Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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RELIGIOUS READINGS. Life's D*y. When the day is young and fair, I Birds sing iu the dewy air. Glinting sunlight everywhere. Hearts are buoyant, free from care, Souls are strong to do and dare, When the day is young and fair. Sunny hours have climbed to noon, Chiming one by ono their tune, All the ways of life are strewu With its hopes, alas, so soon, They|have withered, could not bloom In the sultry heat of noon. But the evening comes apace, With its soft illumined face, Bringing peace to hearts of grace. Hearts that through the dizzy race Keep onav.th a steady pace? Hearts 01 truth, GoJ's heart of grace. ?[Sidney McLaan, in the Current. Praying About Little Thing*, I remember hearing it said of a godly man "Mr. So-and-so is a gracious man, but he is very strauge; for the other d-iy he prayed to God about a key that he had lost." The person who told it to me regorged with astonishment the idea of praying to God about a lost key: and he seemed altogether surprised when I assured him that I prayed in like manner. What, pray about a key' Yes. Please tell rae how big a thing must be before you may pray about it. If a certain si e is appointed we should ; 4U /^Atirn ?n ! lllkC LU UUVC lb max av-u uunu am ?MV | Bible, that we might learn the mathe matics of prayer. Would you have it recorded that, if a thing is so many inches long we may pray about it; bat I if it happens to be a quarter of an inch ' too short, we must let it alone. If we might not pray about little things, it would be a fearful calamity; for little | things cause us great worry, and th y are harder to deal with than great thiugs. If we might not pray about minor matters, it would be a terrible loss of comfort. ? Kev. C. H. Spurgeou. Tie Mum In The Well. It wa3 one of those dark, dismal, I ivurky days of February which followed t!:e breaking up of a cold spell of weithcr. It did not fr<>e e, but it was cold: as chilly, wet, and disagreeable as one can r } o^sibly conceive a day to be. livery- ' body who could, shut the door and sat down by the tire, shivering, l4Oh, how disagreeable it is!" There was a man building a foundry in our village, and to supply his engine with water he was having a well dug be- | side his furnace, which was a heavy pilo of stone-work. The men engaged in digging it held a consultation whither | they should < ontinue their work. The elder of the two said, "Mo, the earth - is too full of water, the pressure of the stone too great; it will cave in,'' and he refused to enter. Hut the other laughed at his fears, descended and beg n his work. But the burdened earth gave way, and he was buried many feet beneath an avalanche of sand and gravel. Wild went the cry over the village. "Fisher's well has caved in and buried Custar beneath 1" The storm- was forgotten. The merchant-dropped his yard stick; the farmer left his wagon in the street; the lawyer threw down his book, the mechauic /lis tool*, the minister his pen. Al ( rushed with throbbing hearts tc the ' rescue. Women caught up their infants and ran amid the storm to sympathize with the frantic wife; and all looked into each other's faces and asked in gasping whispers, "What can we do?" Jiopes, ladders, spades, and shovels were wanted. \n nne stoimod to ask. 'Whose is this?" No one said, "That is mine;" but the cry was, "Take it! take it! make haste! - he will die!"' Down they leaped into tha dark abyss. ! None said, "'Tis not my business," but | nil were so eager that the police had to form a circle to keep off the crowd. j Then there was the stone-work; it was pressing heavily. "Tear it away," cried Fisher; "save him!'' and with giant ; strength, aided by the other men, he hurled the huge rocks from their places, j "It will cost him a great deal," said one j more prudent than the rest. "Don't talk of cost; we'll all give him some- j thin<7 and help to rebuild. Save uim! save nun! don't let him die for a few , dollars' expense." They worked like /vinnta fill f K?#? en'A.if drnna VaII/i/1 irom manly brows, and strong hands ; trembled w.th fatigue: then others took their places, and thus the work went on. j A tin tube was forced do>\n, through | which they shouted and asked the pris- j oner, if alive, to answer; and his voice came back to them from his grave: "Alive, but make haste: it is fearful , here." He was alive, and with a wild j joyous shout, they redoubled their zeal i to save him. No one said, "Ho weftt in ' himself?let him die;" no one bade the j pleading weeping wife "mind her own j business; they had nothing to do with t her perish in 2 fool of a husband: let him ! die." i\o one urged the matter as to the j leeal liability of taking this man's spade, I that man's ladder, and the other man's i boards, or the penalty attached to destroying the masonry and spoiling the works. No. no; there was a mau to be saved, all else was forgotten, and in the full tide of human sympathy they risked themselves to save him. And he was saved. "He is saved! he is saved!'' wcut up with a shout of ioy th. it seemed to rend the skies. ' He is saved!" was echoed from every streit and alley. "He is saved!"cried the young wife, as with strea i ing eyes she clasped her infant to her brea?t. and thought of his relieved ; wiTe and little ones. ''He i9 saved?I ? - * J iL- J Diessea oe >. oam'irmureu we ugcu mother, and the image of her own sou flitted before her. "He is saved!" burst forth as from one voice from the whole village. And yet, this was but one man, a day laborer. Had he died his wife would have shed tears of sorrow, but not of shnme. His childrcu would havo been fatherless, but no dark stain would have sullied their lives. Omen, O women! how strangely inconsistent we are. There are hundreds dying this very day in our Christian land; tens of thousands nrc being crushed beneath a weight more terrible ' than the earth in the well. Frantic *ivcs are pleading, frantic mothers are imploring, 4"Save themsave them!" Even the weakest man is strong enough to enforce his convictions. I finofr hi* A Priest's Advice. The Rev. M. T. Boylan preached a sermon recently in the Catholic Temperance Mission at the Cathedral, Boston. His subject was: "The Causes of Intemperance." He said: "My dear yonng friend, let nothing induce you to engage in the liquor business. There is no necessity for any one to engage in it as a means of earning a livelihood. it you cannot find other pursuits and occupations here which will support you in comfort and decency then it would bo useless to seek for them in any country on the face of God's earth. You may not make as much mone7 in these other occupations, but what you do acquire will come to vou with a blessing, and will go further and profit you more. The number of saloons at tlie present day is practically unlimited: a fact which is a disgrace, to the civilization of the age." 1 RET. DR. TALMAGE. THE BROOKLYN PASTOR S SUNDAY SERMON' Subject: " From Twelve to Three O'clock." Tkxt: "Watchman, what of the night f ?Isaiah xxi., 2. When night came down on Babylon, Nine^ veh, and Jerusalem, they needed careiui watching, otherwise the incendiary's torch might have been thrust into the very heart of the metropolitan splendor; or enemies, marching from the hills, might have forced the gates. All night long, on top of the wall and in front of the gates, might lie heard the measured step of the watchman on his solitary beat; silence hung in the air, save as some passer-by raised the question: "Watchman, what of the night ?" It is to me a deeply suggestive and solemn thing to see a man standing guard by night. It thrilled through me, as at the gate of an arsenal in Charleston, the question once smote me: 44 Who comes there?" followed by the sharp command: 44 Advance and give the countersign." Every moral teacher stands on picket, or patrols the wall as watchman. His work is to sound the alarm: and whether it be in the first watch, in the second watch, in the third watch, or in the fourth watch,to be vigilant until the daybreak flings its "morning glories" of blixuning cloud across the arching trellis of the sky. The ancients divided their night into four parts?the first watch, from six to nine; the second, from nine to twelve; the third, from twelve to three; and the fourth, from three to six. 1 speak now of the city in the third watch, or from twelve to three "o'clock, at that season of the year when the days and nights are about equal. I never weary looking upon the life and brilliancy of the city in the first watch. That is the hour when the stores are closing. The laboring men, having quitted the scaffolding and the shop, are on their way home. It rejoices me to give them my s?at in the city car. Thev have stood and hammered away all day. Their feet are weary. Thev are exflm tiifr Af u'rtrl* 'fliov nro mostly cheerful. With appetites sharpened on the swift turner's wheel and the carpenter's whetstone, they seek the evening meal. The clerks, too, have broken away from the counter, and with brain weary of the long line of figures, and the whims of those who go a-shopping seek the face of mother, or wife and child. The merchants are uuharnessing themselves from their anxieties on their way up the street. The boys that lock up are heaving away at the shutters, shoving the heavy bolts, and if it be winter taking a last look at the fire to see that all is safe. The streets are thronged with young men, setting out from the great centers of bargainmaking. Let idlers clear the street and cive right of way to the besweated artisans and merchants. Thev have earned their bread, and are now on their way home to get it. The lights in full jet hang over 10,000 evenins repasts?the parents at either end of the table, the children between. Thank God, ' who setteth the solitary in families." A few hours later and all the places of amusement, good and bad, are in full tide. Lovers of art, catalogue in hand, stroll through the galleries and discuss the pictures. The ballroom is resplendent with the rich apparel of those who,on either side of the white, glistening boards, await the signal from the orchestra. The footlights of the theatre flash up; the bell rings, and the curtain rises; and out from the gorgeous scenery glide the actors, greeted with the vociferation of the exjjectant *nnlfifurlou rV*nrv*rh-llfl11? ATA lifted infcfl Ml chantment with the warble of one songstress, or swept out on a sea of tumultuous feeling by the blast of brazen instrument's. Drawing-rooms are filled with ail gracefulness of apparel, with all sweetness of sound, with all splendor of manner; mirror-1 are catching up and multiplying the scene, until it seems as if in infinite corridors there were garlanded groups advancing and retreating. The outdoor air rings with laughter, and with the moving to and fro of thousands on the great promenades. The dashing span adrip with the foam of the long country ride, rushes past as you halt at the curb-stone. Mirth, revelry, beauty, fashion, magnificence mingle in the great metropolitan picture. until the thinking man goes home to think more seriously, and the praying man to pray more earnestly. A beautiful and overwhelming thing is the city in the first and second watches of the night. But the clock strikes twelve, and the third watch has begun. The thunder of the city has rolled out of the air. The slightest sounds cut the night with such distinction as your attention. The tinkling or the bell of tile street car In the distance, and the baying of the dog. The stamD of a horse in the next street. The slamming of a saloon door. The hiccough of the drunkard. The shrieks of the steamwhistle five miles away. Oh, how suggestive, my friends, the third watch of the night! There are honest men passing up and down the street. Here is a city missionary who has been carrying a scuttle of coal to that poor family in that dark place. Here is an undertaker going up the steps of a building from which thore comes a bitter cry which indicates that the destroying angel has smitten the firstrborn. Here is a minister of religion who has been giving the sacrament to a dying Christian. Here is a physician passing along in great haste, the messenger a few steps ahead, hurrying on to the household. Nearly all the lights have gone out in the dwellings, for it is the third watch of the night. That light in the window is the light of the watcher, for the medicines must be ad ministered, and the fever must be watched i and the restless tossing off of the coverlid ; must be resisted, and the ice must be kept on the hot temples, and the perpetual prayer must go up from hearts soon to be broken. 0, the third watch of the night! What a stupendous thought?a whole city at rest! Weary arm preparing for to-morrow's toil. Hot bruin being coOled off. Rigid muscles relaxed. Excited nerves soothed. The white hair of the octogenarian in thin drifts across the pillow? fresh fall of flakes on snow already fallen. Childhood with its dimpled hands thrown out on ttie puiow ana wnn every breath taking in a new store of fun and frolic. Third watch of the night! God's slumberless eye will look. Let one great wave of refreshing slumber roll over the heart of the great town, submerging care, and anxiety, and worriment, and pain. Let the citv sleep. But, my friends, be not deceived. There will be thousands to-night who will not sleep at all. Go up that dark alley, and be cautious where you tread, lest you fall over the prostrate form of a drunkard lying on his own doorstep. Look about you, lest you feel the garroter's hug. Look through the broken window-pane, and see what you can see. You say: "Nothing." Then listen. What is " it ? " God help us!" No footlights, but tragedy ghastlier and mightiey than Ristori or .?,awin coocn ever enactea. no ugiit, nu fire, no bread, no hope. If it be winter, shivering in the cold, and they have had no food for twenty-four hours. Yousay: "Why don't they beg?" They do, but they get nothing. You say: "Why don't they deliver themselves over to the almshouse?" Ah! you would not ask that if you ever heard the bitter cry of a man or a child when told he must 20 to the almshouse. "Oh," you say, "they are vicious poor, and. therefore, they do not deserve our sympathy." Are they vicious? So much more need they your pity. The Christian poor, God helps them. Through their night there twinkles the round, merry star of nope, and through the broken window-pane they see the crystals of heaven; but the vicious poor, the}1" are more to be pitied. Thei'- last light has gone out. You excuse yourself from helping them by saying they are so bad, they brought this trouble on themselves. I reply, where I give ten prayers for the innocent who are suffering I will give twenty prayers for the guilty who are suffering. The fisherman, when he sees a vessel dashing into the breakers, conies out from his hut and wraps the warmest flannels around those who are most chilled and most bruised and most battered in the wreck; and I want you to know that these vicious poor have had two shipwrecks?shipwreck of the body, shipwreck of the soul?shipwreck for time, shipwreck for eternity, rity, by all means, the inuocent who are suffering, but pity more the guilty. Pass on through the alloy. Open the . door. "Oh," you say, it is locked! No, it is not locked. It has never been locked. No burglar would be tempted to go in thore to steal anything. The door is never locked. Only a broken chair stands against the door. Shove It back. Oo in. Strike a match. .Now, look. Beastliness and rags! See those glaring eyeballs. Be careful now what you say. Do not utter any insult, do not utter any suspicion, if you value your life. What is that red mark on the wall? It is the mark of a murderer's hand! I Look at those two eyes rising up out of the darkness and out from the straw in ttie cor ner, coming toward you, and as they com< near you, your light goes out. Strike an other ma ton. Ah! this is a babe, not lik< those beautiful children presented in baptism This little one never smiled; it never wil smile. A flower flung on an awfully barrel beach. Oh! Heavenly Shepherd, fold thai little one in Thy arms. Wrap around yoi your shawl or your coat tighter, for the colc wind sweeps through. Strike another match. Ah! is it possible that that young woman's scarred and bruised face ever was looked into by maternal ten derness? Utter no scorn. Utter no harst word. No ray of hope has dawned on thai brow for many a year. No ray of hope evei will daovn on tkat brow. But ..the light has KUUOUUL. JJU I1UL SU1KO ttnumci uguu. IK r?iu Be a mockery to kindle another. fight in such a place as that. Pass out and pass down the itreet. Our cities of Brooklyn and New York and other great cities are full of such homes, and the worst time is the third watch of the night. Do you know it is in this watch of the night that criminals do their worst work? It is the criminal's watch. At half-past eight o'clock you will find them in the drinking-saloon, but toward twelve o'clock they go to their garrets, they get out their tools, then they start on the itreet. Watching on either- side for thepolice, they go to their work of darkness. This is a burglar, and the false key will soon touch the store lock. This is an incendiary, and before morning thore will be a light on the sky, and a cry of "Fire! fire!" This is an assassin, and to-morrow there will be a dead body found in one of those vacant lots. During the daytime these villains in our cities lounge about, some asleep and some awake, but when the third watch of the night arrives, their eye is keen, their brain cool, their arm strong, their foot fleet to fly or pursue, they are ready. Many "of these poor creatures were brought up in that way. They were born in a thieves' garret. Their childish toy was a burglar's dqrk-lantern. The first thing tliev remember was their mother bandaging the brow of their father, struck by the police club. They becan bv robbing- bovs' Dockets, and now they have come to dig the underground passage to the cellar of the bank, and are pre paring to blast the gold-vault, Just so long as there are neglected children of the streets, just so long we will have these desperadoes. Some one, wishing to make a good Christian point and to quote a passage of Scripture, expecting to get a Scriptural passage in answer, said to one of these poor lads,cast out and wretched: "When your lather and your mother forsake you, who then will take you up?" and the boy said: "The perlice, the perlice!" in the third watch of the night gambling does its worst work. What though the hours be slipping away, and though the wife be waiting in the cheerless home! Brinjr on more urinks. Put up more stakes. That 1 i iU.i AMi.r _ K'uu UUlillliercilii uuumj fcuui/ uuijr a ntntr nunc agu put out a sign of copartnership will, in a few seasons, be wrecked on a gambler's table. There will be many a money-till that will spring a leak. A member of Congress fambled with a member-elect and won one undred and twenty thousand dollars. The old way of getting a living is bo slow. The old way of getting a fortune is so stupid. Como, let us toss up and see who shall have it. And so the work go?s on, from the wheezing wretches pitching pennies in a rumgrocery up to the millionaire gambler in the stock market. In the third watch of the nisjht, pass down the streets of these cities, and you hear the click of the dice and the sharp, keen stroke of the ball on the billiard-table. At these places merchant princes dismount, and legislators, tired of making laws, take a respite in breaking them. All classes of people are robbed by this crime?the importer of foreign silks and the dealer in Chatham street pocket-handkerchiefs. The clerks of the store take a hand after the shutters are put up, and the offioers of the court while awaj their time while the jury w out. In Baden-Baden.. when that city was th( greatest of all gambling-places on eaith it was no unusual thing the next morning, ii the woods around about the city, to find th< suspended bodies of suicides. Whatever tx the splendor of surroundings, there is no ex cuse for this crime. The thunders of eterna destruction roll in the deep rumble of tha1 gambling tenpin-alley, and as men come ow to join the long procession of sin, all tin drums of death beat the dead march of i thousand souLs. ;. In one year, in the city of New York, then were seven million dollars sacrificed at thi gaming-table. Perhaps some of your friend have been smitten in this sin. Perhaps so mi of you have been smitten by it. Perhaps there may be a stranger in tin house this morning come from some of thi hotels. Look out tor those agents or miqniq who tarry around the hotels, and ask you "Would you liko to see the city?'' "Havi you ever seen that splendid build ing up town?"' "No." Then th< villain will undertake to show you what hi calls the "lions" and "elephants," and after i young man, through morbid curiosity 01 through badness of soul, has seen the "lions' and the "elephants"' he will be on enchants ground. Look out for these men who movi around the hotels with sleek hats?alwayi with sleek hats?and patronizing air and un accountable interest about Vour welfare anc entertainment. You are a tool if you canuol see through it. They want your money. In Chestnut street, Philadelphia, while ] was living in that city, an incident occurrec which was familiar to us there. In Chestnu street a young man went into a gambling saloon, lost all his property, then blew hi! brains out, and before the blood was washet trom the floor by the mr'd Ihe comrades wen shuffling cards '.gain. . ou see there is mori mercy in the highwaymen for the belatei traveler on whose body he heaps the stones there is more mercy in the frost for the flowei that it kills, there is moro mercy in the hur ricane that shivers the steamer on the Lons Island coast, than there is mercy in the heart of a gambler for his victim. In the third watch of the night, also, drunkenness does its worst. The drinking will t>e respectable at 8 o'clock in the evening, a little flushed at nine, talkative and garru lous at ten, at eloven blasphemous, at twelve the hat falls off, at one the man falls to the floor asking for more drink. Strewn through the drinking-saloons of the city, fathers, brothers, husbands, sons, as good as you are by nature, perhaps better. In the high circles of society it is hushed up. A merchant prince, if he gets noisy and uncontrollable, is taken by his fellow-revelers, whn trv f-n crnt; him tn hfid or take him home. where*be falls flat in the entry. Do noi wake up the children. They have had disgraco enough. Do not let them know it. Hush it up. But sometimes it cannot be hushed up, when the rum touches the brain and the man becomes thoroughly frenzied. Such an one came home, having been absenl for some time, and during his absence hit wife had died, and she lay in the next room prepared for the obsequies, and he went in and dragged her by the locks, and shook her out of her shroud, and pitched her out of the window. Oh: when. rum touches the brain you can not hush it up. My friends, you see all around you the need that something radical be done. You do not see the worst. In th( midnight meetings in London a great multi tude have been saved. We want a few hun dred Christian men and women to come dowi from the highest circles of society to toil amid these wandering aud destitute ones, and kindle up a light in the dark alley, even the gladness of heaven. Do not go wrapped in fine apparel anc from your well-filled tables with the idea thai pious talk is going to stop the gnawing of ac empty stomach or to warm stocklingless feet Take bread, take raiment, take medicine a; well as take prayer. There is a groat deal ot common-sense m wnattne poor woman saic to the city missionary when lie was telling hei how she"ought to love God and serve Him, '"Oh:" she said, '"if you were as j>oor and cold as I am, and as hungry, you could think ol nothing else." A great deal of what is called Christian work goes for nothing for the simple reason it is not practical; as after the battle of Antietain a man got out of an ambulance with a bag of tracts, and he went distributing the tracts, and George Stewart, one of the best Christian men in this country, said to him: ' What are you distributing tracts for nowi There are three thousand men bleeding tc death. Bind up their wounds, and then distribute the tracts." We want more common-sense in Christian ? \.rvf f kio 1 i f A in Atu WUrtv, MlO uioau ui ?uu iuo iu vut hand and the broad of the next life In the other hand. No such inapt work aa that by the Christian man who, during the lasl war, went into a hospital with tracts, and coming to the bed of a man whose legs had been amputated, gave him a tract on the siu of dancing! 1 rejoice before God thai never are sympathetic words uttered, never a prayer offered, never a Christian almsgivI ing indulged in but it is blessed. | There is a place in Switzerland, I have been told, where the utterance of one word wjll bring back a score of echoes; and I have to tell you this morning that a sympathetic word, a kind word, a areneroos word, a help - fu] word, uttered in the dark places of the > town, will bring back 10,000 echoes from all the thrones of heaven. 5 Are there in thi9 assemblage this morning . those who know by experience the tragedies I 1 in the third watch of the night i I am not l here to thrust you back with one hard word. t- T^ltn linnrl rv rro ft-Atri trAnr KniicnH C/tlll L ittKC I'UO UOUUttgO A1 VJU JUU1 I/1U4CTVI sn/u?j i and put on it the soothing salve of Christ's \ 1 Gospel and of God's compassion. Many have come. 1 see others coming to God this morning, > tired of the sinful life. Cry up the news to J* i heaven. Set all the bells ringing. Spread the " banquet under the arches. Let the crowned l heads come down and sit at the jubilee. I Q ; tell you there is more delight in heaven over one man that gets reformed by the grace of i God than over ninety and nine that never got t( I oft the track. p l I could grve you the history, in a minute,of J > one cf the best friends I ever had. Outside of my own family, I never had a better i friend. He welcomed me to mx'home at the , West. He was ot splendid personal appear- c ance, but he had an ardor of soul and a j, ; warmth of affection that made me love him \ like a brother. I saw men coming out of the saloons and gambling-hells, and they surrounded my friend, and they took him a at 1;he weak point, his. social nature, ji and saw him going down, and I had a fair _ , talk with him?for I never yet saw a man ^ you could not talk with on the subject of his S , habils if you talked with him in the right way. j g I said to him: '-Why don't you give up a your bad habits and become a Christian?" I < e, remember now jnst how he looked, leaning i , over'his. coimter, as he replied: "I wish 1 j 1 [ could. Oh; sir! I should like to be a Christian, o , but I have gone so far astray I can't get n . back." p So the time went on. After a while the dav of sickness came. I was summoned to his sick-bed. 1 hastened. It took me but ? very few moments to get there. I was sur. prised as I went in. I saw him in his ordi- "y nary dress, fully dressed, lying on top of the bed. I gave him my hand, and he seized it , convulsively, and said: "Oh, how glad I am " to see you! Sit down there." I sat down E and he said: "Mr. Talmage, just where you h sit now my mother sat last night. Sho has v been dead twenty years. Now, I don't want you to think I am out of my mind, or that I am ? superstitious; but, sir, she sat there last night " just as certainly as you sit there now?the b ( same cap and apron and spectacles. It was my 0 | old mother?she sat there." Then he turned t to his wife, and said: "I wish you would take thesa strings off the bed; somebody is wrap- n ping- strings around me all the time. I wish C | you would stop that annoyance." She said: y "There is nothing here." Then I saw it was f, , delirium. He said: "Just where you sit now my 11 mother sat, and she said: 'Roswell, I wisb p kaffoi.?T t?moVi vaii vaiiIH Ho I rv J \jIX rruuiu uu a n iou j vu kvwuv* v better.' I said: 'Mother, I wish I could do jc better; I try to do better, but I can't. Mother, you used to help me; why can't you 1 help me now?1 And, sir, I got out of bed, for e 1 it was a reality, and I went to her, and threw c my arms around her neck, and I said: 1$ ) 'Mother, I will do better, but you must help: 0 I can't do this alone.'" I knelt down and prayed. That night his soul went to the ^ Lord that made it. g 1 Arrangements were made for the obsequies. 1 The question was raised whether they should | brir.g him to the church. Somebody said: 1 "You cannot bring such a dissolute man aa that into the church." I said: "You wif *< ' bring him in church; he stood by me when h' c 1 was alive, and I will stand by him when hf e ' is dead. Bring him." As I stood in the f 1 pulpit and saw them carrying the body up the aisle, I felt as if I could weep tears ol P blood. a On one tide of the pulpit sat his little child of uight years, sweet, beautiful little girl _ tha; I have seen him hug convulsively in hi} better moments. He put on her all jewels, all & | diamonds, and gave her all pictures and toys, h 1 and then lje would go away as if hounded by n | an evil spirit, to his cups and the house of jj [ shame?a fool to the correction of the stocks. ; She looked up wonderingly. She knew not.,C1 ; what it all meant. She was not old enough * , to understand the sorrow of an orphan child, tl , I On the other side of the pulpit sat the men ? I who had ruined him; they were the men who ? ' * 1 ?? ? J i tl frt f Vin nn'd j : nau poureu tutJ nuimnwu mw vuo v* ? j cup; they were the men who had bound him " hand and foot. I knew thera. How did they n seem to feel? Did they weep? No. Did they n say: "What a pity that so generous a man g j should be destroyed?" No. Did they sigh re- ^ I pentlngly over what they had done? Wo; they I sat there looking as vultures look at the car- ^ j casu of a lamb whose heart they have ripped ? out. So they sat and looked at ti . the coffin - lid, and I told them the 1 \ judgment of God upon those who had 'de- _ j stroyed their fellows. Did they reform? I i wai! told thej* were in the places of iniquity s: that night after my friend was laid in Oak- o I wo-jd Cemetery, and they blasphemed, and jj I they drank. Oh! how merciless men are, espeI daily after they have destroyed you! Do * not look to men for comfort and help. Look i to God. Eut thei-e is a man who won't reform. He o I says: "I won't reform." Well, then, how 0 , mauy acts are there iu a tragedy? I believe A i five. , Act the first of the tragedy: A young 0 man starting off from home. Parents and b i sisters weeping to have him go. Wagon p : rising over the hill. Farewell kiss flung ! back. Rine the bell and let the curtain fall. J Act the second: The marriasre altar. Full ^ 1 organ. Bright lights. Long white veil e I trailing through the aisle. Prayer and s congratulation, and exclamation of "How p I well she looks!'' i Act the third: A woman waiting for I staggering steps. Old garments stuck into*tho broken window-pane. Marks of hardship on L i the face. The biting of the n?tils of bloodless t ! fingers. Neglect, and cruelty, and despair. 0 ! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. . I A 4-Usv TKroa orPA V<K 111 ft fiflHc i place?grave of the child that died for lack of 0 , medicine, grave of the wife that died of a n I broken heart, jjrave of the man that died of dissipation. On! what a blasted heath with _ three graves! Plenty of weeds, but no flowJ en. Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. 81 Act the fifth: A destrwed soul's eternity, c No light. No music. No hope. Anguish ti [ coiling its serpents around the heart. Black- jj i ness of darkness forever. But I cannot look any longer. Woe! woe! ~ ? I close my eyes to this last act of the tragedy, k > Quick! Quick! Ring the bell and let the curtain si drop. "Rejoice, Oh young man! in thy , youth, and let thy heart rejoice in the days of thy youth; but know thou that for all these things God will bring you into judg;- c merit." Tnereis a way that seemeth right to fi a man, but the end thereof is death." 0 ' ri , ? tl ; All About Bats. to i Bats in cold climates hibernate during i the winter, says a writer in the San Fran- 11 ciseo Call; in other words, thev are ?. J enabled to enter a dormant state and live t for months without eating. So complete ! t is this sleep that in cases examined the most delicate instrument failed to detect ~ ' breathing on the part of the animal, and ? . in another instance the bat was placed J1 I under water without any apparent harm I resulting from the extended bath. The ' deep sleeps are generally passed in trunks of trees or caves,and in the latter myrjada e i of bats arc often found. As soon as the 0 1 insect supply is cut off, at the commence- w ' ment of cold weather, the bats take to a 1 the caves and do not appear until spring; , but in this country they arc out all win-1 v 5 ter, perhaps retiring during unusually I ? i cold spells. I P Bats have their value, aud devour a ' ^ 1 large number of injects, from the mosquito to the larger forms. Some of the 0 American Indians do not object to roast ., bat, and the big fruit bats of the Indian ;! J peninsula arc considered gre:it luxuries 1 by the natives. As these animals have a stretch of wing of five feet, it must rei quire no little moral courage to eat one. T.. thr> o.-irlv fToolo<rical aces some re- | J" ",v J n o w . inarknblc bat-like crcaturcs existed, though they were in reality reptiles; j vet some found east of the Hocky | 0 f Mountains were, as far as tip- i a 1 pearanccs go, enormous, toothless * bats. One American form had a spread , of wing of twenty-two feet. The J? i remains of one of these giants can be seen in the museum of Yale College, with ;ih- 2 ' other from Europe that is doubtless the i , [ most remarkable dyer ever discovered or | } I even thought of. Unlike its American j * 1 cousin, it was small, and resembled a bat ' with a pelican-like bill armed with sharp ' ^ . teeth. The tail, however, was the most , wonderful feature. It was longer than i the body, and terminated in a veritable | paddle that was a fac-simile of a ten:ais 5 racket, and served this curious flyer ail a ? . rudder. ^ - - si WOMAN'S WORLD, liEASANT LITERATURE FOR FEMININE READERS. :accination in the Saltan's Seraglio. An Italian doctor who vaccinated the lembers of the Turkish Sultan's harem ; ad a novel exprience. Labouchere says: The women in the Sultan's seraglio at lonstantinope have just been vaccinated ' 3 the number of 150. The operation j 50k place in a large hall under the su- J erintendence of four gigantic eunuchs, 'he Italian surgeon to whom the work 1 ras confided was stationed in front of a uge screen, and the women were con- , ealed behind it. A hole had been made i the center of the screen, just large ' nough to allow the arm to pass through, nd in this manner arms of various colors ! nd sizes were presented to the operator , i rapid succession. It was utterly im- ' ossible for the surgeon to get even a 1 limpsc of his patients; but in order to uard against the chance of his being ' ble to see through the screen, two unuchs. who stood by the operator. arew a shawl over his face instantly an peration was concluded, and did not re- ' love it until the next arm had been laced in position. Women Who Smokp. Of women who love the weed the N'ew 'ork Star sa^s: The French housekeeper delights in i er after-dinner cigarette. The senora of arcelona loves in the evening to wrap 1 er black crcpc about her head, ana, j hile gently puffing her long tobacco igarette, cast heart-thrilling glances from ] er balcony above the walk at the wights , elow. While the German frau is fond f her cigarette or even cigar, and the . Russian wife is not behind in her enjoy- , lent 01 tne wcea, ana even me Japanese, Ihinesc, Tartar, Dutch and .Soudanese rives all like to let tobacco smoke curl \ rora their pretty mouths toward the sky, ' tie Italian signora is, perhaps, the most assionately fond of the long thin cigar ' f the country called the "Virginia." It i no uncommon sight of a summer evenig to see a party of ladies sitting in some ool terrace overlooking the sea on the ampana while the music of their velvety inguage keeps tunc to the soft splashing f the sea against the rocky shore, and ending rings of smoke from their fraT?nt cheroots. The Cotilion. Just now there is a rage ia "Washington >r the cotilion. This dance does not ompete with the colonial minuet in ravity or strict decorum. In one figure, >r instance, a gayly-decorated target is laced at one end of the bail room, and t the other end is stationed a lady with ows and arrows. All along the line past rhicli the arrows will fly the young entlemen dancers stand, and whoever as sufficient dexterity to catch the imble dart secures the fair archer for 1 is partner. In another figure servants arry two trays of bouquets of roses tied rith satin ribbons of Various shades, one ravful for the ladies, the other for the entlemen. There are two bouquets like, one on each tray, and when all are istributed the gentleman searches for a late to hi3 bouquet, which will show his late in the dance. The hurdle-race gure is funny if not dignified. The urdles are of bright-colored silk, and j hen six competitors in evening dress jap the barriers for the prize of a cerlin lady partner a fall is not unlikely, 'he snow-ball game is another figure, here a number of ladies throw paper qow balls in all directions. The name f each lady is written on a slip of paper iside each ball.?Troy Times. Jridal Veils and Orange Blossoms. The enstom of the bride wearing a vqil u the occasion of her wedding is, withut doubt, of Eastern origin. Among ihglo-Saxons it was held over the heads f the bride and bridegroom to hide the lushes of the happy lady from the com- : any. This little compliment was not < aid to a widow on her remarriage, as er blushes were supposed to have been xhausted. This custom was crraduallv upcrseded by the Eastern and more raceful practice of wearing long, sweepog, gauzy veils. How the orange-blossom first came to ic used at marriages is veiled in obscuriy. In France this custom is a a matter ' f much pride arid importance, inasmuch s it is a testimonial of purity, not only f the bride herself, but of integrity and < lorality in the character of her relatives, i In the province of Franche Comte, to rear the orange-blossom is considered a : icred right, obtained by undoubted hari^cter, and, as such, proudly mainlined. Should any act of imprudence . i early life, implying even a suspicion of lint upon the honor of the maiden, be nown, the use of the orange-blossom is ternly forbidden. In almost every village or small town 1 1 France the bride entitled to wear the rown of orange-blossoms has thisbeauti- < ill certificate of her purity either framed ? r placed under a glass shade, and it is jligiously preserved, if possible, even < trough generations, as an indisputable 1 2stimonial of undoubted character. i In Germany the duties of the brideslaid have just a tinge of superstition ? Imut thflm. It is one of their duties on J tie morning of the marriage-day to carry J j the bridge a myrtle wreath, for which bey had subscribed on the previous vening. This they place on her head, . nd at night remove it, when it is placed . 1 the bride's hand, she being at the time lindfolded. The bridesmaids then dance round her, while she endeavors to place * lie wreath on one of their heads. Who- ' ver is fortunate enough to be thus dec- 1 rated will, it is believed, be herself a rife before another year has passed 1 way. _ i In removing the bridal wreath and i eil, the bridesmaids are careful to throw way every pin, or the bride will be over- ( ikeu by misfortune; while any unwary ] ridesmaid who retains one of these use- j ul little articles will materially lessen her hances of "getting off." Mormon ennorafifinna IjlKe IllUUJf UllUCl his has found its way into England, 1 hough it has not yet bccome a general 1 elicf.?All the Year Round. I The Dress of Turkish Women. ' The dress of the women at home is not 1 erv elegant, nor does it tit them very ! refl. It is usually a loose garment made f glossy calico, in gaudy colors, tied i round the waist with a cloth belt, and 1 wadded and padded in winter like a mat- I ress. Underneath they wear a kind of i >*ide pantaloons, fastened at the ankles. >n their feet they wear low shoes withut heels or soles, made of yellow morocco. < 'heir headgear consists of a kind of em- i roidercd calotte, around which is wound , strip of very fine muslin, allowing one ' d see the embroidery and the color of the j up. When women belong to wealthy ? 'urks their ears, necks and fingers are jaded with gold jewelry or precious tones. If their owners are not well off < heir vanity does not give up its right, ] ut it has to content itself with similar < swelry and paste diamonds. All of them i tain their eyebrows, powder their faca* < with rice-powder, and coat their nails with a reddish substance, henne, making their hands look like those of children that have stuok their fingers into a can of preserves. Neither the rich nor the poor among Turkish women own watches; they do not know how to use them. Nevertheless, since commerce has been able to extend its influence to the harems even, clockmakers have succeeded within recent years in getting their goods into the haremliks of a few wealthy pashas. It is hardly necessary to sty, however, that the beautiful inmates do not use them except as playthings. The dress that the Turkish women wear when they go out, is simple, uniform, and absolutely free from caprices of fashion. Moreover, it is, with very little change, the same to-day that it was a hundred years ago. It consists of a kind of simple cloak without tucks, f_l J. ...In AMfl rtlrrt^nf Loms, or urmiaiems, uuu u&uiuoi? nimvub any other scams than the hems. This cloak, or feredje, which is almost always of a light color, fulls like a sack from the shoulders to the ankles, and conceals entirely the clothing under it. It is impossible to rccognizc a woman in this ungraceful sheath, which effaces every line. Their veil, or yachmak, is made of two muslin bands more or less thick, one of which covers the forehead, and the othei the lower and upper part of the face as far as the eyes. Therefore, the only part of a Turkish woman's face that can be seen is the pupils of the eyes, which roll between the two veib, and which, on this account, exhibit a wonlerful sweetness or a wonderful brilliancy. It is noticeable that the young ind pretty inmates of harems usually wear veils much more transparent than the ugly and old. I have myself often admired?but very discreetly?the mavel ous beauty of these terrestrial houris. The veil, floating like a thin vapor befcrc their face, gave them a new charm, effacing all the imperfections of feature and color. They smiled behind theii white cloud, with a little provoking air, as if to thank mc for my aamiration. The head-dress that the young inmates of the harems wear when they go out, consists of a small light and graceful cap, which holds the edges of the veil, and varies but little in form and color. Here again fashion, which has not been able to give a mouth's respite to the hats of .our Christian companions, has been as powerless as elsewhere. The only victory that it has gained over the toilet of the Turkish women, pertains to footwear. There are but few women of Jhe lowei classes that wear yellow Turkish slipperi on the street. Most of them imprison their little feet in graceful and quite civilized slippers, ana even in high Parisian shoes with pointed toe3 and high heels.? Cosmopolitan. Fashion Notes. Satins are going out of favor. Tiny capotes are made of fancy Tuscan. Short-sleeved mantles are much in vogue. Vests as a rule, whether full or plain, are very narrow. Leading dressmakers are making basques somewhat longer on the hip. Chip is being revived by English milliners as a material for hats and bonneU. Cream laces make the most tasteful garniture for bright colored India or China silks. Raveled edges on draperies are shown on a few imported silk and woolen dresses. Amber necklaces are very much worn with evening toilets. The effect is quite infantile. Some of the very small capotes have pointed brims, shaped in front like thq prow of a boat. New capote bonnets of gauze are made with row upon row of plisse about two inchcs wide. An entire black costume, showing a suggestion of silver throughout, is very distinguished in effect. English girls are wearing sailor hats with plaiu ribbon band without bows, and turned up at the back. Large wooden rosary beads, placed as closely together as possible, finish the edges of the street jackets. Black watered silk and black camel's bair are admirably combined for dresses for middle aged or elderly ladies. Colored petals, instead of entire flow ers, are used by London milliners where a mere suggestion of color is deaired. Burnouse shawl draperies and jabot folds are favorite arrangements for the back of the skirts of spring dresses. Muslin parasols in the twelve pointed ;tar designs have one star laid over the other, one portion being transparent. Collarettes, wristlets, and belts of rari-colored jets are worn with, and render effective, the simplest costumes. The old fashioned gigot or let of mutton sleeves aro, sad to say, in fashion igain. They arc extremely disfiguring. In spite of attempts to introduce new colors, pale drabs aud grays continue to ae the favorite shades for dressy tailornade suits. Lace mantles lined with colored silk or latin, bid fair to be popular the coming | summer. This is a revival of a fashion I >f forty yeurs ago. Ribbon ruches of bright colors are still ivorn inside the collars and cuffs of "rocks, although every authority declares ;hem out of fashion. Draperies of wool over silk or velvet jkirti are gaining added popularity each lay. There is a tendency to drape light shades over dark ones. Silks are beginning already to drive the elaborate combination wool costumes aut of favor again, though these latter ire not more than ft year old. Tt"> newotf shdne in hats is callcd the columbine. Its crown is square and the brim very wide and flaring. It is only becoming to a very youthful face. Garibaldi waists are "in" again. The full plastron paved a way for them into refa'vor. They are very comfortable, but ire not becoming, except to poor figures. Greens, grays, Gobelins blue, heliotrope and old rose, and dull yellow ihades are the colors most frequently repeated in the variegated silks of this season. Some of the new vests are very long, md have tiny pocket lids bound with braid, and fancy pointed bodices. Some bave a chemisette at the top, the dress meeting below it, then parting again, showing a wide vest below. A substitute for ruches in the neck and sleeves is produced by folding narrow picot edged ribbon so as to bhow both sdsfes, and hemming it into the dress. - - * i-u *..11 The dress should oe neiu iuu <*uu. ribbon tight, which causes the latter to jit smoothly when worn. No more wholesome advice than this :an be given those upon whom fortune has smiled: However rich you may be, Jo not make pleasure the aim and object j[ life; it will wear you out faster than fvork. or even worry. ( TEMPERANCE. The Temperance Banner. [Thx following poem, written by Rev. Dr. Peter Stryker a score of years ago, has been so changed in many places that we reprint it as originally written:] Unfurl the temperance banner And fling it to the breeze, And let the glad hosanna Sweep over land and seas. To God be all the glory For what we now behold, And let the pleasing story In every ear be told. The drunkard may not perish In alcohol's domain, But wife and children cherish Within his home again. With sober men, repnting, He bows at Jesus' feet, His iron heart relenting Before the mercy-seat. r The blaze is brightly burning In this and every land, And multitudes are turning To join our temperance band. The light of God comes shining To many a soul unblest; Ere long its beams combining With stream from east to west. Soon will a brighter morrow Succeed this glorious day, When drunkenness and sorrow Far distant fly away. Then lift the temperance banner a a m :A. 4. ^LilU lliug it LU ILiC UIW?J, And let the glad hosanna Sweep over land and seas. Talniage on Prohibition. The Rev. Dr. T. De Witt Talmage, since his return lrom a two-weeks' tour in the West, has given his impression of the workings of prohibition as follows: "I give as my deliberate opinion that an honest man cannot fit a drink of intoxicants in Kansas or Iowa, say an honest man. .1 saw not one intoxicated man in those States, nor met one on whose breath was the odor of rum. No liquor was sold there. The rum-shops are all closed. In order to get intoxicating liquor a man must go to a drug store and take solemn oath before God that he is sick and requires it as a medicine, and there are bnfc very few men who are willing to commit perjury. It the druggist trifles with the law and sells to a man without such assurance, or prove himself an evader of the law, he loses his certificate of pharmacy and is put out of the drug business. A clergyman told me that in his city in Kansas he had seen but two intoxicated men in fifteen months, and they had rumjugs they had brought with them from the East. As our train of cars started out of Kansas City, Mo., to cross into Kansas, the porter of the dining-car came through and asked the passengers if wa would like to order some beer. 'What do you mean ?'I said. He answered: 'We cant" sell any beer after we cross into Kansas!' I tell you prohibtion does prohibit. And all the talk you hear to the contrary is dishonest talk. Moreover, prohibition has come there to stav. The young men of those States are proud to be called .Prohibitionists. In their common schools the children are taught the evil influences of strong drink, and all young men in Kansas or Iowa are. either Prohibitionists or loafers. One reason for the present immigration of good families to those States is that there are fewer temptations for young people. Fathers and mothers have bethought themselves what a grand thing it would bo to rear their families away from the everlasting stench of rum, with which so many of our cities are accursed. The pauperism, the crime, the vagrancy of those States are less and less. Soon their criminal courts will be disbanded, and their jails will be empty. State by State prohibition will be adopted, and then we shall have National prohibition. The stronger States will help the weaker. Kanjas will help New York. The Congressmen and Senators at Washington who are afraid of the rum traffic will finally be outvoted by Congressmen and Senators who are not afraid. The country districts will be heard from, and they always staiid for sobriety. The mighty dominion of alcoholism will be broken. The evil will become so great that an indignant nation will rise and stamp it out of existence. Do not be despondent because the work is tedious and protracted. It is considered a great thing if a rail-train under full headway can be stopped at a distance twice its length. Remember that drunkenness with its long train of disasters has been under full headway for centuries, and no decided effort has been made to arrest it until within seventy years. If it stop within a century it will stop in less than half the length of its rushing and damning devastations. I interviewed all the reporters, and all the clergymen, and all the doctors, ana all the merchants, ana all the mechanics, and all the farmers whom I met, and the unanimous testimony is that in Kansas and Iowa prohibition prohibits. The only way to get a drink of rum in those States to-day is through perjury." The Fight Against the Saloon. The movement against the saloon gathers strength as it proceeds. Everywhere throughout the Union?North, East, West, and South ?the people are rising in rebellion against the rale of rum. Restrictive legislation in various forms and constitutional prohibition are the principal lines along which the warfare i>roceeds. During tae present season me jjegisatures of no less than twenty-one States have been called upon to consider the drink evil and take action toward its suppression. In nearly every one of these States something; has been done to cneck the growth of the saloon and curtail its power. High license laws, local option, and prohibitory amendments are the order of the day. Never before in the history of the temperance cause has the feeling against the liquor traffic been so deep, so wide-spread, so earnest, so determined as now. That most powerful of agencies, the public press, has at last arrayed itself against the traffic; many of the leading secular journals of the country have adopted a tone of bitter hostility to the grog shop, and are attacking it daily with all the force and ability they have at command. No stronger or more effective arguments against the saloon can be found anywhere than those put forward in the editorial columns of some of the New York dailies. The gain for temper ance in this direction has been or the most significant and promising character. Public men, too, men of affaire, judges, statesmen, political leaders, who have hitherto held themselves aloof from the discussion of temperance, are now taking sides in the conflict, and many of the ablest and best of them have openly declared agaiast "the business of manufacturing drunkards." The lines are being more and more sharply drawn every* day between the adherents of the rum-shop and the friends of peace, order and sobriety. The hour is at hana when every man must make a decision in this matter. And whqn it comes to this issue everywhere we cannot doubt where the. majority will stand. The sentiment of the country is overwhelming against a continuance of saloon domination. Tnere can be no mistaking t.hiq fact. The present movement is not dependent upon a wave of popular excitement; it is not Dorn of a passing enthusiasm. It is the outcome of years of wrong and suffering induced by the cursed drink traffic; it is a revolt of the people against a power whose reign of out rage, vice, ana crime nas Decome wo uutumv to De longer endured. ?N. Y. Observer. A Judge's Temperance Lecture. Justice Duffy is an effective temperance orator. Ho portrays in vivid colors the miseries of a drunkard. Recently a man was brought before him at the Yorkvilo Police Court after being locked up a week for intoxication. Ifc was well dressed and of respectable appearance. His face, however, showed the eflocts of dissipation. "You ought to bo ashamed of yourself!'* said the littlo Judpje, warmly. "Why- do yotx spend all-your time in barrooms and your money for whisky? Are you in your right mind! What do you do for a living f' "I'm a stonecutter," was the reply. "A stonecutter! A pretty fellow you are for a stonecutter! Instead of earning $4.25 a day you, had rather ba idle and turn your money into drink. Possibly you are one of thoso fellows who frequent liquor saloons and talk about the condition of society. You want an equal division of the earth's goods. If you got it you'd drink it up and call for annfcliw ilivUinn Hnw old are VOU?" ''Nearly 40, sir." "Where do you suppose you'll be when you're GU? Broken down, unable to work, and not a soul to care for you. And then you'll be travelling to the Island as a regular bummer. How nice you'll feel up there, with 500 others like yourself, drunken sots every one " "Yes, but I don't expect to live that long, Judge." "Well, I don't think you will if you keep on this way. If you ever come before me again charged with drunkenness I'll commit you for a year. Mark that, now. Clear out." And the fellow cleared.?JVetu York Sun.