid vision was
ever before him. He made up his mind to
leave “The Club’’. Above all, he resolved
that nothing on earth should tempt him to join
the next yearly festival. He began to read the
Bible, and through the word of God the Holy
Spirit was working at his soul. But alas!
Boyle had not the courage to stand up against
his companions. When one of them came to
see him, he hid his Bible.

Those companions had become alarmed with
the idea of losing ‘‘the life of the Club’. They
had bound themselves by an oath never to stop
until they had found out what was the matter
with Boyle, and one of them, more cunning
than the rest, spoke to Boyle as if he sym-
pathised with him, as if he, too, was disgusted
with the world and with the life of the Club.
So he got into Boyle’s confidence, and heard
about the dream and about the reading of the
Bible and soon. The result may be guessed.
Boyle was
laughed at, his feeling of repentance was ridi-
culed, and he who “‘hid the Bible’ could not
stand the jests of his wicked companions. The
Bible was thrown aside—the Holy Spirit was

driven off—Boyle again joined the ‘‘Hell Club’
—all was lost! yet not lost without such a
struggle as wrung the color from his young
cheek, and made him, ere the year was done,
a haggard and a gray-haired man.

From the yearly meeting he shrunk with

horror, and made up his mind not to go there;
but his tempters determined he should have no
choice.
not tell how, seated at that table on that very
day, where he had sworn to himself a thousand
and a thousand times nothing on earth should

Poor Boyle found himself, he could

make him sit.

His ears tingled, and his eyes swam, as he
heard the first words of the president’s address:
“Gentlemen, this is leap year; therefore it is a

year.and a day since our last yearly meeting.”

Every nerve in Boyle’s body twinged in
agony at the well-remembered- words. His
first impulse was to rise and fly; but then—the
sneers! the sneers!

He was more than ever plied with wine, ap-
plause, and every other kind of excitement, but
in vain. His mirth, his wit, were like the
lurid flashes from the bosom of a brooding
thunder-cloud, that pass and leave it all darker
than before; and his laugh sounded fiendish
even to the evil ears that heard it. e

The night was gloomy, with fitful gusts of chill
and howling wind, as Boyle, with fevered nerves
and reeling brain, mounted his horse to go home.

The next morning the well-known black
horse was found, with bridle and saddle on,
quietly grazing on the roadside, about half way
to Boyle’s country-house, and a few yards from
it lay the stiffened corpse ofits master. Boyle
was dead.

Reader, although this is a story about a
dream, yet it is a well-authenticated fact, a true
story, and it speaks to you words of warning.
Do not let the sinful pleasures of this world, do
not let wicked companions keep you from the
way to heaven! The road of the wicked leads -
to hell, and—THERE IS NO REST IN HELL! Re-
member the words of St. Paul: ‘Be not de-
ceived; GOD IS NOT MOCKED; for whatsoever
a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”
(Galatians 6, 7.)

ete

Our Arkansas Letter.

Dear PIONEER.—

Undoubtedly you were anxiously expecting
a letter from this corner of the world. Above
all, you may have desired to hear about our
Christmas festival, though you will be glad to
hear of all good news concerning our mission
here. So I will begin by telling you and your
readers, that on Christmas Eve the children of
our Sunday-school had a most delightful time
around their Christmas-tree.- Though bad
weather had prevented many from coming,
still two thirds of the school—together with a
goodly number of parents and friends—assem-
bled in the church at 7 o’clock. The first hour
was devoted to the singing of Christmas-hymns
and carols by the children and examining them,
as to what they knew about the birth and
childhood of the Saviour. Then followed the
lighting up of the Christmas-tree (a huge tree,
profusely decorated and laden with good things,
had been erected in the centre of the church).
Beneath it were piles of presents for the chil-
dren. Santa Claus had, indeed, much to do, in
order to bring something for everyone of the
147 children of the Sunday-school: Apples,
candies, books, oranges, handkerchiefs, &c.,
and for every chill something from the tree, to
remember the tree of 1879. Among the gifts
were twenty copies of ‘The Lord’s Prayer,
Illustrated”’, which should be given to the
most pious and industrious children of the
school, sent by an unknown friend, styling him-
self ‘‘a fellow-sinner who rejoices with them
(the children) over the birth of the Saviour”’
—n most appropriate gift—also a present of
money (see ‘‘Pioneer” of December 1879) for
each of the two pupils who recited Luther's
Christ-carol best ‘From heaven above to earth I
come” (the names of the two are Matty Carter
and Harriet Hill); also an extra present to the
two pupils who had recited Luke 2, v. 1—20.
best. ‘The pastor and wife, also Mr. Jeske, the
teacher, were kindly remembered with many
gifts, showing that their labors are appreciated.
Almost four hours were spent—as old and
young acknowledged—in a most pleasant man-
ner. As another bit of news I will mention,