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TAKE CARE WHOM
YOU TRUST.
BY COMPTON READE.
A fortnight at Blankenberghe wrought mar
vels for Raich. His spirits revived nnder the
combined influences of pure air, light diet, and
change of sene. His companion indoctrinated him
fully with the notion that one lung only was
damaged, and that therefore his life was in reali
ty good—a very well intentioned piece of falsity
better in most respects than many specifics. The
weather being lovely, to loll on the hot sand,
dreaming day dreams, was most delicious. \V hen
the hour for return arrived, Sir Joseph Toadie’s
prophecy had come true. He was quite a new
man.
An enjoyable steam from Ostend to Dover,
a wild rush through Kent and Surrey, and Lon
don once more hovered in an horizon of smoke.
His heart beat wildly, his eyes glistened, he
seemed like one about to enter Paradise. His
carriage whisked him rapidly westwards, and
so excited was he that he tailed to remark the
black livery of the men-servants.
‘Lady Montresor’s compliments, and will you
dine, sir? Her ladyship will see you alter
dinner. . x . . , .
This was rather a disappointment for his ar
dent friendship; but he was hungry after travel,
and dusty withal. Perhaps she was wise. A
meeting would be more delightful when he was
cleansed and fed, and superior to all sublunary
eonsiderations. He, therefore, indulged in a
bath, and a careful toilette. After which he des
cended to the most beautiful banquet conceiva
ble There was not a luxury unprovided. Eve
ry dish was a chef d' enure. The flowers were
almost oppressive; the glass and gold dazzling;
the wines glorious; whilst the traditional rose
water had been supplanted by Stephanotis.
On his napkin he found a sweet little billet
abuse of’em. God bless’ee, my pretty miss!
To think of our passon being nursed by a cath
olic, now!’
'Is he a clergyman?' asked Sister Clara.
‘Vicar of Mudflat, miss—Mudflat, in Blank-
shire. Leastways, ’er was vicar, or ought to be
vicar now. About of moving on’em out of this
’ere dratted dung-’eap, miss. How’s it to be
doDe ?’
‘Not to-day, sir; nor to-morrow—perhaps nev
er!’ says the serious face. ‘Our doctor has hope
—that is all. They have been neglected; in
fact, if the police had not notified me that there
was such a case, they must have died.’
‘The Lord be praised!’ ejaculates the farmer,
piously; ‘and blessed be the likes of such as you!
If ever I seed a Samaritan, you’re the good un!
Here’s your religion—here's the real thing.
Why, I ’oedn’t a hentered such a ’ole as this, not
for worlds! And yet if there weren’t such
Christians as you—such hout and hooters—my
passon might a’ died—died wuss nor a dog!
Lor’ bless your hangel face!. If this ’ere’s the
Catholic faith, darn’d if I don’t turn Catholic
to-morrow!’
T must go,’ said Sister Clara, rather startled
by these jerky apostrophes.
‘Wait a minit. You see this ’ere purse? It
’olds a ’undred and sixty pound, in notes. You
take it for’eni. I drawed the money to spec’late
in barley, down at Mark Lane, fust thing to-
morrer, and I might p’raps earn a fifty p’un' or
so, thereby, but I’d rather give the sum to our
old passon. Only do’ant for worlds, let’un
know who done it.’ And he forced the purse
into her hands.
‘A sovereign will be ample until to-morow,’
replied the sister.
But the honest farmer utterly refused to
touch his purse, and declaring his earnest de
sire to have the patients removed to his own
house at the earliest date the doctor would per
mit, beat a sudden retreat, leaving sister Clara
not a little embarrassed by the responsibility
of being banker amid such a population of
criminals and paupers.
One brief scene, and only one. On the lawn
of Finstock Villa, Clapham Rise, were placed
I degraded my soul—but it was despair, sir; it
was never vice ’
‘ Still you must recollect,’ said Mr. Lovett,
misinterpreting his meaning, ‘that the woman
you loved was the wife of another.’
The poor soul groaned. He had asked for
sympathy, and found a stone.
‘ You don’t understand,’ he murmured, re
proachfully. ‘ Our love was indeed pure. It
was the meeting of a waif brother and a waif
sister in art. If there was one thought wrong
in my breast, I repent it; but I do not remem
ber one such thought. I believe, too, had she
not gone from me, no evil would have sullied
our lives. Dear friend, think charitably when
I am gone of her—of me. However, it is too
late now for words. See,’ placing an envelope
in his hands, ‘ There are my last wishes writ
ten clearly. God ever bless you and yours !
Doctor ’
Sir Joseph neared the couch.
‘I—I think the time has come. Thank you
deeply. Tell them to begin; — piano, very
piano.’
As the doctor motioned to the artistes in the
adjoining apartment, Ralph turned his head to
Theodore Lovett, and with a smile of marvellous
peace whispered, ‘Kneel. Pray with me in
silence.’
As he knelt, the instruments began the andante
from Beethoven’s Symphony in D, rendering
that ravishing melody with a perfection so ex
quisitely thrilling,as to give pain to the hearer;
Sir Joseph behel^ the face of the earnest mu
sician light to a singular and beautiful rap
ture, and as the last cadences died away, the
RELIGIOUS DEPARTMENT.
Non-Sectarian—All Churches and all
Creeds.
ANOTHER FABLE WITH A MORAL.
Once upon a time there was a large city in
which was published a great daily paper. The
circulation of this daily was greater than that of
any other daily, as is the case with all dailies.
It had a patriotic name, as all good dailies have.
One day a poor, pious clergyman came into the
office of the editor and asked him to publish a
church notice free, as no good clergyman ought
to have done. The editor was wise and discreet,
as all editors are, and so he told the clergyman
that he would publish the notice, if the clergy
man would read an advertisement of his paper
in the pnlpit on the next Sabbath. This was
fair, because a newspaper is as sacred as a pul
pit, and what is appropriate to one is appro
priate to the other. But this selfish clergyman,
like no fair-minded clergyman ought to have
done, peremptorily declined the proposition
and retired. Whereupon, the editor laughed.
Indeed, he laughed as the poet says did St.
Nicholas, who had a “little round belly, which
shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.”
As to why this editor had the aforesaid “capa-
soul of the young singer passed forth in a soft cious periphery” will appear in the course of
sigh as of infinite .pleasure.
Come to me as the clock strikes nine. In my two sofas, which supported two sick persons;
I
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boudoir.’
‘Thine, Rosa.’ .
It was just eight as he sat down to dine, that
ceremony over, he awaited impatiently over a
bottle of sublimest Margaux the arrival of the
slow minute-hand.
Could it be the wine, or what caused such
strange wild fancies to whirl through his brain ?
Anon he was following her o’er wildest moun
tains, his brain realising all the excitement of
Alpine peril—once again, she was in the upper
story of a burning house, and he once had mount
ed a ladder, but it was toe short by but a foot,
and she cried to him to save her. \erily, day
dreams are as unaccountable as their shadows
of sleep.
The tang of a clock awoke him, and tossing
off a glass of the claret before him he slowly-
mounted the stairs, experiencing the oddest
palpitations of the heart imaginable. If he had
to face a grand crisis, his face could not_ have
turned paler. ....
There was a strange stillness in the house.
Rosa Montresor kept servants in the background.
She had a righteous horror of noise, with an
intense love of privacy. This stillness seemed
unpleasant, causing him to quicken his steps,
and to tap hastily but gently at her door.
Again he tapped, this time louder, a little color
rising to his cheek.
No answer.
Then he opened the door, and entered.
On the sofa reclined Lady Montresor. She
was clad in the strangest of dresses. A flowing
robe, composed entirely of rare and delicate
lace, enshrouded her form, but falling aside re
vealed a rose-satin bodice. Her head was pillow
ed, the features slightly averted
asleep.
For a second he stood entranced by this beau-
tiful sight. Then he ventured to whisper with
bated breath, ‘Rosa!’
But none replied.
Then he drew nearer, speaking yet louder
and more earnestly; anon he touched her softly,
gently, firmly. What makes him wail forth
that exceeding bitter cry ? Why wring hishands
for very despair?
Heart, false heart! You have played my lady
false.
Heart, true heart to the last. For at her feet
lies a parchment, executed that very day, where
by she bequeaths all her estate, real and person
al, to her beloved, Samuel Edward Ralph, musi
cian.
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CHAPTER XXXI.
Do yon remember how we left Theodore Lov
ett and Adine lying hopeless in that awful Lon
don garret ? Better, perhaps, hide our faces an A
shade our eyes, than gaze long on that cruel
scene. It is too horrible. Hungry death wait
ing for his prey. Hungry vermin plucking up
courage to anticipate th<- hand of the great Des
troyer himself. Below, drunkenness, dirt, and
vileness. Above, a tottering roof, which barely
hides a sky befouled by smoke and bad odours;
and nothing beautiful or good to come and ex
orcise all this hell.
Patience. Our friend the policeman keeps an
eye on that house. He has not seen the stran
gers, in whom he feels an interest of the curious
type, emerge from that gloomy portal.** Can there
be foul play ?
•What’s beccme of those lodgers of yours ?’
‘Don’t know. Up stairs.’
‘That wont do. I must have a look at ’em.’
‘Right you are. They’re sing’lar quiet. Per
haps they finds sleepin’ cheaper nor heatin.’
Policeman mounts the stairs to find the un-
i fortunates delirious. His instincts are quick,
and he can well appreciate danger. He des
cends promptly, inquiring if any one has ‘seen
any of them nuns about.’
It appears that such a good angel is now in
• the next court. He loses not a moment in find-
j ing this lady, and a few pointed words secure
i her services. A boy is dispatched for two or
more of the sisterhood, and a medical man.
Then sister Clara mounts the stairs, and siDgle-
, handed begins her holy work.
She is young, this sister, and pretty, with a
face of the most intense earnestness. She is as
fearless as faith, as holy as hope. Her first act
is to discover, if possible, the names of her pa
tients, whom she at once perceived to be of gen
tle blood. They may have friends, who ought
to be communicated forthwith. With this in
tention she, with all possible delicacy, searches
Adine’s pockets. Therein she finds an empty
purse, and in the corner thereof, a small memo
randum:
•Mr. Roper, Finstock Villa, Clapham Rise.’
Out comes her pencil; quickly, but legibly,
she scribbles a few words, describing her pa
tients, calls a boy, and dispatches him to the
above address. Within an hour the poor suffer
ers’ bedchamber is decently edean; they are cared
for by a physician, who shakes his head, and
prescribes ‘watching,’ and by two other angels
of mercy, who battle bravely with the awful
i thirst which is parching their lips to blackness.
Within three hours, enter Farmer Roper, crying
like a child, and bearing in his broad, honest
hand a purse stocked with crisp bank notes.
•Hush!’ cries Sister Clara; there is danger.
You must be silent.’
So she takes him below, and he shakes her
little white band, vehemently, crying: ‘God
I blese’ee, whosoever’ee be! Wbatlisyoua cath
olic? Why, I thought the catholics were all
bad’uns! Leastways, I never ’eeard nought but
both very pale and shrunken, yet both unmis
takably convalescent. The one a clergyman,
whose clothes seemed to have been intended for
a man of twice his size; the other a slight and
fair lady, laughing to a lively infant, who crow
ed merrily in response. On a garden chair, puff
ing away at a Brosely pipe, a sheep-dog at his
feet, and a foaming tankard at his side, sat far
mer Roper, the picture of eupeptic good tem
per. To him vis-a-vis, arrayed in the stiffest
of silk gowns, of fabulous cost and home make,
Mrs. Roper, a pair of worsted stockings in her
lap, an air of placid contentment around her
dimpled cheeks.
‘You be a’ most a man again, passon,’ cried
Mr. Roper, cheerily. ‘Here, take a drop o’ this.
Darn the doctor. It,s the very best of medi
cine.’
Positively the invalid did taste it, and yet
again, till some one cried out from the other
sofa, ‘Dore, you are imprudent.’
Try a mouthful yourself, ma’am,’ laughed
old Roper.
‘Come, Adine, don’t be shy. It’s home brew
ed,’added her husband.
,Yes, mem, breewed by these very ’ands,’
suggested Mrs. Roper, glanceng at digits, which,
though clean were rough.
‘I don’t quite know. Do you think it will do
me good, Mr. Roper ?’
‘Be the making of you, ma’am. That’s right.
One little sup more. Never take two bites at a
cherry. Good again.’
‘Why, I declare, I do feel better, exclaimed
Adine.
‘Ah, Roper,’ said Mr. Lovett, the tears well
ing from his eyes, ‘how can we ever repay the
She appeared deep debt of gratitude we owe you? Vjhen I
think of the noble return you have awarded to
our evil, I despise myself as much as I honor
you.’
‘Come, passon, you maun talk so. I baint no
scholar, and can’t give’ee an answer, as I should.
But if you talks of gratitude, give it, sir, to them
Catholic women, who saved your blessed lives.’
‘And to your purse, good, kind Mr. Roper,’
added Adine.
‘No ma’am, I can’t hear of that. It wor the
will of Providence, as I wasn’t to lose my mon
ey on that there barley, which I sartaiu should
a done, and agoodish bit more into the bargain:
acause, when you sets the ball rolling it gath
ers a smartish bit of snow. Well, gall, what is
it?’ This to the servant maid, a Mudflat girl,
who came forward with many curtseys.
‘A gentleman, sir. Must see Mr. Lovick, par-
ticler important.’
The gentleman, who turned out to be Sir Jo
seph Toadie, bowing, followed in her wake,
breathing courtly apologies. He came to an
nounce painful news. He regretted how often
it was the fate of medical men, to be bearers of
evil tidings. In fact, if his stereotyped smile
had not contradicted his sentiments, you might
have imagined him to be a man of most refined
sensibilities.
‘I fear that I must take you away with me, Mr.
Lovett,’ he said. ‘Your friend, Ralph, has un
fortunately burst another blood-vessel, and is
now sinking rapidly. My brougham is at the
door, and if you wish to see him again in this
world, you must not lose time. I shall be hap
py to drive you to Westbourne Terrace, whither
I return at once. In fact, I only left my pati
ent’s bedside at his earnest request, that I
would bring you back to him.’
‘ You are hardly equal to this trial, Dore,’ fal
tered Adine.
‘My dear,’ he answered, ‘it is a'sacred duty,
and one which I dare not shirk.’
They helped him to Sir Joseph’s carriage.
He was still very weak, although two months
had elapsed since the crisis of the fever.
‘ It will be a mercy if we find him alive,’ whis
pered the baronet.
Mr. Lovett clasped his hands in prayer. Ear
nestly he longed to see his friend’s face once
more. Eagerly did he inquire of the grave
faced man-servant if he was in time.
The elegance and splendor of the house and
its appointments would have struck his min'd
with wonder, had it not been pre-occupied by
sorrow. He was, however, startled to discover
the saloon filled with instrumentalities, who
were seated before their copies, apparently pre
pared at a moment's notice to obey the bow of
their leader. At the end of this room was the
lovely boudoir where Lady Montresor had
breathed her last. Bowing to the assembled
artistes, Sir Joseph led the way to this inner
chamber, where on her sofa Ralph lay dying—
alone.
‘See,’ whispered Sir Joseph, ‘I have brought
Mr. Lovett;’ with which words he drew back to
an angle of the apartment.
Ah, sir 1’ murmured the dying man. ‘What
a happiness is it to look on you once again.
You have been my best of friends, and I ’
‘ True to me,’ almost sobbed Mr. Lovett, over
come by the sad scene.
‘ Yes, true, although—although true also to
her—my love. I did love her, Mr. Lovett, and
she loved me.’
The clergyman took his hand, already moist
with the dews of death, pressing it warmly.
Then he said:
‘But, dear Ralph, you have been preparing, I
pray, for this great change?’
‘Ah, my friend,’ gasped Ralph, ‘I have sin
ned.’
• And you are sorry ?’
‘ So sorry—really sorry. I sinned against my
art, and my art was the life given me by God.
CHAPTER XXXII. —Conclusion.
Ralph’s letter contained intelligence surpris
ing. After premising that he felt bound to carry
out Lady Montresor s wishes, he stated that he
had, through a clerical agent, arranged for Mr.
Blackley to be presented to a benefice near Lon
don, and for Mr. Lovett to be re-instated to
Mudflat, which btnefice, by bequest, he raised
to the annual value of one thousand pounds.
He further left as a legacy to the Lovetts, ten
thousand pounds, and one thousand to Mr.
Roper, as a testimony to his kindness. After
charging the estate with a small annuity to his
relatives, and with various presents to the organ-
our narrative, The editor told it to the printers
: and to the “printer’s devils,” and they all
laughed, and so did some other devils maybe,
j The editor published it, and all “the boys”
j said it was a “good hit,” and laughed. And so
did many others, who were “tired of these
preachers any how.”
At another time two commercial travelers
came into the editor’s office. One represented
a tobacco and the other a wholesale and retail
liquor house, and their smiles were “child-like
and bland.” The one left a few sample cigars
and the other a few samples of his best wines
our social life. They have expressed surprise
that our notably advanced, scientific age could
produce such a crop. We venture to say the
charge is to be laid at the door of dancing more
than to any other cause,and we are no more sur
prised than we would be to see a man, who nev
er used his mind or only employed it on un
worthy pleasures, a small, inactive and sluggish
thinker. .
It is immoral because it is a 100 to mental
cultur^ jjeentious and tends to lascioions-
ness. Whether or not the dancers are conscious
of it at the time, does not affect the truth of this
proposition.
To sustain it we appeal to the consciousness of
tfiose who have ever exercised a habit of intros-
spection during the progress of the dance.
We produce the fact in further proof that it
can't live in the day-light. Day-time dances
are Dot popular. Apropos to this point, ‘Men
love darkness rather than light because their
deeds are evil.’ _ .
It is further evident when we reflect that men
never dance with men nor women with women.
They intermingle the sexes. When this fact
has been explained its unique fascination will
have been discovered.
We believe the people feel this is true, for
who of us would have confidence in a clergyman
who danced ? If it is harm for a preacher it is
harm for anybody.
We can not hope to discuss this fully m one
article. We commend the series of articles in
the Daily Constitution to the attention of our
readers.
Reverend Dr. Hayoood, in a late issue of the
Southern Christian Advocate, reviews with just
pungency an article lrom the A. I. ban on the
alleged decline of religion in the world, tor
one we are glad he did it. It seems to us the
secular press is hardly in position to write very
wisely or accurately about the Church an! 1 ,
religion. We submit it to the common sense of
every man that it is most disgusting egotism
for the secular editors to attempt to become
writers and counselors in politics, science, law,
literature, philosophy, art and religion.
And yet, not unfrequently you will see in
ist of Blankton, and other friends he left the ! d liqaors and it B0 delighted the editor that ' their solumns an article on Hell, one on the
rflmoinrlPT nf hits cfTtuat fnrhino frv fniinH a 1 . a ' 0 i ,. .. ,
remainder of his great fortune to found a col- j
lege for musicians, in or near London. Lady
Montresor’s pictures, jewels, furniture, etc., he
bequeathed absolutely to Adine.
Thus it comes to pass that we say ‘Farewell’
to our friends Adine and Theodore Lovett, in
their old home at Mudflat, where they are thor
oughly and truly happy. Their return to the
Vicarage was nothing short of a triumph, an*
they biought with mem back to the old farm, 1 to pay
Mr. and Mrs. Roper, who are prosperous peo- ^ 1
pie; and having no cuildren of their own, hope
to make Master Lovett their heir.
It would be poetical justice to tell how Horace
Blackley was punish, d for his sins. However,
in this world of inequalities, poetical justice is
a fable, and beyond probability. Suffice it,
therefore, to relate that he got every stiver of
his money out of Mr. Lo7ett; and having se
cured an excellent living by the arrangement
made by Ralph, is in very solvent and pecu-
nious condition. It cost him a trifle to send
Nevis and his daughter to Australia, and he is
not on the best terms with his wife; otherwise,
he flourishes—as the thoroughly wicked gener
ally do flourish in this -wicked world.
Poor Poodle, ejected from Lady Montresor’s
service, flung her fate at Mr. Barwyn. That
gentleman obtained her a position as singer at a
music-hall. He generously absorbs half her
wretched earnings) ji.qj treats her shamefully
into the bargain. *e is still organist of St.
organist
Bathos, but it is i ^ -red darkly that a new In
cumbent of that w wnable church intends to
dispense with hiaserrices.
Miss Effler seems likely to live forever in the
Blankton Asylum. Her brother has recently
turned up in London, with a fortune, which, if
he does not speculate away, he intends to leave
to his niece Adine.
There remains one whom we must not quit
without one word of notice—sister Clara.
‘ Have you any recollection of the good nun
who attended us in our fever—I mean of her
features ?’ asked Mr. Lovett of Adine.
‘None. You know we were both only half
conscious when Mr. Roper moved us to Clap
ham Rise.’
‘ I fancy I can recall her countenance. She
was very lovely. Strange! I have heard to-day,
in Blankton, her history; and alas! also of her
early death!’
‘ You surprise and, horrify me!’
‘ You will indeed be surprised, when I tell
you that she was the eldest daughter of that
hard-hearted man, the Dean. He first refused
to allow her to marry the man she loved, for
the paltry reason thy.t he had not taken a first-
class at Oxford; and then, when she became
religiously morbid, and joined the Romanists,
he turned her out pf the house. She died in
harness, from attending a small-pox case. Now
that it is too late, they say the Dean is broken
hearted.’
‘We ought to make her sisterhood an offer
ing,’ Baid Adine. ‘ To their holy charity and
devotedness we owe our lives, darling.’
‘ Yes, my pet,’ responded Theodore Lovett.
‘ We will make one offering, and it shall be
worthy sister Clara.’
©n the morrow, Mr. Lovett enclosed a check
for one thousand guineas—as a thank-offering
for the services of their Order—to the Sister
hood of , St. , London.
THE END.
he thought them to be men “after his own
heart,” and did cleave unto them as David to
Jonathan. Moreover, he published their arri
vals and their departures, and “was glad to see
the genial faces of Mr. H. Yana and Mr. 0. L.
D. Rye in his sanctum.” Thus this editor
flourished as a green bay tree,” and was able
ye locals” and “representatives” to
gather up for publication all the cases of theft,
rapine, murder, debauchery, and kindred oc
currences in the country, and, moreover, he
was able to employ reporters to write “Sporting
Columns,” and to attend the races and other
performances, and tell the people of mighty
deeds of valor and value enacted by the sons of
the turf.
And the sensationalism of this paper promo
ted public morals so much that the editor fre
quently referred to it as the “conservator of the
moral and material interests of the people,”
and the people patronized it, and all “the boys”
said, “let 'er roll.” And everything favored
this paper and it grew, and “blew its own
horn," as Punch enjoins persons to do who want
their horns blown, and it did magnify itself ex
ceedingly. Everything went easy until one day
the editors and managers “lifted up their eyes,
being in torment.”
The above “is a truth for those who can com
prehend it, and an extravagance for those who
cannot.”
The Modern Dance.
This question has attracted so much attention
of late, that for a religious journalist in this city
to fail to discuss it would seem to imply that he
did not have convictions on either the one or the
Silver Bill, a critique of George Eliot’s last
J novel, a criticism of a theatrical performance
and an opinion on some decision of the Supreme
Court, side by side. The result is that gener-
I ally their financial statistics are inaccurate by
j about $1,200,000,000. Beecher and Canon Far
rar are put among orthodox divines, and about
the same ridiculous figure is cut in the depart
ments of art, literature and law. There was
once a character among the old fogy folks
which they called ‘Jack of all trades and good
at none.’ His descendants are not all dead.
The Rev. S. H. J. Sistrunk, a well known
local preacher in Southern Georgia, died in
Fort Valley, March, 6, of bronchitis.
Reverend Young J. Allen, D. D., a Mis
sionary to China, from the Methodist Epis
copal Church South, is a delegate-elect to
the approaching General Conference which
convenes here in May. He went from Georgia
and will be most cordially welcomed back to his
native state. Holding, as he does, an official
position in the Imperial University of China,
he has a seven months leave of absence. He is
a graduate of Emory College, Oxford, Ga.
The tornado which passed through the state,
on March 10th, completely demolished the
Church of the Innooents (Episcopal) in this
city, and we learn it blew the steeple off the
Baptist Church in La Grange. In the Episcopal
Church the congregation had assembled for
worship and were in it when it was blown down.
There were no serious casualties.
Rev. Dr. J. T. Leftwich has had corres
pondence with a church in Baltimore and one
, in Louisville in reference to becoming their
other side, or else was too cowardly to express J pa8tor . He has had no call to them, as one of
^ em ' ( our city papers states. A call has to come
More than that consideration, if it is innocent , through the Presbytery and this has not yet
some of its devotees have been treated by words I convened,
and actions unjustly; if it is not harmless, its !
A Telephone in Rome Ga.
The Rome Tribune says:
To Col. J. J. Cohen, more than any other one
man, is the city of Rome indebted for its pro
gress and prosperity. There is no enterprise
looking to the improvement of the city that he
is not the first to take hold and help to push it
through. He is alive to the progress of the
times and always catches at the latest improve
ments. True to his progressive spirit, he has
ordered the construction of a telephone from
his store to his mill.
In a later edition the same paper says:
Well we’ve got it, It is here sure enough and
promises to be a complete success. That enter
prising, go-ahead gentleman, Col. J. J. Cohen,
tho pioneer in all works of utility in the city, is
having one constructed from his flour store in
the Empire block to his mills in South Rome, a
distance of one mile. Mr. W. H. Adkins, the
efficient telegraph operator at this office, has its
construction under charge.
A Selection
A mother once beautifully said: ‘I remember
the new and strange emotions which trembled
in my breast, when, as an infant, my first-born
was folded to my heart. The thrill of that mo
ment still lingers; but when he was ‘born again
clasped in my arms a new creature in Christ
Jesus, my spiritual child, my son in the gos
pel, pardoned, justified, adopted, saved, forever
saved!. Oh, it W8“3 the very depth of joy—joy
unspeakable! My child was a child of God!
The prayers which preceded his birth, which
cradled his infancy, which girdled his youth,
were answered.”
— A teacher, who, in a fit of vexation, called
her pupils a set of young adders, on being re
proved for her language, apologized by saying
she was speaking to those just commencing
their arithmetic.
great prevalence makes it a prodigious evil. So
duty rests upon us to speak, and we have no
apology to offer for our utterances.
We will be acquitted of the charge of narrow
ness or prejudice when we say that our opinions
are the combined result of experience and ob
servation, and had their birth not in religious
scruples but in moral convictions.
Our opinion is briefly this: the modern danoe
is inherently and essentially immoral.
Should we be charged with producing the im
purity we allege, we accept the indictment with
as perfect a consciousness of its falsehood, as its
author’s assurance of the correctness of our
opinion of this social and moral upas. We enu
merate our charges against it.
1. It is unhealthy. The general system of late
hours which has become grafted into our social
life is traceable to the dance. Viewed from the
stand-point of a looker-on it is a spectacle, a
dream which cannot ‘feel the truth and stir of
day’without impairing its delicious self-forget
fulness which is necessary to its perfect enjoy
ment ‘Whatever will serve to heighten the il
lusion and seductiveness of it—whether it be
late hours, with the glow of artificial light which
they make necessary, small waists, to render
the female form as insect-like as possible that it
may resemble some imaginary sylph, rather than
that grand old mother Eve, whom God created
for a wife to Adam—or whether it be their dress
floating like a fleecy cloud about the person of
the wearer—no matter what it be, provided only
it will set off the dance. Fashion decrees it and
women adopt it.’ We submit the question to
any competent observer, most confidentially,
has not the dance given rise to nine-tenths of
our silly social customs of dress and habit that
impair health?
2. It dwarfs mental growth. A company of
men and women come together and instead of
sitting down quietly and practising their pow
ers of mind in conversation on interesting and
serious subjects, string themselves out into
Terpsichorean phalanx and proceed to execute
heathenish gyrations of body, which would not
be surprising in the cannibals over a feast of
man-flesh, but which in civilized people and in
professedly refined people, over a mere social
feast, as acute an observer as Thackery could
not otherwise describe, than as tne amusement
of a simpleton. Our literary men of taste and
culture have asked a solution to the mys
tery of the large harvest ol ‘small talk’ and me
chanical phrases prevalent among the young iu
Rome, March, 4th. —Crowds broke the wind
ows which were illuminated for the Pope’s cor
onation, and were dispersed by the troops.
Dr. Thos O. Summers of the Nashville Chris
tian Advocate thinks the approaching General
Conference in Atlanta, will not and ought not to
sit longer than three weeks.
Rev. H. II. Parks has been spoken of, for one
of the bishops of the Methodist Church South
to be elected in May. Who is he ? One of the
best preachers you ever heard, and pastor of the
First Methodist Church in Atlanta.
The venerable Dr. Lovick Pierce proposes
to write an autobiography of his life and labors
soon. It will only be equalled by that of
Guthrie if he does.
The 59th Convention of Georgia Baptists
meets in La Grange 25th-29th of April.
Good Breeding.—We are all gentlemen and
gentlewomen. Any nint to the contrary is a
gross insult; yet every day we violate the laws
of good breeding. Incivilties abound. There
must be a radical wrong somewhere. Our gen
tlemen and women are Dot home-made—gentle
from the heart out through all the fine strata of
their growth and experience. Our mansions
and cottages are not all homes of kind feeling
and gracious expression, sending out genial cur
rents through the whole social system. Too
many sit in dingy fustians, with unkempt and
slipshod manners, at their firesides, and talk
barbarisms at their tables, and then put on vel
vet robes and paradise feathers-dress coats and
suavity, and go forth—puissant gentle-folk.
But their fine feathers will get away on parade
and disclose the coarse habits beneath Slang
phrases, ridicule, slovenliness, vulgar attitudes
and oaths, are admitted into no system of good
breedmg, and the thoroughbred can by no pos
sibility be surprised by them.
— Mary Anderson has declined to play Rosa
lind upon the score of delicacy, and the French
Twin Sisters have lost an excellent engagement
at the Tivoli, New York, by refusing to enter
the “wine-room. These three actresses, al
though following two distinct and entirely sep
arate lines of the profession, and totally differ
ent in character, are prompted by the same
womanly feeling Miss Anderson's objection
to Rosalind, which would be prudery in an act
ress ot more years and longer experience, is
altogether praiseworthy in a young lady.
— Red headed girls use for their hair
comb, so as to make the hair turn auburn