Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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\ W /t\ ?:V/.<7.\?iOK/N/i? %.* /V - /V - A*A A*/\*/\*y ?/ fc/\?/\( ^ i I Swamp M/ wvvwwwv* 53* >& A STORY OF Tl i>4 >l> ~~~? W 135* EBF.X E. jfe ' *e!e:$ Copyright by Robert Bonner's Sons. i PROLOGUE. 1 About a score of years ago. a man was i following the trail "of a deer through a j dense swamp in one of our Western States. , Coarse and wiry grass grew thick and tall * on each side of "a little ridge of land along i which the deer had taken his way, and the ( sound of the wind among its lance-like i leaves, as the hunter paused to li?.ten for gome sound of the animal he was in pursuit of. was inexpressibly mournful. It was < something like the sound of the wind j among the pines, only more shrill aud , Incisive, and seemed to dominate all other ; sounds in that lonesome spot. Here and 1 there tall tamarack-trees rose grimly sky- s ward, most of them dead and seeming like , ghosts of what they had once been, and their decaying branches gave the seene an additional loneliness, in perfect keeping i with the sound of the wind among the f grass, j ar as me eye couiu see, mcse u?udead trees grew, aiid it seemed as if one had got out of the world in which men and t women lived and loved and died, and would ( never find his way back to it through so ^ much wilderness, each mile of which was but a repetition of the mile preceding it. f All was alike in this swamp-world to any J but trained eyes. ] The hunter, following the faintly defined track of the fleeing deer, came suddenly * upon a little opening in the underbrush i through which he had threaded his way, < . and paused for breath again. He leaned upon his gun and looked about , him as he wiped the sweat from his face. ' He seemed to have reached a sort of island 1 in the great sea of swamp. The edges of it < were fringed with a dense growth of white j sumach, the exhalations from which will often poison one, and which few can touch ( with impunity. Its greenish-white berries ] shone like waxen fruit in the slant rays of , the sun, contrasting strongly with' the j foliage of a creeper whose leaves had red- ' dened in the autumn frost till they looked i like great stains of blood. In the center of ] the island stood a huge cedar-tree, ueau, i with one limb stretched out like an arm. Swinging from that limb was an old rust- i eaten chain, and dangling from it, caught 1 by the hook on its end, was a human skull, ^ grinning, white and ghastly. Beneath the skull lay a little heaj> of bones, bleached white by years of rain and snow, and worn 1 into half their former size by the work of j the elements upon them, jfo weed grew . near them. It seemed as if they made the . spot on which they lay barren and accursed. ' The hunter could not repress a feeling of almost superstitious fear at sight of the ( weird and horrible thing before him. With the gloom and desolation of dead * and dying trees behind and all about it, J and the sound of the wind in the grass making the lonesomeness of the scene oppres- 1 sive, as if the very air was pervaded with a . sense of horror and awe, the uncanny ob- ' ject seemed to leer at him from the eyeless i sockets of the skull, and ho could fancy f that skeleton fingers moved among the moldering bones, as if to clasp him in a J horribly clutch, from which it would be im- ' possibie to shake himself loose. The scene < won UL-d <i r\ i rrh t m f? VU in tones of color, that affect one as minor music docs, the only relief to its depressing influence being the crimson creeper leaves, and thes'), from their lurid suggestion of blood, oniv seemed to heighten and intensify the feeling of awe and terror which the solitary.spectator felt. A sudden llerce wind blew through the trees, making moaning sounds among the naked limbs. It caught the dangling skull \ in its grasp, and swung it to and fro as if it were a horrible plaything of fate. A raven flew from the stunted top of the old cedar, with a hoarse croak that sent a shiver through the man who listened. A strange fright took possession of him, and, with a cry, he turned and fled from the place. It Is the story of this swamp skeleton that I am going to tell you. CHAPTER I. SINGING-SCHOOL. The Brownsville of fifty years ago was a very different place from the Brownsville of to-day. The name sug gests a village. There is a kind of 1 villagy sound about the "ville." But i in the days of which I write, when villages were few and far between on f the frontier, the sound suggestive of a 1 village was the only indication of one 1 which you could have found if you i had hunted the township over in which Brownsville was located. There was . a little store on one corner of the 1 cross-roads, and a Little way down the 1 road from this general rendezvous for ! Brownsvillians of the sterner sex on ' rainy days, and at times when there ?umu i ill lieu iu uu, Lucre ^ a?s u j school-house, which Avas a church, j>ro i tern., whenever a minister came along, which was not very often in that early 1 period of Brownsville's existence. I These two houses, built of logs, formed the nucleus of Brownsville. The farms of the settlers were scat- ; tered about through the woods, and as the "oldest inhabitant" had only a residence of five or six years to fall back on in telling the stories which oldest inhabitants always have told and always will tell, the residents of the place had to admit that it was quite "new,"as the saying goes in the West, regarding a recently settled locality. As the settlement extended several miles in each direction from the schoolhouse and store, and was all included when Brownsville was spoken of, "going to Brownsville" was regarded as a rather vague statement regarding a person's destination, by people living outside the place, in those primitive days. Solomon Boone lived about a mile from the "village," as the store and school-house were dubbed by general consent of all public-spirited citizens living in the vicinity. He had the best farm in the settlement, and enjoyed the enviable notoriety of owning the best span of horses and the prettiest girl in Brownsville. Nannie Boone was averypretty girl, and she knew it quite as well as any one. Her face was full of healthy color, without being red, and her cheeks were fully as bright, as the wild-roses which grew along the path leading to the school-house. Her eyes were as keen as black eyes ever are, but they were brown, of that peculiar shade which can shift through the gamut of the color-scale, sometimes seeming intensely (lark, and then softening to the tenderness of blue. This trick of expression which nature had bestowed upon Miss Nannie had the power to make the hearts of the young men of i Brownsville palpitate about twice as j fast as usual when she turned her eyes upon them, and reinforced her glances with a smile from her full, red lips, I for a kiss from Avhich almost auy of: the young men would have given a j gootl week's work. From which you j will readily infer that the young men j of the Brownsville of fifty years ago i * t v/y/ v ? ' 0 y*\ Secret. | * ?f\ , V:/*\ IE FRONTIER. )H wvwvvv r ) REXFORD. ^ >3x5*^* SsjK /. n .vere very much the same in tl astes as the young men of the Brow *ille of to-day. Pretty lips, like X lie Boone's, had always had a pe iar -witchery and charm about tl 'or young men, and sometimes ;>nes, since Adam stole his first kis: Eden. Of course, Nannie had many adr jrs among the young men of the set lient, and plenty of enemies ami he girls, who knew well enough tl lad she chosen to do so, she co iiipedilv have brouerlit all the be X / W vood gallants to lier feet, and k hem there, thus monopolizing t *ery necessary element to the pe md prosperity of such a place Brownsville was at that time, wl] he girls were in proportion of two jne with the young men. But t vas before the dawn of monopol tud Nannie was of too thrifty a dis lition to keep beaux dawdling ab ler when they might much better it home helping their fathers clear .'arms they had staked out in the w irness. She was something of a flirt, t iked to make the girls jealous and he young men cast furious glance; ?ach other on her account, but tha :ake it, is natural for the aver jirl. She can't help it. It is bori ler. All of us exult in a sens( power, and why should pretty g ike Nannie Boone not find a cert >U,113I UCIHJ11 111 hue aiiuwicvt^o lutrn-J aave only to say the word or give ook to have the young men fall dc vnd do them homage? In doing tl ;hey are only allowing human nat :o come to the surface, and hun aature is about the same thing ivorld over. They mean no harm t, and it is only when a girl all< imbition to trample good sense un !oot that any real harm is done. But Nannie, while smiling upon m >f the Brownsville boys, had i jweetest smile which she kept Dick Brayton. Dick was a good-looking young ? _t-_ i? > r OW, WUU J1UU CUlliO J.I ULLL U ow"?"down below" was anywh .'orty or fifty miles from Brownsvi ind bad reference to no partici place or point of compass?about nontbs before tbe opening of story. He was quite uulike the yoi lien of Brownsville on bis adv imong tbem. His bands were wl lud soft, and bis dress and gen< ippearance indicated tbat he had oeen used to hard work. When :errogated about it, he had answe ;hat ho had been at work in a stc but, getting tired of being housed tie had determined to strike cut search of a new field of labor, and tiold him at Brownsville looking fc job. "Seems to me it's ruther odd f< ;eller that's be'n ust to soft worP lome up into this region lookin' anlUin' /Ir\ " HooAnn SnTrrlflr liorl 3 11 C1-11 Al IV \IVj JL/Vawu j wvx uuvk marked, when Brayton appeared u] the scene. "Most young men now'd want as leetle as possible to do." 1 with sarcastic emphasis awl a se-? look at his son Ezekiel, who had, several occasions, expressed a dei to "go down below" and hire out i store. Dick Brayton had seen Nannie f it a meeting in thelojrschoolhouse. Fell in love with her at first sight, the very next day applied to her fat For work on his farm. "What can you do?" asked Solor Boone, as he proceeded to fill and li his corn-cob pipe. "Yer han's d< look in fust-rate trim fer loggin', a sh'd jedge that yer muscle wa' n't what's needed in breakiu' new lar "That's so, I suppose," said Did reply. "I haven't had much prac in hard work, but I can learn to d< I'm stout and healthy, and it w take long to toughen me to it. got grit to stick to a thing when I dertake it. You can pay me what; think I earn, at first, and if I impr< you can increase my wages. I If that to you. Only give me a trial. I don't come up to requirements, can turn me off. That's fair, isn't "Yes, that's fair enough," answ< Mr. Boone. "1 kinder like yer st an' I'll try ye." So Dick Brayton became Mr. Boo "hired man," and came to live ui the same roof with Nannie. "I'll b?t that'll make a match," 3 Snyder said to her neighbor, 3 Jones, when Dick was installed "Vinml" nn +I10 'Rnnr>#> fnrm "Nil slie's got some kinder high notion her head, an' this feller '11 make b'leeve he's a leetle better'n the \ round here; an' whatever she si that her folks'll say yes to, you eai sure ou. She jest twists 'em round little finger easy's a string. It's Nance says this, an' Nance says t with both of 'em. They spile Yes, Mis' Jones, I'll bet anytl you're a mind to, Nance Boone '11 1 that young man. I noticed she a kinder struck after him the fust 1 she see him. Them whiskers ro his mouth did it, I s'pose. I decl Mis' Jones, I do abominate t things. Our 'Zekiel, he's tryin raise some. He's took to ncrapin upper lip twicet a week, reg'lar, tliev won't crow, to speak on. father, he makes him hoppin'inad visin' him to put cream 011, an' let cat lick it off." It seemed, as the summer wore that Mrs. Snyder's prophecy was li to come true. Dick and Nannie along very well together. Up to time in which this story opens, "course of true love" had run smc ly enough, but the old saying that a "long lane that has no turning" to prove as true in this case as in u others. Nannie taught the school w lasted six months in each year, in little log-house which I have spc of as being one of the two building the cross-roads. From this you infer that she was what would I called an "educated young lady," at sj^ the present time. She was nothing of the kind. Before her father came to Brownville, she had had the advantages of the ordinary school-district enly, but these she had made the most of, and could write a fair hand, with heavy tops to her t's, and heavier tails to her y's and g's; she could spell pretty well, read as fast as the next one?and in those days the boy or the girl who could read the fastest was considered the best reader, as expression was of no account. She could "cipher" as far into the 'ritlimetic as the rule of three, and parse ^ all the sentences in the grammar with parrot-like precision, and repeat a good share of geography. What nse ,oi,. was there of a more comprehensive ed us- Nation in such a place as Brownville, an_ Nannie's mother wondered, icu- " 'Twa'n't as ef she was out among lem more," she told the town board, 0jj when she applied for her daughter's 3 in appointment to the position of schoolmistress. "If 'twas where folks knew njr_ more, 'twould be diffrunt, but Nannie tle. knows enough to teach any o' the 3Dg children in that part o' the kentry, an' iat I don't say it to brag up my own flesh U1(J and blood, neither. ick- As teachers from "down below" did ept not like to come into the woods to teach, the school officers decided that ,ace Nannie was properly qualified to fill ag the position of teacher, and in that iere s^e became a schoolma'am. Dick used to keep pretty close hat of the road if he was at work ;es anywhere near it when he thought it po- was about four o'clock. Curiously """" ~1' nlwovo ll Q nnptl P(1 out CU""f3U? " "J " be that Lis horses needed a rest when a little pink sun-bonnet came in sight at ild. the turn of the road. The sight of that sun-bonnet always seemed to make in(j Dick thirsty. I can't explain why, see but so it was,; so much so that he had 3 to go to a fence-corner near the turn t j in the road, where a cool spring bubage bled out from under the roots of an old j jn oak. And, strangely enough, it al, 0f most always happened that the walk iris from the schoolhouse had made Nannie ain thirsty, too, and she was glad to sit hey down under the shade of the old tree's the spreading branches and drink the >wn sweet, refreshing draught which Dick jig tendered her in a cup fashioned from a ure basswood leaf. What they aan talked about at such times I am not the supposed to know. The weather and by the crops, perhaps. I know this.howjws eyer, the horses got a good, long resteer spell on these occasions, and Nannie reached home considerably later ' 1 i 1 .1 z* ^ 1 3 lost slie mignt nave uujuo u ?iie uuu 3ne not played truant. Her mother used for to fifty, quite often: "There is one thing about Nannie's fel_ teachin' that the folks can't complain be_ of, an' that is that she alius keej?s full ere hours, an' more, too, fer half the time Ue she don't get home till five or half-past ilar five> antl ^ don't take more'n fifteen six minutes to walk from the schoolhouse my UP-" 1Dg The worthy woman made this reent mark at the table more than once, and rite Dick, at such times, would give a sly ^oi look at Nannie, and she would blush not like a newly blossomed rose or be in. seized with such a severe fit of coughred ing that she had to leave the table, ,re, when her mother would wonder if she up, had "swallered her vittels the wrong in way." be. On the afternoon of the day on )r a which.this story begins, Dick was ploughing near the road. ;r a When he saw Nannie coming, he i to hitched his horses to a hickory tree, fer where tliey would get the benefit of its re. shade, and went to the road. Leauing pon over the fence, he waited for her, ay3 watching her trim-built figure with ^is admiring eyes, as she came up the hill. ere When she came near, he knew by her 0D face that something had happened. sire "Oh, Dick," cried Nannie, as she n a came up to the fence, "guess what's going to be! You can't, I know; but irst tr7-" He "A camp-meeting," ventured Dick, and Camp-meetings were considered to be her the climax of all desirable events among the Brownsvillians. non "Oh, better 'n that!" cried Nan[g^t nit}, with sparkling eyes. "Ever bo on't much better! It's a singing-school!" n' T " 'A singing-school !' " Dick caught jest some of Nannie's enthusiasm at once, id." "Well, that will be nice, won't it? I k jn have attended two terms and we altice w?73 bad lots of fun, if we didn't y it get much musical benefit. But who's on't g?inS to teach it. Deacon Snyder?" I?ve [To be continued.] Sparrows Vanquish a Cat. >ou The little English sparrows are the :ave ^ftmes^ birds that live. They have driven the bluebirds, robins, martens and swallows away from most of their old haunts and taken possession, just *d as the white man crowded the Indian ' . to the frontier ahead of civilization. ^ ' Several persons watched a flock of the , brave little fellows try to drive a cat ider ont this morning. Hundreds of sparrows bop Mrs ft')ont the lawn and catch worms in the jrs" big flower bed all day. A large gray I cat stole across the sward and hid nce among the flowers. She lay motion' A wofrtliinn- n Miotinfi tn s in _ ? ^ spring upon a sparrow, but the birds x)vs wutc'ie(l her UU(1 k?pt ou*' of her reach. ; ' Finally the Hock seemed to be holding 11 be 11 counc'l wftr- '-They grouped themher se^ves 011 *be a few yards a*vaj t II from the cat and chattered vociferously. ^ ^ Then they began hopping toward the k ' cat, forming a regular line of battle. . ' Puss .became nervous as the big flock lave k'rt^s came almost within her reach, cted an<^ s^e ')ftCked ?w?y. hoping that one would be foolhardy enough to advance ' j within her reach. Suddenly the whole flock of birds took wing with greal I.on', chattering and whirring and flew di rectly uver the cat. It frightened hei , and she fled. Then the sparrows set tied among the flowers und began XT-, scratching for worms.?Kansas Cit\ ad- St,ir- ' the The M ayor'd Horn. Tlie sounding of the Mayor's horn on, at ftipon, England, is one of the mosl kely ancient customs in the kingdom. II got formerly announced the setting of th( the watch, but it has now lapsed into tht the formality of three blasts given at 1 v/iu- U CIUCll CVCIJ CVCUIII^ nv iui ?jvi * it's residence by bis official horn-blower, was and tbree more at the market-cross. rnny A St. Louis jury which acquitted t hicli man charged with murder on the reg the illation ground of insanity, were someiken what surprised when lie rose to his js at feet and said: "Gentlemen of th< may jury, I want to thank you for your ver be diet." / J ! JACKETS AND BASQUES. I ?I- aim rxv/i i*mj ncciruc J it ASUNMDLC. AINU O I I Lion uloiuiu j FOR WOMEN. j I A Neatly Finished Kton Jacket of Black ' SerK? For Wear ii4 I'art of a Cycling 1 Costumo? Ladles' Basque With Two 1 llnder-Arm Gores?Fashions in Hair. ! Black serge, says May Manton, is 1 the material selected for this Eton 1 jacket that is neatly finished with ma- 1 chine stitching, narrow silk cording 1 "XT""- " "'Willi* \ LADIES' ETON JACKET. and 'small buttons affording appropriate decoration. It is worn over a taffeta silk waist of brilliant hue which affords the touch of brightness so essential to a cycling costume. The fronts are adjusted to the figure by single-bust darts that are held to position by means of cords and buttons, t Above the closing the front9 are re- 1 versed in lapels that meet the rolling t collar in even jiotches. The jacket, of i LADIES' BASQUE WITH becoming iength, reaches to the top of 1 the deep girdle, except at the front 1 where it extends in pretty elongated j tabs. The seamless back is slashed at t the centre and decorated with cord t and buttons. The sleeveu are two- 1 j seamed, having the moderate fulness 1 of the upper portion arranged in gathers. They are slashed at the wrists * revealing the sleeve beneath. This < style of Eton is particularly jaunty, < being a decided innovation from the 1 several plain styles. Cloth, serge, 1 cheviot and canvas are among the, suit- < , able fmaterials; the colors most se- i lected being green, brown and blue ] in nil its various shades. To make this jacket for a lady in the medium size will require two and onefourth yards of forty-four-iuch material. Ladies' Basque. The basque shown in the large 1 illustration is an ideal model for ladies of generous figure, according to May Manton. The pattern provides for an extra under-arm gore, which has the desired effect of decreasing the apparent size of the waist while the soft fulness at each side of the vest front ' 1 detracts from the prominence of the 1 bust. The graceful fulness of the ' * A -1 il- ? -Anmlnoo 1>0/?V (1VA fllS- ^ irOUL ULiU l/UC suuuiicoo t/ww* w posed over glove-fitted linings that close in centre-front. The seamless ' V-shaped vest portion is Bewed per- 1 manently to the right-front and is hooked over the full edge of the left. ' The side-fronts have gathers at the 1 _ shoulder edges, the lower edges being . disposed in overlapping plaits which, ' with the pointed outlines, give a graceful effect to the waist. The back fits I smoothly across the shoulders, the ' j fulness at the lower edge being laid in i overlapping plaits that nre firmly tacked down below the waist line. | If the seamless back is not desired ; the basque can be made to show the seams as seen in back view of engraving. A close standing band completes i the neck with a frill of lace above, j i.--'-. j.i. ^ I t Tlie sleeves are mousqueiaire, me ?uji t fulnees being caused by gathers on the > outer edge of sleeves. Short, full > puffs caught up in butterfly effect J drape the shoulders, and the wrists i are uniquely slashed over a deep , ruffle of lace. Ah represented, figured barege was employed in making; narrow black satin ribbon affording the t | decoration. The mode is applicable, j however, to all manner of weaves and ( ' textures including silk, peau-de-soie, < i canvas weaves, organdies, cte. i To make this basque for a lady in - | the medium size will require three I and one-fourth yards of forty-four-inch i material. Next Season's Side Combs. 9 Tl*/* now ai/lo nnmliQ inr HAtf CPA. son's \rear come in sets of three and four. The most stylish are hinged together. In sets of- four, one comb joes above the knot, one below the knot, and one on either side. In sets af three, as a rule, the middle comb ig bo be used above the knot, and is the least bit higher and more ornate than the two side combs. Where the four ire hinged together, the tendency seems to be to have them all alike, liffering only in length and curve. The manufacturers assert that the teeth of the combs are coarser than last season, but if such is really the ia TA/Wrt/iTvflKlia In f V> CX /1QQ71 ol baJO X Li lO JUVW |/V>1 vw KUV vmwwm* observer. The ornamentation of these combs as a rule is quite simple. The plainer ones, when ornamented with narrow bands of silver or gold, have only simple designs cut into these bands. Except on those pieces to be worn above the knot, there is no filigree work. And jewels, when used, ire sunk in the band, not raised tibove, as for the last few seasons. Amethysts, it is said, will be the popular stones, and only a few diamonds are shown, to be worn in very black hair. Amethysts come in set:ings of silver and gold, in polished md French gray finish and in polished md rose-finished silver gilt. Fanliions in Hosiery. Gay, gayer and gayest are the fashions in hosiery. All the bright colors md complicated patterns that for some lime have languished are once more in iiigh favor. Plaids and polka-dots and up and down ana crosswise stripes ana liamonds and stars and every other Jesign you ever heard of appear upon ;he newest stockings. Plaids seem to 3e especially popular, just as they are n everything else this year?dress joods, petticoats, belts, hatbands and leckties?probably because of the popuarity of golf. Fashions For the Hair. If it is the perfection of art, says ;he New York Sun, to conceal art, tire lairdressers are in this sort of decep;ion in advance of their competitors in ninistering to the needs of women. tfc&j fjn-? VO UNDER-ARM GORES. fVavy, soft pompadour fronts are defty arranged under a few stray locks of rour own hair, and all sorts of artis;ically-made coils, puffs, toupees and ihort curls are mingled with your ;resses so cunningly that your best 'riend never suspects their existence. Large, loose waves are just as desirible in summer as in winter, and the ;xtreme high pompadour has lost none )f its popularity. The simple little inot, with a coil around it arrarfged :iigh on the head, is a pretty way of Iressing the hair with the pompadour front, or this same knot may be arranged lower, with a softer twist. Evening coiffures are completed by DESIGNS IN COIFFURES. the addition of some ornament, an jicrette. a loop and bow of spangled tuTle, a little wreath of small roses, crith a floral aigrette in the centre or :>ne or two real roses, which are quite the prettiest of all. Sleeves Growing; Smaller. Sleeves are growing smaller, and the indications are that women will need 110 help next winter in putting on their coats. Probably they will accept it, however. Newest modes from Paris show sleeves, in some instances, arm-tight. Usually a mitigating frill appears at the shoulder, but some brave or foolish women are leudv to adopt the close sleeve without a scrap of shoulder fullness. It is to bo hoped that fashion will not positively order the tight sleeve without a rullle, because it is unbecoming to those whose figures are not perfect. ltcefer Jackets. The latest reefer jacket has a short basnue. a high standing collar in the back and wide revers, and is slashed 011 either side of the front where the belt passes through and fastens over the remaining portion. A simple coat sleeve with wide cuffs completes this stylish, trim little jacket, which requires a very Huffy, much befrilled vest to give it the desired effect. Lands near Watsonville, Cal., that formerly went tenantless at ?3.50 per acre, now lease for $7 per acre for cultivation of *he suear beet. "!; r ;.) ;f ^^?p r. . ' V | I DR. TALMAGE'S SERMON. | SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED DIVINE. ! The Many Temptations Which Beset Young Men?Evils Resulting From Getting Into I>eljt?An Irreligious Life Always Destroys Young Men's Morals. Text: "As an ox to the slaughter."? DfATTAfiKo T?H 00 There Is nothing in the voice or manner of the butcher to indicate to the ox that there is death ahead. The ox thinks he is j going on to a rich pasture field of clover where all day ; he will revel in the herbj aceous luxuriance, but after awhile the i men and the boys close In upon him with Bticks and stones and shouting and drive him through bars and into a doorway, where he is fastened, and with well aimed stroke the ax fells him. and go the anticipation of the redolent pasture field is completely disappointed. So many a young man has'been driven on by temptation to what he thought would be paradisiacal enjoyment, but after awhile influences with darker hue and cwnrthfer arm ftlose in liDOn him. and he ! finds that instead of making an excursion Into a garden he has been driven "as an ox to the slaughter." We are apt to blame young men for beI lng destroyed when we ought to blame the influences that destroy them. Society slaughters a great many young men by the behest: "You must keep up appearances. Whatever be your salary, you must dress as well as others, you must give wine and brandy to as many friends, you must Bmoke as costly cigars, you must give as expensive entertainments and you must live in as fashionable a boarding house. If you haven't the. money, borrow. If you can't borrow, make a false entry or subtract here and there a bill from a bundle of bank bills. You will only have to make the deception a little while. In a few months or in a year or two you can make it all right. Nobody will bo hurt by it, nobody will be the wiser. You yourself will not be damaged." By that awful process 100,000 men have been slaughtered for time and slaughtered for eternity. Suppose you borrow. There is nothing wrong about borrowing money. There is hardly a man who has not sometimes borrowed-money. Vast estates have been built on a borrowed dollar. But there are two kinds of borrowed money, money borrowed for the purpose of starting or keeping up legitimate enterprise aDd expense and money'borrowed to got that which you can do without. The first is right, the other is ! wrong. If you have money enough of your | own to buy a coat, however plain, and then you borrow money for a dandy's outfit, you ! nave taken the first revolution of the wheel uown ffmue. coiruw lur necessities, ium may be well. Borrow for the luxuries; that tips your prospects over in the wrong direction. The Bible distinctly says the borrower is servant of the lender. It Is a bad state of things when you have to go down some other street to escape meeting some one whom you owe.' If young men knew what is the despotism of being in debt, more of them would keep out of it. What did debt do for Lord Bacon, with a mind towering above the centuries? It induced him to take bribes and convict himself as a criminal before all ages. What did debt do for Walter 8cott, broken hearted at Abbotsford? Kept him writing until his hand gave out in paralysis to keep the sheriff away from his pictures and statuary. Better for him if he bad minded the maxim which he had chiseled over the fireplace at Abbotsford. "Waste not. want not." The trouble is, my friends, that people do not understand the ethics of going in debt, and that if you purchase goods with no expectation of paying for them, or go into debts which you cannot meet, you steal just so much money. If I go Into a grocer's' store and I buy sugars and coffees and meats with no capacity to pay for them, and no intention of paying for them, l am more dishonest than if I go into the store, and when the grocer's face is turned the other way I fill my pockets with the articles of merchandise and carry off a ham. in the one case I take the merchant's time, and I take the time of his messenger to transfer the goods to my house, while in the other case I take none of the time of the merchant, and I wait upon myself, and I transfer the goods without any trouble to him. In other words, a sneak thief is not so bad as a man who contracts debts he never expects to pay. Yet in all our cities there are families who move every May day to get into proximity to other grocers and meatshops and apothecaries. They owe everybody within half a mile of where they now live,and next May they will move into a- distant part of the city, finding a new lot of victims. Meanwhile you, the. honest family In the new house, are bothered day by day by the j knocking at the door of disappointed bakers j and butchers and dry goods dealers and I newspaper carriers, and you afe asked j where your predecessor is. You do not know. It was arranged you 6hould not I know. Meanwhile your predecessor has | gone to some distant part of the city, and ! the people who have anything to sell have | sent their wagons and stopped there tosoj licit the "valuable" custom of the new neighbor, and he, the new neighbor, ! with great complacency and an air of affluj ence, orders the finest steaks and the high; est priced sugars and the best of the canned 1 fruits and perhaps all the newspapers. And | the debts will keep on accumulating until J he gets his goods on the 30th of next April In the furniture cart. I v n tV?of oa mnnv r>f nnr tyipp | chants fail in business. They are swindled J into bankruptcy by these wandering Arabs, these nomads of eity life. They cheat the grocer out of the green apples which make them sick, the physician who attends them during their distress and the undertaker who fits them out for departure from the neighborhood where they owe everybody when they pay the debt of nature, tho only debt they ever do pay. Now our young men are coming up in this depraved state of commercial ethics, and I am solicitous about them. I want to warn them against being slaughtered on the sharp edges of debt. You want many things you have not, my young friends. You shall have them if you have patience and honesty and industry. Certain lines of conduct always lead out to certain successes. There is a law which controls even those . things that seem haphazard. I have been told by those who have observed that it is possible to calculate just how many letters will be sent to the dead letter office every vear through misdirection; that it is possible to calculate just how many letters will be detained for lack of postage stamps through the forpetfulness of the senders, I ana tnai it is possioie to tew jusi now mmi) | people will fall in the streets by slipping on an orange peel. In other words, there are no accidents. The most insignificant event you ever heard of i9 the link between two eternities?the eternity of the past and the eternity of the future. Head the right way, young man, and you will come out at the right goal. Bring me a young man and tell me wliat his physical health is and what his mental caliber and what his habits, and I will tell you what will be his destiny for this world and his destiny for the world to come, and I will not make five inaccurate prophecies out of the 500. All this makes me solicitous in regard to young men, and I want to make them nervous in regard to the contraction of unpayable debts. When a young man willfully and of choice, having the comforts of life, goes j into the contraction of unpayable debts, he j knows not into what he goes. The creditors j get after the debtor, the pack of hounds in j full <-ry, and alas for the reindeer. They j jingle his doorbell before he gets up in the j I morning, they jingie his doorbell after hi' | | has gone to bed at nlgnt. xney meet mm I as he eomes ofT his front steps. They send j him a postal card or a letter iu curtest j style, telling him to pay up. They attach t his goods. They want easli or a note at | thirty days or a note on demand. They j call him a knave. They say he lies. They i want him disciplined in the church. They J want him turned out of the bank. They come nt him from this side and from that side and from before and from behind and | from above and from beneath, and he is ; insulted and gibbeted and sued and | dunned and sworn at until he gets the j j nervous dyspepsia, gets neuralgia, gets liver I complaint, Rets heart disease, gets conj vulsive disorder, gets consumption. Now he is dead, and you say, "Of course | they will let him alone." Oh, no! Now I they are watchful to see whether there are ! i any unnecessary expenses at the obsequies, | i to see whether there is any useless handle ! on the casket, to see whether there is any | surplus plait on the shroud, to see whether j the hearse is costly or cheap, to see' , \ ^ i V . \ f \ N y ,' :' /W? whether the flowers sent to the casket have been bought by the family o*,' .-y donated, to see in whose name the deed ta the grave is made out. Then they ransacK^"^ the bereft household, the books, the pictures, the carpets, the chairs, the sofa, the piano, the mattresses, the pillow on which he died. Cursed be debt! For the sane or your own napniness, ior ino shk.? of good morals, for the sake of your Immortal soul, for God's sake, young man, as far a9 possible keep out of it! But I think more young men are slaughtered through irreliglon. Takeaway a young man's religion and you make him the prey of evil. We all know that the Bible Is the only perfect svstem of; morals. Now, If you want to destroy a young man's morals, take his Bible away. How will you do that? Well, you will caricature his reverence for the Scriptures,; you will take all those incidents of the Bible which can be made mirth of?JoDah'gj whale, Sampson's foxes, Adam's rib. Then, you will caricature eccentric Christians or inconsistent Christians. Then you willj pass off as your own all those hackneyed! arguments against Christianity which are as old as Tom Paine, as old as Voltaire, as old as sin. Now you have captured his! Bible, and you have taken his strongest^ fortress. The way is comparatively clear, and all the crates of his soul are set onen In invitation to the sins of earth and the] sorrows of death, that they may come In! and drive the stake for their encampment.' A steamer 1600 miles from shore, with , broken rudder and lost compass, and hulk! leaking fifty gallons the hour, is better off than a younj? man when you have robbed} him of his Bible. Have you ever noticed' how despicably mean it is to take away the world's Bible without proposing a substl^ tute? It is meaner than coming to a sick man and steal his medicine, meaner than' to come to a cripple and steal his crutoh,] meaner than to come to a pauper and steal; bis crust, meaner than to come to a poor, man and burn his house down. It is that worst of all larcenies to steal the Bible\ which has been crutch and medicine and food and eternal home to so many. What a generous and magnanimous business Infidelity has gone into?this splitting up of lifeboats and taking away of Are escapes, i and extinguishing of lighthouses! I comei out and I say to such people, "What are you doing all this for?" "Oh," they say,; ,, "just for fun." It is such fun to see Christians try to hold on to their Bibles! Many of them have lost loved ones and have been told that there is a resurrection, and it is such fun to tell them there will be nq , resurrection! Many of them have believed that Christ came to carr^ the burdens and IU liCtll LUC WUUI1U9 UI bUO VTU11U, UUU iv? u such fun to tell them they will have to be their own savior! Think of the meanest thing you ever heard of, then go down 1000 feet underneath it, and you will find yourself at the top of a stairs 100 miles long; go to the bottom of the stairs, and you will find a ladder 1000 miles long; then go to the foot of the ladder and look off a precipice half as far as from here to China, and you will find the headquarters of the meanness that would rob this world of its only comfort in life, its only peace in death ana its only hope for immortality. Slaughter a young man's faith in God, and there is not ' much more left to slaughter. Now what has become of the slaughtered? Well, some of them are In their father's or mother's house, broken down in health, waiting to die; others are in the hospital, others are in the cemetery, or, rather, their bodies are, for their souls have gone on to retribution. Not much prospect for a young man who started life with good health and good education and a Christian example set him, and opportunity of usefulness, who gathered aU his treasures and put them In one box, and then dropped it into the sea. Now, how is this wholesale slaughter to be stopped? There is not a person who is not interested in that question. The object of my sermon is to put a weapon in each of your hand's for your own defense.. Wait not for Young Men's Christian Associations to protect you or churches to protect you. Appealing to God for help, take care of yourself. First, have a room somewhere that yon can call your own. wneiner 11 De mo back parlor of a fashionable boarding bouse or a room in the fourth story, of a cheap lodging I care not. Only have that one room your fortress. Let not the dissi- \ pater or unclean step over the threshold. J If they come up the long flight of stairs and m knock at the door, meet them face to face fl and kindly yet firmly refuse thsm admit- - ^ tance. Have a few family portraits on the wall, if you brought them with you from your country home. Have a Bible on the stand. II you can afford it and can play on one, have an instrument of music?harp or flute or cornet or melodeon or violin or piano. Every morning before you leave that room pray. Every night after you come home in that room pray. Make that room your Gibraltar, your Sevastopol, your Mount Zion. Let no bad book or newspaper come into that room any more than you would allow a cobra to coil on your table. Take care of yourself. Nobody else will . take care of you. Your help will not come up two or three .or four flights of stairs; ( your help will come through the roof, down from heaven, from that God who in the 6000 years of the world's history never betrayed a young man who tried to be good and a Christian. Let me say in regard to your adverse worldly circumstances.in passing, that you are on a level now with those who are finally to succeed. Mark my words, young man, and think of it thirty years from now. You will find that those who thirty years from now are the millionaires of this eountrv. who are the orators of the country, who are the poets of the country, who are the strong merchants of the country, who are the great philanthropists of the country?mightiest in church and State?are this morning on a level with you, not an inch above, and in straitened circumstances now. There is no class of persons that so stii my sympathies as young men in great cities. Not quite enough salary to live on, nnd all the temptations that come from that deficit. Invited on all hands to drink, and their exhausted nervous system seeming to demand stimulus. Their religion caricatured by the most of the clerks in the store and most of the operatives in the factory. The rapids of temptation and death rushing against that young man forty miles the hour, and he in a frail boat headed up stream, with nothing but a broken oar to work with. Unless Almighty / God help them they will go under. W One Sabbath morning at the close of the M service I saw a gold watch of the world renowned and deeply lamented violinist, . ^ Ole Bull. You remember he died in hi9 island home off the coast of Norway. That gold watch he had kept wound up day after day through his last illness, and then he said to his companion, "Now, I want to wind this watch ns long as I can, and then when I am gone I want you to kfeep it wound up until it goes to my friend, Dr. Doremus, in New York, and then he will keep it wound up until his life is done, and then I want the watch to go to his young son, my especial favorite." The great musician who more than any other artist had made the violin speak, and sing, and weep, and laugh, and triumph? .'< oonmn/i ti'liun hn (1 r.?w (Iia hnwnfiross IUI H SKIUH. " the strings :is if all enVth and heaven shlv- I ered in delighted sympathy?the great I musician, in a room looking "off upon the I sea, and surrounded by his favorite instru- I meuts of music, closed his eyes in death. While all the world was mourning at his departure sixteen crowded steamers fell into line of funeral procession to carry his body to the mainland. There were 50,000 of his countrymen gathered in an amphitheater of the hills waiting to hear the eulogium, and it was said when the groat orator of the day with stentorian voice began to speak the 50,000 people on the hillsides burst into tears. Oh, that was the close of a life that had done so much to make the world happy! But I have to tell you, young man, if you live right and die right, that was a taine scene compared with that which will greet yon when from the galleries of heaven the 144.000 shall accord with Christ in crying. "Well done, thou good and faithful servant!" Aud the influences that on earth you put in motion will go down from generation to generation,the influences you , wound up handed to your children, and i their influences wound up and handed to Y fhpir children, until watch and clock are . ^ no more needed to mark the progress, because time itself slinll be no longer. Now Officially "Klondike." It was officially decided by the Geological Survey, Washington, that in the future the name of the river on which the gold llelds are located should bo spelled with an i instead of y, as has been observed heretofore. The spelling has been more frequently Klondyke than Klondike, but the latter is now the correct w?w.