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^ sieieiJp i t I Swamp WVW^/WV ^ A STORY OF ' M V By EBF.N ] 7f\ Copyright by Robert Bonner's Sons. CHAPTER XY. CONTINUED. "Wait, an' ye'll hev it explained to ye soon enough," said Bill. "You needn't try to soft-sodder us. Step off, now, an' don't try to git away, or it'll go hard with ye." At Mr. Porter's he might be able to -A.'"A' A nrtnlfor secure an eipiautkuuu ut u? unuivi. He walked on in advance of the men silently. In a short time they reached their destination. "Good Lord!" cried Mr. Porter, when "he-fully comprehended the state of affairs. "I'm sorry to see you in . this fix, Dick, I be so." "For pity's sake, tell me what it means!" said Dick. "These men refuse to do so. I get the idea, from what they have said, that I am believed to be a horse-thief. Tell me the truth, Mr. Porter. Is it so?" "I'm afraid it is," answered Mr. Porter. He sat down and told Dick all that had happened since he went away. "So help me God, I'm innocent," said Dick, solemnly, looking unflinchingly in Mr. Porter's face as he made the asertion. "I'm as innocent as you are. I never made a mark on the cottonwood-tree, and Bill Green lied when he said so. I went there that night, and I read what there was to read?what Bill Green probably read after I came away; but I made not one mark there, and that's the truth. Ab to the knife, I lost it over a week ago ?where, I haven't any idea. That's the truth about that, Mr. Porter. I 1 Vnli'oito qf T'm omiltv UUpO J'UU UUii 1/ UCllOTV VMM* A ? Q ? j of the crime I'm oharged with?" "No, I don't," answered Mr. Porter, stoutly. "But there's them as does, Dick, an',plenty on'em, too, I'm sorry to say. I tell ye, ye're in a tight place, Dick, an' there's no use in denyin' it. I wish I could git ye out . of it." Dick had it on his tongue to give vent to his suspicions of Wayne, but Mr. Porter was called away just then, and he made up his mind, on second thought, that it was better to say nothing about them at present. He could U prove nothing. That was the difficulty. With the opinion of nearly every one against him, it might damage his case to attempt to excite suspicion against any one else. The question would be asked, at once, very likely: "Why had he not said " '?J- at ?v.*. Bomeining auuuii meoa nuoi?wvua w fore?" Why, indeed? If he had only taken Mr. Boone into his confidence! If he had only told Mr. Porter! If? But the "ifs" in ihe way were not to be got rid of now. rhe trap he had hoped another might be caught in was sprung upon himself. The only consoling thought about It was that he was innocent. There was a good deal of personal satisfaction tn that, but it did not help him to see tlis way out of the very unpleasant and langerous position he was in. A crowd began to assemble within a ihort time after his arrival. The excitement was intense. His presence seemed to increase it. He could hear muttered threats from ihose whom he had considered warm ' triends. He met stern and pitiless laces when he looked about in search if sympathy. At length a feeling of anger, arising from a sense of the cruel injustice ihown him by a refusal to listen to inything he attempted to aay in vindi jation of himself led him to ignore the srowd as much as possible. He shut . ais eyes upon it .and tried to think irhat the result was to be, and thinking of that made him sick at heart. For he knew enough of the frontier ind its ways to know that it was easily iwayed by impulse, but not by coolheaded reason and judgment. It was t dangerous thing to face when wrought up to such a pitch of excitement as had possession of it now. "See here, neighbors." he heard a familiar voice saying presently, "it's late. We can't do anything to-night. We're all beat out and need rest. Besides, we're excited, an' ain't fit to give him an onprejudiced trial. I take it, neighbors, that we're all willin' to give him a fair chance. It would be an onjustice to go rash. Let's wait till mornin'. What d' ye say?" Some agreed readily to the proposal while others objected, saying that horse-thieves didn't need a trial. Hanging was what they needed. T* ?.oo flnollit /loAi/la/1 fVinf Via nhnnlrl J.I W OO IXUOIiJ UVV1UVV* VUMW *.v be put in some safe place and kept there till morning. At eight o'clock he -was to be tried on the charge of stealing horses. Could it be true, or was he in the midst of a horrible dream? Then the question arose of where he should be put overnight. "In the milk-house," whispered Samanthy to Mr. Porter, with a meaning wink. "There ain't but one winder to the place, an' you c'n show 'em that he can't git out of it; an' they c'n set men to watch outside ef they're afeard o' his gittin' out o' the door. No hoss-thief c'n git out o' that place 'thout somebody's knowin' it." Mr. Porter understood Samanth^ without asking an explanation, and acted on her advice. "I reckon the milk-house is the best place for him," he told the men. "Ye see, ye can put men all 'round it, bein' it's seprit from the house." "An' I'll resk anybody's diggin through them walls 'thout bein watched," said Samanthy. "Fer's I'ir consarned, I want justice done, an the only way we can do it is to keej the oris'ner so's it can be did to hin when the proper time comes fer it. ] hain't no kind o' patience with hoss thieves, an' never had, an' when yoi; ketch one an' know he's guilty, lianj him, I say." This to Bill Green, who stood ii awe of Samanthy, and consequently fV*' * ' - ' *' -WV-' fti fflSCKi- -v: vT T-.IV ^.Kv */,V Vlv* 'yiv '/IV "/i\* v/l\" */lv vl" *>1^ HE " f ' Secret. 1 & wwwww <5 rHE FRONTIER. ^ ? *-v-vvvw-w"%~ \?X E. REXFORD. W 7ft ft 7f\7P\ 7f\ hp * had a great regard for her opinion, as she very well knew. "That's the talk," responded Bill. "Hang 'em, I say, too." <(T ?o' VvMonTrn/l vrvnM o _ -l ucrci u a u iccieu j vu v* u turned hoss-thief,?' said Samanthy, , coming up to -where Dick sat, -with her face full of contempt and lefty indignation. "I declare, I sha'n't hev no confidence left in nobody a'ter this. It's an awful deceitful, wicked world, when one can't feel sartin but his best friend'll go to cuttin' up all manner o' wickedness the minnit his back's turned." Under ordinary circumstances Samanthy's condemnation of him ought to have troubled Dick, but for some reason it failed to do so. He was taken to the milk-house and fastened in securely. To make assurance doubly sure, a guard was stationed outside his prison walls. "He's Bafe enough there," said Bill Green, after he had given the place a close inspection. "There hain't no chance o' his gittin' out till we see fit to let him out." "Hain't, hey? We'll see about that!" chuckled Samanthy to herself. At last silence fell upon the scene. But to more than one beneath Mr. Porter's i.-oof sleep did not come that night. CHAPTER XVL escaped! As may readily be imagined, Dick felt little like sleeping after the exciting events of the past few honrs. He sat alone in the semi-darkness of the little room in which he was confined, listening to the tramp of men ontside and now and then the sonnd of voices. Then these sounds died ont, and he seemed to be the only waking thing left in existence. Waking? He felt as if he oould never sleep again. Until he was left by himself, and the confused hubbub of angry and excited voices had been smothered by his prison-walls, he had been unable to think coherently. True, he had had a vague sense of his danger, but he had not realized it in all its terrible clearness. But now, in the silence of the milkhouse, it came home to him. In the morning he was to be tried for a crime the penalty of which was death, in the settlers' code of justioe. But would they find him guilty? Taking the evidence against him into consideration, could there be any doubt of what the verdict would be? None at all. "But if they'll give me half a chance, I can prove my innocence, "he thought. "I can prove where I wan at the time of the last theft. But I doubt if they'll give me the chance. I can't explain about the knife, and Bill Green's story about seeing me making inscriptions on the cottonwood will tell against me. I'm in hard luck. If I could only get out of this!" he cried, starting up and looking about him, in sudden desperation. "I can't stay here to be taken out and hung like a dog who has been caught killing sheep." He went to the window and looked out into the murky gloom of night. There was no chance of escape in tnat direction. He turned his attention to the door. It was a solid one, of oak. "I am getting foolish," he aiid, making Mb way back through the darkness in the room to the block on which he had been sitting. "If I could get through the door, I couldn't get away, because half a dozen men are watching outside. There's no use trying to get away. I have got to wait for the morning, and take the chances of what may happen. I wonder what Nannie thinks of it?" Poor Nannie! At that very moment she was wetting her pillow with remorseful tears. "Oh, they'll hang him!" she kept saying over and over to herself. "I know they will! And I know he is innocent, ana x snail never Bee mm again to tell him how sorry I am for using him as I have. Poor Dick! Poor Dick! And I did love him, after , all!" So Nannie, like other wrong-doers, i was obliged to suffer the pangs of re, morse and self-condemnation when they were unavailing. The long and lonesome hours of that miserable night wore sloM ly away. "It must be one o'clock," thought [ Dick, as he paced up and down the i puncheon floor of his prison. A sound that seemed to come from 1 under his feet startled him. It was a gentle knocking, so faint as i to be almost unnoticeable, but it was repeated at regular intervals, and he s knew that behind that sound was some agency which desired to attract his attention. ; He got down on the floor and list ened very attentively. l Tap, tap, tap, again. i He rapped softly on the floor over i the spot from which the sound came. Presently a portion of the floor bes gan to rise. "A trap-door," thought Dick, with ' a wild hope of possible escape flashing [ through his still bewildered and befogged brain. "I must have some s friends yet, and it is evident that they , are trying to come to my aid." The trap in the floor was tilted enough by this time to allow a head ' to protrude through the opening. ' "Sh!" said a voice, which he had no i rliffinnl+v inrenncmizinoras Samanthv's. ' "Keep quiet. There's sharp ears out> side. Ef ye want to git out o' this 1 difficulty, ye've got to be awful still [ about it." "How did you contrive to get here?" i whispered Dick. I "There's an underground way 'twixt this an' the house, that we use in i winter, from the suller," answered j Sauianthy. "I wa'n't goin' to say nothin' about it -when they -was atalHn' about this bein' a safe place, 'cause ef I had 't would a-kindei sp'ilt my plan, ye see." "Have you got a plan to get me ouf of this?" asked Dick. "T reckon." resoonded Samanthv. "Leastwise, it's a plan ef it can be made to work. Ef it don't, it's a failure. But't won't do fer us to be wastin' time. You've got to be makin' tracks fer some place where they don't take honest men fer hoss-thieves, an' the sooner yer about it the better fei ye, I calkilate." "Do you advise me to run away?" asked Dick, to whom the thought of escape by flight Beemed almost cowardly, now that a possible chance of getting away presented itself. "Of course, I do!" responded Samanthy. ' "I reckon I wouldn't stay an' let 'em string me up ef I could help it." "But if I get away and leave the place they'll be sure to accept it as a r>roof of cruilt." said Dick. "Wall, let 'em," said Samanthy. ''They think that now, so't ain't goin to make no difference as I see, one way or t' other. You'd be a fool not to go. Ef you stay they'll hang you as sartin aa your name's Dick Brayton. Ef you light out an' keep clear o' these diggin's a spell they may find out who the real hoss-thief is, an' then 'twill be time enough to show up hereabouts." "I think you're right," said Dick. "Staying here would not help me to prove my innocence if they're not disposed to give a fellow a fair chance. I'd rather face the music, but it wouldn't make hanging any pleasanter because facing the music seemed a braver thing than running away. I'll take your advice, Samanthy?that is, if I can. I don't know how you propose to get me away from this place." "Foller me an' go like a cat," said Samanthy. He let himself down through the tran-door. A ladder led to the bottom of the passage between the milk-house and the cellar. In the cellar they paused a moment. "I want to know exactly what the charges against me1 are," he said. "I was so bewildered by all th'it happened that I don't know whether I comprehend everything clearly yet or not." Samanthy detailed the facts of the case as succinctly as possible. "It looks dark against me, doesn't it?" said Dick. "But I'm innocent, and I mean that everybody shall know it, some day?that is, if I get away and live long enough to have the opportunity to work up the matter and bring the guilty party to justice. I told you a little, or rather I hinted at part I had found out, the other day. I want to tell you all abotit it now, for it may possibly be the means of your helping me." Dick told her in as few words as possible what he had ^ discovered and what he suspected. "I wouldn't wonder the least bit il -you was right," she said. "I'll keep my eyes open an' see ef I can't see suthin'." 'I shall not leave the neighborhood," said Dick. "I can take care of myself in the woods, and I mean to stay and watch my man. Who the other marnhfirs nf t.hfl tranc are and where they stay I don't know, but I mean to find out before long if there's anything to be gained by making a business of playing detective. I want you to go over to Mr. Boone's to-morrow and smuggle my gun out of the house, with all the ammunition there is, and put it in the hollow tree down by the pasture bars after dark. I'll venture out when I think it's safe to do so and get it." "An' I'll see that there's suthin' to eat left there, reg'lar," said Samanthy. "Ye'll hev to be awful keerful or they'll run onto ye when they're trampin' 'round through the woods a-huntin' hoss-thieves an' hosses." "I'll look out for them," said Diet. "Wall, ef ye'r' ready, ye'd better be movin'," said Samanthy. "I'm goin' to let ye out o' the house by the butt'rywind.r. From the west side o' the house it's clear sailin' to the cornfield, an' ef ye can git there 'thout bein' seen, ye'r' all right." Dick followed her up the stairs leading from the cellar to the kitchen. "Here's a bit to eat," she said, handing him a luncheon tied up in a ClOtn. "i too i, p r ?ps, yv luuugun be hungry, so I got it reddy for ye. Now, go, an' take keer o' yeieelf." Dick wrung her hand. "You've done me a good turn, Samanthy," he said. "However it turns out, I thank you for your kindness. 3 ?I wish you'd tell Nannie that I hope she don't believe me guilty." [To be continued.] Loud Talkers and tow Speakers. "Funny writers and stage comedians make the mistake of representing country people as very loud talkers," remarked Colonel Leonard Ainsworth, of Arkansas. "As a matter of fact, persons who are accustomed to the quiet and solitude of rural life speak in a very low tone of voice, while those who live in the constant din and nerveracking noises of the city naturally ac quire me uuuii. ui mmiug iuuuij. reason for the difference is plain. When you city folks meet on the street you have to elevate your voices to a high pitch in order to make yourselves heard. I never come to St. Louis or visit any other large city that I don't soon get a sore throat from overexerting my voice. Of course, you who live here are used to the strain on your voice and don't suffer from it as I do. "If you ever heard an Indian talk j you will realize the force of what I I say. I never saw a real Indian that spoke much above a whisper. He illustrates exactly what I mean. The Indian lives in quiet and solitude. His atmosphere is not filled with noises and tympanum-piercing sounds. Consequently, he does not have to elevate his voice in carrying on conversation. Your city arab, the counterpart of the Indian, talks loud enough when he comes to Arkansas to be heard in the next county."?St. Louis Republic. England's Oldest Duke. England's oldest Duke, the Duke of Northumberland, has entered on his eighty-seventh year. Though he calls himself Percy, the Duke is really a Smithson, the last male Percy having died in 1670. He is extremely religious, and, as his wife was an Irvingite, one seat is always kept vacant at his table for the Saviour. : , , . 1 ?; : r^1 / m"JK-' : I THE REALM ( Sv^5v^*v?2v42v-5AAZv^\r*2viAi-*2'\A^v-WvS$'V The large showing of bordered t woolen fabrics exhibited in the shops c this season, writes May Manton, induces us to give this simple design by e which they can be developed. The 1 MISSES' BLOUSE WAI8T AND SKIBT. material employed is matted cheviot on a gray-blue ground, the woven rep g stripes in rich dark blue that form the s border looking almost like heavy otto- a man ribbon in different widths. The s skirt, straight on the lower edge, is t simply Hemmed or lacea ana nangs in c graceful fullness from two rows of a tucked shirring that droop in the cen- G tre-front. Gathers adjust the fullness p to the belt, the back being gathered ? into narrow space on each side of the t placket, and falls in flute-like folds to i the foot. v The waist is arranged over fitted I A CLOTH linings; the border at the top forming n the modish trimming. A tiny vest of 1 creamy cloth shows, between the open fi fronts of the stylish blouse, rouna, o cream-pearl buttons decorating the p edges. The wide belt and olose stand- ii ing collar are cut from the border. a The fashionable sleeves fit the arm a closely to near the top where the full- p ness is stylishly caught up at the v shoulder, the border trimming being r applied as shown. When plain, plaid ri or mixed woolens are used, braid, rib- fi bon' or velvet can be applied in place t of the border as here delineated. This makes a very stylish costume for g young girls and is adapted to either b ilk, wool or cotton fabrics. p To make this blouse for a miss of b fourteen years will require two and v one-fourth yards of forty-four-inch g material, and the skirt will require two f: and three-fourth yards of the same o width goods. A Cloth Cape. Although there are other wraps that bear the stamp and have, the charm of novelty, the cape is too faithful and useful a servant to be ruthlessly thrown aside, says May Manton. The style shown in the double column illustration is exceedingly attractive and comfortable, and is adapted to any of the medium weights or double-faced cloakings now in vogue. Double-faced castor cloth is here stylishly decorated with inch-wide bands of satin-faced cloth, stitched on each wide and decorated with round pearl buttons. Hat of fancy chenille, with rolling brim, Tam crown of brown velvet and natural ostrich tips. A rolling box-pleat is formed at each side of the centre seam of the cape. It lies smoothly across the shoulders and falls in ripples over the sleeves, an underlying box-pleat on each front wifli flm of ifpfl hands JJC111? I1UAOUCU ?11U of cloth on each edge. The collar is of the style known as "Lafayette" this season, being seamed to fit the neck comfortably, with the top finished in pretty tabs. The closing is invisibly made in centre-front, a pointed strap at the neck being buttoned across for better protection. Capes in this style can be handsomely developed in velvet, corded silk, moire, velours and all kinds of medium or heavy cloth cloakings. Made of woolens to match the cos- F tume, they are particularly becoming v and can be either finished simply with 8 " r . ' 3F FASHION. ? SiSfflfflfflffl ailor stitching or decorated with braid ?r passementerie. To mat e this capo for a woman of aedium size will require one and oneialf yards of fifty-four-inch material. Shirt Waists Still Popular. The shirt waist is by no means a Ki'nrt nf 4Tin rtouf nnr V?oa if mofAriallv hanged its form, the main and in fact lmost the only difference being in the aaterials of which it is made. From 11 appearances it will be fully as popLiar for winter wear as it has been iuring the warm weather, and in silk, elveteen, corduroy, cloth and wool ilaids is considered a necessary adanct to every wardrobe. When made f soft material the popular trimmings re tucks of the same, cross, diagonal r lengthwise and fine frillings. For he heavier fabrics, soutache and wider raids, small metal buttons and velvet ibbons are used for deoorating purloses. As to color the assortment is iractically endless, though of the plain; olors the preference is given to black, tavy, brown, red and green, which are requently trimmed with black, either raid or ribbon velvet, or narrow fancy pimp. Satin waists of a single color re very handsome and stylish. But or general wear nothing is prettier ban a well-chosen plaid silk, which nay be worn with almost any plain kirt; it neither musses nor spots asily, and is suitable for many differnt tises. Then for people who disLke plaids there are blocked and checked effects and stripes, though he plains are distinctly more fashionbU. Stylish Frock For a Girl. No material yet discovered gives jeater satisfaction or serves better for chool wear than does light-weight, 11-wool cheviot. The stylish frock hown in the illustration is made of he material in a medium shade of tanolor with silk vest of a darker tone ,nd trimming of black ribbon velvet. ?he bodice which isv full and on the topular blouse style is made over a Itted lining showing the usual numter of pieces and seams. The outside material is joined at the shoulder and inder-arm seams, only the closing teing effected at the centre-back by CAPE. leans of buttons and button-holes, .'he backs are arranged with slight ilness at the waist. The vest is laid n to the front lining, the blouse roper and the becoming revers servng to close the joining. The sleeves re two-seamed and show slight puffs t the shoulders which serve to suport the epaulette portions of the reera. At each shoulder is a rooette of ibbon velvet and the same material lakes the waist band. The neck is .nished with the simplest of collars rimmed with rows of narrow velvet. The skirt is four-pieced, including a ored front, gored sides and a straight iack. It is lined throughout with ercaline. The placket is at the centreiack and the skirt is sewed fast' to the raist, rendering impossible the ugly ap caused by separation. With the rock is worn a hat of felt with crown f velvet. Black shoes and the new '6 f ^ girl's costume. ilaid stockings complete the toilette vliich is at once stylish, tasteful and erviceaW#. %' * " -V DK. TALMAGES SEKMON. SABBATH DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED DIVINE. Story of the Three Tavern*?'The Ruin Wroneht by Honor?Crimson Wave of Dissipation Has Destroyed More Sailors Than the Ocean?Mankind's Corse. Text: "They came to meet us as far as Ippii Forum and the Three Taverns."? Lets xxviii., 15. Seventeen miles south of Bome, Italy, there was a village of unfortunate name md bibulous suggestion. A tavern is a place of entertainment, and, in our time, part of the entertainment is a provision )f intoxicants. One suoh place you would think would have been enough for that Italian village. Nol There were three of them, with doors open for entertainment and obfuscatlon. The world has never lacked stimulating drinks. You remember the condition of Noah on one occasion, and of Abigail's husband, Nabal, and the itory of Belshazzar's feast, and Benhadad, and the new wine in old bottles, and whole paragraphs on prohibition enactment thousands of years before Neal Dow was bom: and no doubt there were whole shelves of inflammatory liquid in these hotels which gave the name to the village irhere Paul's friends came to meet him; namely, the Three Taverns. In vain I search ancient geography for some satistying account of that village. Two roads :ame from the sea coast to that place; the one from Actium and the other from Puteall, the last road being the one which Paul traveled. There were, no doubt, in that rillage houses of merchandise and mechanics' shops and professional offices, but nothing is known of them. All we know of that village Is that it had a profusion of Inns?the Three 'Taverns. Paul did not ;hoose any one of these taverns as the place to meet his friends. He certainly was very abstemious, but they made the jeleotion. He had enlarged about keeping the body under, though onoe he prescribed {or a young theological student a stimulating oordial for a stomachic disorder; but he told hfm to take only a small dose? "a little wine for thv stomach's sake." One of the worst things about these Three Taverns was that they had especial temptation for those who had just come ishore. People who had Just landed at lotlum or Puteoli were soon tempted by these tnree noteis, wnicn were oniy a nine way ap from the beach. Those who are disordered of the sea (for it Is a physical dlflorganlzer), Instead of waiting for the gradual return of physical equipoise, are ipt to take artificial means to brace up. Of the one million sailors now on the sea, how few of them coming'ashorewill escape the Three Taverns! After surviving hurricanes, cyolones, icebergs, collisions, many of them are wreoked In harbor. I warrantthat if a calculation were made of the comparative number of sailors lost at sea and lost ashore, those drowned by the crimson wave of dissipation would far outnumber those drowned by the salt water. Alas! that the large majority of those who go down to the sea in ships should have twice to pass the Three Taverns, namely: Before they go out and after they come in. That fact was what aroused Father Taylor, the great sailors' preacher, at the Sailors' Bethel, Boston, and at a publio meeting at Charlestown he said, "All the machinery of the drunkard-making, soul-destroying business is In perfect running order, from the low grog holes on the docks, kept open to ruin my poor sailor boys, to'the great estaDllsnm enis in mm nouse square, ana when we ask men what is to be done about It, they ?ay 'you can't help it,' and yet there Is Bunker Hill, and you say you can't stop It; and up there are Lexington and Concord." We might answer Father Baylor's remark by saying, "The trouble is not that we can't stop it, but that we won't (top it." . We mast have more generations Blain before the world will fully wake up to the evil. That which tempted the travelers of old who came up from the seaports of Actium and Puteoll is now the ruin of seafaring men as they come up from the coasts of all the continents, namely, the Three Taverns. There are streets in some of our cities where there are three or four taverns on every block; aye, where every other house is a tavern. You can take the Arabio numeral of my text, the three, and put on the right hand side of it one cipher, and two ciphers, and four ciphers, and that reinforcement of numerals will not express the statistics of American rummeries. Even if li w )re a good, healthy business, supplying a necessity, an article superbly nutritious. It 1b a business mightily overdone, and there are three taverns where there ought to be only one. Tne fact Is, there are, In another sense, Three Taverns now; the gorgeous tavern for the affluent, the medium tavern for the working classes, and the tavern of the slums, and they stand in line, and many people, beginning with the first, come down, through the second, and come out at the third. At the first of the three taverns, the wines are of celebrated vintage, and the whiskies are SAld to be pure, end they are quaffed from cut glass, at marble side-tables, under pictures approaching master-pieces. The patrons pfull off their kid gloves, and hand their silk hats to the waiter, and push baok their hair with a band on one finger of which is a cameo. But those patrons are apt to stop visiting that place. It Is not the money that a man pays "for drinks, for what area few hundred or a few thousand dollars to a man of large income; but their brain gets touched, and that unbalances their judgment, and they can see fortunes in enterprises surcharged with disaster. In longer or shorter time they change taverns, and they come down to tavern the seoond, where the pictures are not quite so scrupulous of suggestion and the small table Is rougher and the castor standing on it is of Oerman silver and the air has been kept over from the night before and that which they sip from the pewter mug has a larger percentage of ben zine, ambergris, creosote, henbane, strychnine, prussic acid, coculns lndicas, plaster of paris, copperas, and nightshade. The patron may he seen almost every day, and perhaps many times the same day at this tavern the second, but he is preparing to graduate. Brain, liver, heart, nerves, are rapidly giving way. That tavern the second has its dismal echo in his business destroyed and family scattered and woes that choke one's vocabulary. Time passes on, and he enters tavern the third; a red light outside, a hiccoughing and besotted group inside. He will be dragged out of doors about 2 o'clock in the morning and left on the sidewalk, because the bartender wants to shut up. The poor victim has taken the regular course in the college of degradation. He has his diploma written on his swollen, bruised,and blotched physiognomy. He is a regular graduate of the Three Taverns. As the police take him up and put him in the ambulande the wheels seem to rumble with two rolls of thunder, one of which says, "Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it moveth itself aright in the cup, for at the last it biteth like a serpent and stlngeth like an adder." The other thunder roll says, "All druntards shall have their place in the lake that burnetii with Are and with brimstone." I am glad to find in this scene of the text that there is such a thing as declining successfully great Tavernian temptations. I can see from what Paul said and did after he had traveled the following seventeen miles of his journey, that he had received no damage at the Three Taverns. How much he .was tempted I know not. Do not suppose that he was superior to temptation. That particular temptation has destroyed many of the grandest, mightiest, noblest statesmen, philosophers, heroes, clergymen, apostles of law and medicine and government and religion. Paul was not physically well under any circumstances; it was not in mock depreciation that he said he was "in bodilv presence weak." It seems that his eyesight was so poor that he did his writing through an amanuensis, for he mentions it is something remarkable that his shortest Epistle, the one to Philemon, was in his own penmanship, saying: "I, Paul, have written it with my own hand." He had been thrown from his horse, he had been stoned, he bad been endungeoned, be bad bad bis nerves pulled on by preachlhg at Athens to the most scholarly audience of all 3ie earth, and at Corinth to the most brilliantly profligate assemblage, and been howled upon by the Ephesian worshipers of Diana, tried for his life before Felix, charged by Festus with being insane, and crawled up on the beach, drenched in the shipwreck, and much of the time had an iron handcuff on his wrist, andjif any man needed stimulus, Paul needed It, but with all his physical exhaustion, ho cot oast the Three Taverns ! ?+*nrvA/? (ntn kWoH UUUOliiagCUj MVU? we j-w ready for the tremendous ordeal to which"**1 he was subjected. Oh! How many mighty I men, feeling that they mint brace tip after '1 extraordinary service, and prepare them* I selves for other service, have called on th> L1 spirit of wine for inspiration, and ln'?>|>aB vears have been sacrlfled *6a the altarM mSI Moloch, who sits 011 a tluoae of hintiSlB carcasses. Shall I call the names of fifty", of the victims, all of them illnstrloru in ' American history? No! It would not, bt C? wise, or kind, or Christian to call their names in public, but voa'eall them out of your own memory. Oh, how many spfe&did ;V. men could not get past the Three Tayecaa^^i Long ago an arch flend arrived in owr' world, and he built aq Invisible cauldron .. of temptation. He built that cauldron strong and stout for all agea asd?fl nattona?:. First be-squeezed into the cauldron tha,-: juices of tne forbidden fruit_of paradise; - j then lie gathered lor it a distillation irom the harvest fields and the orchards Oft fit ,1 hemispheres; then he poured Into this eaul- 3 dron capsicum and logwood and assault ana v?-| battery and vitriol and opium and ruan murder and sulphurlo aold and theft and 1 potash and cochineal and red carrots and.1; poverty and death and hops. But it irmWM1 dry compound, and it must be moistened and it must be liquefied, and so the ajMrcfi fiend poured into the cauldron the blood ctv,' ? twenty thousand assassinations. And then , the arch fiend took a shovel that hehndV' brought up from the furnaoes beneath* and he put the shovel Into this great cauldron' and began to stir, and the cauldron began ; to heave and rock and boll and sputter and ; hiss and smoke, and the nations gathwfl: $ around it with cups and tankards and . demijohns and kegs, and there was efoouglT, \ for all. and the arch fiend cried: "Altai, Champion fiend am II Who has done moicv: ?{. than i have for coffins and graveyards-and .. prisons and the populating of the lost r i world? And when this cauldron Is emptied I'll fill it again, and I'll stir it again, andftrwill smoke again, and that smoke Witt Jout ftv another smoke?the smoke of a torment? that ascendetb for ever and ever. I drore fifty ships on the rocks of NeWfonnflifttdria ana the Skerries and the Qoodwim^M^Clfi have ruined more Senators than will gathftr s next winter in the national councils. I have rained more Lords 4h*n will ,bovv gathered in the House of Peers. The cat>{ ; out of which I ordinarily diink Is bleached human skull, and the upholster*!* of mv palace is so rich a crimson because > It ta Avert in hnman ron. and the mosaicof . my floors 1b made up of the bones of dren dashed to death by drunken parent*; ^ and my favorite music, sweeter than Te H Deum or triumphal march?my favor#* ;**; music Is the cry of daughter# turned out At : midnight on the street because father turn come home from a carousal, andthesereo-' : hundred-voiced shriek Of the sinking* _ steamer because the captain wu not himself when he put the ship on the wrong course: Champion fiend am II -1 hat?, >' : kindled more fires, I have wrung out more * : agonies, I have stretched out more mid- ' night shadows, I have opened more QoJ gothas, I have rolled more Juggernauts,. I have damned more 6ouls. than uiflnM emissary of diabolism. Champion fiend arta;& I. Hal ha! ha! ha!" But what a glad time when the world. comes to fts last Three Taverns ifor. pmgb sale of Intoxicants. Now. there aresomaimfl of them that statistic^ are only a more or less acourate guess as to their number^-t We sit with half-closed eyes and undisturbed nerves and hear that In 187Su^m!m United States there were 1964 brewerftji^ 4840 distilleries, and 171,669 retail dealer*,^ and that possibly by this time these figure* v. may be truthfully doubled. Thfcfaotla'V that these establishments are Innumerably V? and the discussion Is always dlsheartek- V".; lag, and the Impression Is abroad that the plague Is so mighty and universal tt can never b6 cured, and the most of sermon*.; on this subject elose with the Book of " J Lamentations,x and not with the "Book of J Revelations. Exouse me from adopting I any such infidel theory. The Bibleteit#*-;.Vty| ates it until there is no more powwr I in inspiration to make it ' plainer I that the earth is to he, not half, " .1 or three-quarters, hot whoUy--V?f*'j4i deemed. On that rook I take my J triumphant stand and join in the oho- J rus of Hosannahs. I One of the most adrantageods mora- ,1 ments in the right direction la. taking Ihja "I whole subject Into the eduoatlon of tMLv;;| young. On the save school-deek with the\ I grammar, the geography, the arithmett4pM are books telling the lads an dl asses of t&\ X and twelve and fifteen years of age what^H are the physiological" effects of fttre&$l drink, what It does with the tissue of the , liver and the ventricles of the brain; 'And whereas other generations did not realise i the evil until their own bodieswere blasted, ' we are to have a generation taught what the viper is before it stings them, what the: hyena is before it rends them, hotf deep is '{ the abyss before it ^wallows t'uem. Oh! ', boards of education, teachers in schools.' professors in colleges, Legislatures, and Congresses, widen and augment that w*fk-,'~* ' and you hasten the oomplete overtfirowotit this evil. \-Mfg It will go down. I hare the word, of mighty God for that In the assured extirpation of all sin. Bat shall we havea share in the universal viotorjr? The liquor sdloons . will droo from the hundreds of thousaada. / into the score of thousands, and then from the thousands into the hundreds, and theaj< from the hundreds into the tens, and from' the tens to Three. The firet ot tbes? last three taverns will be where the educated?;' and philosophic and the high-up will take their dram, but that class, aware of the ..' power of the example they have been aet- ; ting, will turn their back upon the evil on*- j? torn and be satisfied with two natural ber-' erages that Ood Intended for the. stimulus, of the race?the Java coffee plantation*.v furnishing the best of the one and the Chin- ' ese tea fields the best of the other.. And some day the barroom will be crowded with . people at the vendue and the auctioneers '? mallet will pound at the. sale ol the sppor* [ tenanoes. The second of these last three tavefBS will take down its flaming sign and extinguish its redllght and close its doora.for - , the working class will hare concluded, to buy their own horses and furnish their own , beautiful homes and replenish finely the wardrobe of their own wives and djiughters,instead of providing the distillert, the brewers, and liquor sellers with wardrobes ? and mirrors and carriages. And the next time that second tavern is opened it will be a drug store, or a bakery, or a dry goods establishment, or a school. Then there will ??-? nPhrMlKMlnitlDirA DO ULLiy \JUK3 UiUiD Vi ?uv . r- HI" |||M Taverns left. I don't know In what coon* M try, or city, or neighborhood it will be, bat -M look at it, for it is the very last. The last^H inebriate will have staggered up to -iti^H counter and put down his peonies for his^H dram. Its last horrible adulteration will V be mixed and quaffed to eat oat the vitals S and Inflame the brain. The last dranklard V will have stumbled down its front steps* I The last spasms of delirium tremens caused by it will be struggled through. The old I rookery will be torn down, and with its I demolition will close the earth's abomina- I tions. The last of the dissipating Three I Taverns of all the world will beasthor* oughly blotted out as were the Three.. Taverns of my text. I Tn this battle the visible troops are not I so mighty as the Invisible. The Gospel campaign began with the supernatural? the midnight ehant that woke the shepherds, the hushed sua, the eyesight*given where the patient had been born wlthoat the optic nerve, the sun obliterated from the noonday heavens, the law of gravitation loosing its grip as Christ ascended; and as the Gospel campaign began with the supernatural, it will dose with the supernatural; and the winds and the waves and the lightnings and the earthquakes will come in on the right side and against the wrong side; and our ascended champions will return, whether the world sees them or does not see them. I do not think that those great souls de* r>ortnH nr? <?ntni? to do nothinir hereafter but sing psalms, and play harps, and I breathe frankincense and walk seas of I glass mingled with fire. The mission I they fulfilled while in the body will be M eclipsed by their post-mortem mission, with faculties quickened and velocities B multiplied; and it may have been to that our dying reformer referred when he said: I "I long to be free!" There may be bigger I worlds than this to be redeemed, and more I gigantic abominations to be overthrown I than this world ever saw; and the dlselp^J line gotten here may only be preliminary^? drill for a campaign In some other, world, V and perhaps some other constellation. But the crowned heroes and heroines, because nt thflir grander achievements in greater I spheres, will not forget this old world 9 where they prayed and suffered and trU.,1 umphed. Church militant and? Churoh K triumphant, but two divisions of the samo I army?rlaht wins and left wins.