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Mj Ideal. —
f BY ZOE ZENITH
When queenly Night, with crescent crowned,
Bids all the straggling millions pause,
I turn to gaze upon a sketch
Which Fancy's fairy finger draws.
Ti*’ not outlined by Memory—
Or Hope’s prophetic touch- ,. .
But the dream of a heart which looks,not back.
And dares not hope too much.
It is the’ideal of a heart
Which scorns a puerile thing,
And boldly dares to ask for one
Whom it may call a king.
I dream not of a manly form,
Or softly clustering hair,
Nor eyes that shine like starry night—
For these I do not care-
But one whose strong and steady step
Passes all hindrance by,
Who calmly views the good beyond
With a determined ej r e.
Whose bold, and yet serene command.
Holds undisputed sway.
Whose firm, but ever gentle hand
Would guard and guide my way.
One who is master of himself
And rules with perfect skill.
Upon whose strength I could rely—
A Hercules of Will.
I’d trust him with unquestioned faith
Which earth should never part,
Give him a love which would not fail,
And crown him in my heart.
WILD WORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BY MARY E. BRYAN.
CHAPTER XXV.
Floyd saw the shadowy figure stop outside
the paling behind the vine-covered screen, but
she gave no sign. She continned to gather tea
rose buds for awhile, then she turned to the
vine on the paling and began to twist off a thick
leaved spray.
‘You did the business well,’ she said low.
‘Glad it pleases you,’ muttered a voice out
side. ‘ ’Twarn’t a pleasant job, though. That
old darkey’s sure to haunt me. He was a meek-
looking cuss.’ !
‘ Why did you—deal with him as you did ?
Hurting him pretty badly would have sufficed.
You went beyond directions, Alveris angry.
He wants no bloodshed.’
‘It don’t pay to half do such things. Dead
men don’t blab. Hurting wouldn’t have been
sufficient, either. ’Twouldn’t have had nigh as
much effect on the niggers. Alver wants no
bloodshed, does he? How the mischief does
he think he can carry this thing through with
out it ? There’ll be more blood before it’s over;
you know there will.’
‘I think it will be necessary; but Alver shuts
his eyes to that fact. Let him; the thing has
gone so far how it will carry itself through with
a little push here and there from you. I think
everything will go right to-night; but, remem
ber, you have work to do yet. How are the
negroes?’
‘Badly stirred up. Most of them scared and
crazy-like, looking out for something they don't
know what; and a few of ’em savage as well as
scared; primed up with hate and whisky, and
rubbing up their guns, ready for what may
come. They’re safe to make some kind of spurt.
Some of the worst scared among ’em are going
to see Omar Witchell to-night to ask him what,
inemseiven auuer lus'ptVnccuua.
‘That plays well into our hands: If this
works as I think it will, there will be no sus
picion that there is a trap, even by those who
helped to set it. Now, Cobb, you had better be
off. Yon are to go down first across the river,
and fire the blank cartridges remember; your
repeating gun will do. No one must see or
suspect you. No one has an inkling of any
thing,yon understand,’
‘Do you mean to say none of the people re
np to this ?’
‘They are not They are not thinking of any
plot. It is just possible that a few may suspect
hereafter, but it will be to their interest to keep
dark. No one is into this but you and I and,
Alver: and even he does not know all we have
done or mean to do. He is squeamish still,
thongh willing to take advantage of what he
thinks or pretends to think are accidents. No
one suspects, unless it be those two drunken
scamps that Alver was siinple enongh to employ
before yon came. And one of them I hear has
killed the other, and Alver has too strong a hold
on the remaining one for him to dare speak or
move in this: ‘Go now, Cobb; be quick ! You
understand what mnst be done to bring things
to a point to-night. You have done well so far;
and yonr disguise has been good. No one
would suspect you of not being a genuine mu
latto.’
* Yes; what with my natural kinky hair and
thick lips and swarthy skin, I hardly stood in
need of the brown wash to help me into the
darkey’s confidence. I found ’em shy though.
They held back something, accordin’ to my
notion. Blamed if I don’t believe there is
another plot in the field, set in motion by tother
side. ’
* What kind of plot ?’
‘Something like yours, only for different ends.
You got the start and the inside track. The
niggers fought shy as I told you, but I found
out things that set me wondering if the Rads
hadn’t put a few of the smartest darkeys up to
aggravatin’ the whites, so they would cut up a
little and give Witchell an excuse to bring up
troops and carry the election. That’s my suspi
cion ; but if it is true, I don’t think but one of
these Rads up here knows anything abont it.
Witchell is too smart to trust it to that parson
looking brother of his, or to Devene or ’
‘ Hush ! there is some one coming out on the
porch. It is nearly dark. Go. Remember
eyerything. Don,t fail, don’t blander for
heaven’s sake.’
‘ For your sake, I won’t. Heaven has mighty
little to do with this thing, I take it. You
know my pay has got to be you, and the money
Alver promised, and a good share of the pickings
that I fancy will be pretty rich ’
‘Yes, yes. Go.’
The figure moved off through the dewy dusk,
and Floyd harried into the hoase.
Half an hoar after, she was at the ball. The
long, wide room of Alver’s new store made a
spacions ball-room. It was well lighted and
decorated with flowers. There were hardly twen
ty ladies present, bnt more than three times
that nnmber of men; many of them in oostnmes
rather rongh for the dance, and with faces that
betokened more eager excitement than belongs
to the ball-room
Two or three of the Radical officers came in
and walked around, saying a few words here
and there. Their faces betrayed uneasiness and
distrust. Floyd Reese welcomed them oordial-
• u 6r was ann8tl ally oourteous, but they met
with cold looks and silence from many of the
others, some who had been their friends—and
they soon withdrew. Ominous rumors had oome
to their earn. Omar, though troubled, put
nttle credence in what he heard. Devene and
Edgeville feared nothing; Mark Hollin and Wal-
“°? S5 r rv 011 *k®ir Potations. Oapt Witchell
and Ed Devene were still in New Orleans; How-
.ard alone was frightened. He had not the youth
)and bold spirits of the others. Ho would not
leave his post, but his bouI was shaken with
apprehensions. He was shut up in his room
to-night, writing a letter to the one woman the
old bachelor had ever loved—the woman who
was to have been his wife in the long ago, bnt
‘Whispering tongues had poisoned truth.’
He had made his will and had left the child of
his old love, the little savings of nis life.
Edgeville was first to leave the ball-room.
Auzete Blair was there—bright, mischevions
and merry; she hardly gave him a glance from
her dark eyes as she passed him in the waltz.
A month ago, he had thought she really cared
for him, but ‘The tide has turned against ns
and she bas turned with it. Let her go,’ he said
to himself as he moved away with bitterness at
his heart.
An hour—nearly two hours went by. It was
near ten o’clock. Alver’s eyes turned often to
the door, and he bit his mustached lip impa
tiently. Floyd’s laugh had a false ring and
spots of color burned on her cheeks. At last,
there was the sound of a norse gallopping at
full speed along the hard street. A moment
after a young man rushed into the room, drip
ping wet, bare headed, his face pale with excite
ment. He walked straight to Alver, his spurs
clanking across the floor, his garments dripping
streams of muddy water as he went. He took
a leather pocket-book from his bosom, opened
it, took out a folded paper and handed it to
Alver, saying breathlessly:
‘From uncle Holcomb.’
The contents of the note were these:
Colonel : I got your note, telling me of the
rumor that the negroes -would have a meeting
at Brownton to-night, and I must keep a lookout
and report to you by ten o’clock. There is a
gathering of negroes here, whother of a hostile
nature or not, I can’t say. They have been
coming in by twos and threes since dark.
Levi Adams, and a few others, are armed, but
you know they often carry guns; Levi never
goes without one. I can’t make out what they
are after. I report according to request.
Yours, H.
Alver ran his eye over these lines, then looked
at the young man who had brought the dis
patch.
‘ You have something to report; what is it?’
‘ The negroes ! the negroes are in arms in
Keener field, this side of Brownton. They fired
upon me as I rode through the field on my way
here. At least a dozen guns were fired at me.’
‘ Did you see any one ?’
‘ I saw the heads of several negroes above the
cotton. I think they followed me. I heard
horses galloping behind me at a distance. My
horse was scared. He ran for the river. I
swam across and came straight here to let you
know.’
‘You did well,’ commented Alver. Then,
advancing into the middle of the room, his tall
figure drawn up to its full height, bis eye flash
ing like a sword of blue steel, he said: ‘Gentle
men, you have heard what this young man
says. The note in my hand tells me that the
negroes are gathering at Brownton; Levi Adams,
whom yon know for a desperado, is heading
them. They will probably march upon Co-
hatchie. They no doubt knew that this young
man was a messenger, sent to apprise ns of
their gathering, and fired upon him with in
tent to kill. We must immediately take steps
to patrol the town; form ourselves into Vigi
lantes, and arrest all suspicious characters.’
• First of all, the d—d Rads that are at the
bottom of this,’ cried aloud, harsh voice—the
voice of Cobb—at the door. Loud shouts an
swered him. His words were echoed from
mouth to mouth. A chorus of excited excla
mations filled the house; men rushed pell mell
for the poor. Alves’s strident voice I arrested
‘OrdeiM’ he commanded, few on you see
these young ladies home; the others mnst at
once mount their horses and see to their arms.
Some of you I wish to send in all haste to More-
field, Madden, Malta, and other towns, with
dispatches, asking for men to be sent to our
assistance. We must be prompt. There is no
knowing the extent of this movement, or what
form it may take. We must suppress it at the
fountain head. Do you understand?’
‘ Yes, yes. The Radical fountain head. We
will suppress it,’ responded his listeners. ‘ Go
ahead, Colonel. We’re under your orders.’
‘Thanks,’ said Alver. He was in his element
—looked up to, giving command. His eyes
lighted with quickened intelligence and en
ergy. Floyd gave him a glance full of admira
tion aa she passed. She herself was pale as
marble, but her eyes shone with hard, gem-like
brightness.
Alver ordered everything with wonderful
rapidity. Messengers, riding swift, fresh horses,
were sent to the various towns in hot haste,
carrying dispatches, whose burden was that the
negroes, incited by the Republicans, had risen,
and that Cohatohie was in danger of being
burned and its citizens massacred. Parties of
young men patrolled the town in different di
rections, stopping at negro houses, and calling
upon the inmates to come out and give an ac
count of themselves. Most of them seemed
terrified and bewildered; a few of the men were
sullen and defiant. Some were absent from
home, and their wives declared they had gone
to Omar Witchell to find out from him what
was the matter and what they must do.
As the men rode from house to house in the
moonlight, their guns gleaming, their voices
challenging, suddenly there came a sharp re
port, followed by a cry, ‘I am shot!’ from one
of the young patrollers. A bullet had pierced
his arm. The first blood that is spilled at such
a time is like the breaking of the seals of the
vials of wrath and frenzy. It is the last charm
thrown into the caldron. Instantly the ex
citement bubbles over. It drowns prudence,
moderation, reason in its flood.
It was ascertained that a negro—a vicious hair
brained creature, named Saul had fired the shot
that wounded the young man. He was arrested
and another negro with him who had also had
a gun. They were put under strong guard. In
the faces of the armed men around them they
read their doom. They denied everything at
first, bat finally Saul confessed that he'had fired
the shot; that he had been pnt np to killing the
whites’ by the Republican Officers. After some
delay, his companion corroborated his story.
Was the confession true? Was it true as Cobb
had suspected that a plot, incited by Witchell
existed side by side, with Alver’s plot? Or was
the oonfession Instigated by fear, or by the hope
of saving himself from punishment by accusing
others—a hope suggested to him by some one
who had an interest in implicating the Radical
Offioers ? Who shall tell ? Never, perhaps, till
the great judgement day shall the mystery be
unravelled. In either case, it is certain that
the people were innocent of all except rashness.
What they seemed to see was the unveiling of a
hideous plot of blood and outrage on the part
of the Republicans. At the thought of it, the
long pent up flood of indignation against cor
rupt Radical rale burst all bounds. They de
termined to constitute themselves into a body
of punishment. They resolved that retribution
should have its full and prompt action through
them. They determined to clear the political
atmosphere if it mast be done by violeuoe.
Alas ! in this, as in all other publio commotions,
where excitement wields the besom of purifica
tion, there was danger that the innooent would
suffer with the guilty.
Whatever plot there may have been, the peo
ple had no complicity in it Southern people
do not lend themselves to underhand measures
with their eyes open. An exceptional one, like
Alver, may be led by his ambition into aohem-
ing, but even Alver had the good of his State as
well as his own good in view, and he dreamed
not to what lengths he would be carried, nor
what bloody consequences would ensue.
Next day’s sun shone upon the little town and
made the scene-of a minature revolution. The
tempest of excitement increased every hour.
Armed men were pouring in from the adjacent
towns and parishes ; men with their families
from all points on the river and in the hills
were crowding into the corporation for protec
tion. Strict military order prevailed. A doable
guard encircled the town, and no one was al
lowed to pass out of its limits without a signed
permit from Col. Alver. Parties of mounted
men were ordered to visit all persons suspected
of lukewarmness in the present action and de
mand their co-operation or their excuse for not
joining in the movement. The negro Saul and
his companions were hang upon a tree in the
environs of the town, Sanl, seemingly confi
dent of pardon till the last moment, and even
then as it appeared unrealizing of his fate, glanc
ing about over the crowd with his roving, wild
animal eye, as he chewed his tobacco fast and
furiously ; and his companion seeming also to
expect mercy till the rope tightened about his
neck, and then beginning to pray and tremble,
and shriek out petitions to be spared.
The Radical officers were arrested. In addi
tion to the confession of Saul and his comrade,
there was the evidence against these officers
that negroes, some of them with arms upon
them, were seen the night of the expected out
break huddling about Omar Witchell’s house.
Their excuse, tt?at being frightened and confus
ed at the hostile ‘movements of the whites, they
had come to him for advice, seemed an
insufficient one, and the six parish officers
were taken, placed in a building in the centre
of the town and closely guarded,—the guard
being as necessary to keep the excited crowd
from getting to the prisoners as to prevent their
escape.
Omar Witchell, Devene, Edgeville and Howard
were first taken, then parties were sent to the
plantation of Hollin and Wallace who arrested
these brothers-in-law of Witchell, brought them
to Cohatchie and locked them in the room where
the others gloomily waited their trial. For, _ in
another building not far from them, was going
on their trial by a committee of citizens with
Alver in the lead.
Under the terrible circumstances, the prisoners
were singularly calm. Even Howard was out
wardly quiet. The old man sat with his eyes
fixed on his wrinkled hands in his lap, only
raising them occasionally to look inquiringly
and pityingly at his fcfive young companions*
Wallace and Hollins talked apart in broken sen
tences. DbVoAe wrote rapidly in a pocket note
book; perhaps it was words of comfort to the
young bride who had shrieked aud clung to
him so when he was taken. Edgeville walked
the narrow floor, his hands locked behind him,
his thin lips compressed with half scornful
pain. Omar sat at a table, his face bowed in
his hand.
Presently Edgeville stopped by him.
‘Omar.’
He raised his head slowly, and looked at the
young sheriff. His eyes were red and moist.
‘You losing pluck, old fellow. Brace up; don’t
give way. However, this scrape may end, let’s
be game. What will be must be. It’s all in a
life.’
‘It is well for you to talk so Edgeville—you,
who have nobody else involved in your fate.
You ought to thank God, you are not married.
I’d give my right arm never to have got that
poor girl into this scrape. Here she is among
strangers : Think what she must feel! I see
her this monC^ clinging to the window, white
88 cLpdnv ‘,*98 hor e y eB > her t3arH ' iu t 1 is
Vcl r»oh. fearing the
worst, trbtublii|g a5u heart-wrung. exocT pny
her!’ He groajed, and his face sank again into
his hands.
Devene closed his note book and beckoned to
Edgeville.
‘What are yon going to do ?’ Resign ? they’ll
demand that at the very least.’
‘No, I’ll die first. I’ll not be foroed to give
up my right.’
‘AH the others have agreed to resign to save
their lives.’
‘Well, let them. You’ve all got something to
live for except me—unless it’s old Howard, and
his soul aud body have lived together so long,
they hate mortally to part company. Mine
don’t. I’d as lief have a bullet to cut the con
nection right now as to wait till old age wore
the thread in two. Might be different if some
body else’s fate was bound up with mine, as in
yours and Omar’s case; but there’s nobody.’
He walked to the other end of the room whist
ling the ‘Miller who lived on the Dee.’
“I care for nobody and nobody cares for me,”
The door opened. One of the guards thrust
in his head.
‘ Here’s a book somebody sends to one of you
named Edgeville. It’s a bible, I believe.’
Edgeville rolled up his eyes in comic des
pair.
‘ Are they sending us bibles already ? I
thought such attentions did not oome until
affer the death warrant.’
‘That’ll be along soon enough, my hearty,’
said the guard. ‘ Here, let me look through
this to see if something contraband aint slipped
into it.’
He took the back of the book between his
thumb and fingers and fluttered open its pages.
‘There’s nothing.’ he said. ‘Take it. Small
good it’s going to do suoh as you though, I’m
thinking. ’
Edgeville’s face had changed as his eye fell
upon the book—morocco-bound and silver-
clasped- He took it and walked to the window
with it; turning his baok to the others, he
looked through its pages eagerly. At the
back, on a carefully sealed-down fly-leaf, he
found these words in small, penciled characters:
‘I do not believe you guilty. I beg of you
don’t be reckless and wilful. Don’t refuse to
resign ; for your own safety’s sake—for my
sake. Yes, for my sake. I may tell you now; j
love you. Forgive all my folly. And remem
ber your life is dear to Auzete.
He pressed his lips to the words ; the color
surging into his thin cheeks, his heart beating
with great throbs. Then he walked back to De
vene,
‘I’ve changed my mind, Bob, ’ he said, ‘I’ll
not make myself conspicuous by solitary oppo
sition. I’ll resign with the rest of you.’
‘How do you know you will ever be asked, ’
sneered Wallace who had overheard him. ‘Small
good resigning will do any of us.’
And Howard, echoed the gloomy propheoy with
a shake of his gray head.
“Then we’ll all die jolly fellows together.’
Edgville sang gaily, as he turned on his heeL
The precious Bible was in his breast pocket ;
he pressed his arms over it fervently.
‘Your love cotoes late, my darling.’ he said
to himself, ‘blit it is a draught that sweetens all
this bitter.’
(TO BK CONTINUED •)
Young Henry Leobald, of Brooklyn, commit
ted suioide because it seemed to him as though
he was a ‘step-child among men,’ and because,
‘in society experienced men are worsted. ’
A brutal mother threw her five-year-old boy
from a bridge into the river at Milwaukee the
other day, and leaned on railings to watch his
death straggles, exclaiming: “If yonr father
won’t support you, drown !’ r The child's cloth
ing buoyed him up until the horrified bystand
ers oould rescue him.
KITTY MeCLANE.
A TEUE STORY.
Col. Calmer, the keen successful young lawyer,
owned one of the handsomest houres in the lit
tle mountain town L in S. C.—Within this
pretty dwelling he, had lately placed a rare jew
el—ever modest winsome Kitty McClane. The
Colonels eyes gleamed with proud satisfaction as
he introduced his pretty little wife to his friends,
drove her out on the fashionable street, or led
her, in her soft gossamer bridal robes into the
fashionable church. She was, indeed, a fair,
dainty sight in these first bright days of her wed
ding life, and, without knowing it administered
largely to her husband’s prime trait, pride.
These first months passed, and the dear little
woman naturally fell into more quiet, but not
less joyous ways of life. She could not remain
a bride always, decked in bright robes, and
blushing in yet girlish diffidence as she met the
new people and assumed her place in society.
Home ! It was her world, where the humblest
duty yielded the highest hapiness. Here she
ruled in delight, for did not this seem to her
the grand means of pleasing the man she had
married because of her pure, devoted love?
To have her house in perfect order, her garden
of flowers and vegetables yielding tli9ir best of
beauty and food, her feathered tribe condition
ed at all times for the table—were achievements
that engaged her head and hands.
Col. Calmer, with true masculine proclivities,
valued these excellent traits in his wife, yet he
would have her be this, and sometldny else.
She was appreciative, intelligent, refined,
but—her husband Was swayed by remorseless am
bition. His eagle eyes wore ever soaring up
ward to some unreached goal. He had mingled
with the proud queens of society, the fair lead
ers of the ‘ ton,’ and his wife must be one of
these, else disappointment, even wretchedness
would follow.
Noticing how fondly she became attached to
her house, and how correspondingly was her
growing indifference to the gay butterfly world
he loved so well, he argued and plead with her
to join him in fashionable displays and amuse
ments. She yielded, only too anxious to grant
every wish of the husband she adored.—
Hence, the little flower that bloomed so sweet
ly in the Colonel’s home was transplanted for
the nonce, to the garish light of the ball-room-
giddy halls of fashion, or the tamer homes of so
ciety autocrats. Kitty was earnest, anxiously
so, but she failed. There was not that within her
which could be moulded into a fashionable,
queenly woman. She was simply Kitty McClane,
pure minded, true hearted, loying Kitty. In
this failure she won her husband’s displeasure,
she touched him in a sore point—his pride, and
he could not forgive her. He loaded her with
rich and beautifal presents, and again strove to
convert her into his ideal woman. Butin this
gay, reckless throng, there was no demand for
the material of which she was made. She wept
in secret over this failure—the open ridicule
of her plain feminine ideas of life—and her
husband's dissatisfaction.
Col. Calmer convinced she could never attain
the point which he desired her to reach, tortur
ed her for what seemed a direful deficiency in
the wife of such a man as himself—a man whose
eye was fixed upon the highest office in the
state, and whose wife must help to bear him
thither, not clog his feet by her femininities !
A broader souled man, and a higher hearted,
would have paused to examine this jewel and
give it its real position. Such a man would
not have scorned his pearl, because it had not
the diamond’s glitter—Col. Calmer, however,
was of that species of the genus homo we meet
Ho had marked his one line of life,
ftnd & thousand uettor lines would have oilered
him no temptation, simply because they were
not his choice. There were three things he
wanted—place power, and a wife, whose dazzl
ing attractions would reflect upon himself that
homage, as the husband of a beautiful woman,
which was the only second hand offering he
desired.
He was thoroughly amazed that the pretty,
winning Kitty McClane who had shone like a
fairy in her old country home should come short
of his demands. It must be some stubborn
Phariseeism, he argued and from this idea he
deduced a course of action which we shall see
was doomed to wring his heart in mortal anguish.
Poor Kitty, there were times when she was
left alone with her baby, her house, poultry and
garden, blissful days when the shadow only now
and then darkenod her path. At these times
she would often steal away to the lake that lay
in the rear of. her home. Roiling her baby’s
carriage|to the edge of the clear, calm water, she
would laugh with it at the splashing of the
geese and ducks as they too rejoiced in the
limpid waters.
Over these bright days there loomed a cloud
which seemed to threaten the nation, but which
was to break in gloom, individually, to Kitty
Calmer. The political sky was growing lurid
with the flames of warfare. Col.Calmer saw
his opportunity for fame, and strained every
nerve to obtain the coveted prize. He needed
to open wide his doors for elegant entertain
ments to the tools he could use as instruments
whereby he might attain the desired place.—
Now he wanted a politic, adroit, and beautiful
wife, whose womanly tact could help him, more
than he could help himself, and he had only
Kitty. What help was in her pretty face her
frank ingenuous words, her boundless love for
himself and his baby ! Chagrined, he looked
upon her as the cause of his failure, if fail he
must
In this hour, his one sided way of judging
caused him to undervalue those virtues in his
wife, which might have aided him where art
would fail. He became cross, fault-finding and
at times wrathful. In these tumultuous days
when reason gave way to wildest passion, when
the very air seemed burdened with human hate
and human fears, Col. Calmer bore down re
morselessly upon his wife, never pausing to
measure her strength, even to probe her feel
ings.
There are women who soon break down be
neath harsh treatment, that involves disappoint
ed affections, and Kitty was one of these. In
his bitter selfishness Col. Calmer did not see
that her blue eyes wandered in a numb, dazed
way, that she was growing helpless from a woe
that was breaking her heart. She felt herself
despised, oast off by him she so fondly loved
and—but one thought came to her. She had no
philosophy to meet it her brain whirled, and
she only saw the calm blue waters of the lake,
where her baby bad laughed and cooed to her
smile.
Her body, sympathizing with her mind, grew
weak and morbid. Sleep fled from her eyes;
the round sweetly-tinted face grew pale and
thin; the clear, happy eyes were veiled with
deep melancholy, and now and then their look
was wild as those of some tortured animal.
Kitty was made for love and happiness, and
when these were denied her, life seemed a long
misery, and death the only relief. This relief
the poor, morbid wife sought at last, under the
onrrent of the stream, whose sweet still waters
tempted sorely her bruised spirit
Did her husband realize that he was her
murderer ! No ; a pang of remorse may have
crossed his eonseioosness, but he put it aside
as unwelcome and unreasonable. He was not
to blame : it was his wife’s own weak mind. He.
had been wrong to ehoose a woman of such a
weak nature, he thought, exousing himself as
the poet Shelley did when hie poor, wronged
wife ended her sufferings by suicide. One of
bis biographers tells us coolly that Shelley,
when he beard of her death, blamed himself for
having married a woman with so little strength
of nature. . ....
Colonel Calmer said to himself, ‘next time I
will choose more wisely.’ It is well that in these
next marriages there is often retribution for the
wrongs of the firdt.
RELIGIOUS DEPARTMENT.
Non-Sectarian-All Clinches and all
Creeds.
Moderate Drinkers.
The temperance worker goes on his way ar
guing and exhorting. One day he is met by a
man who addresses him thus : ‘The trouble
with drinking is intemperate drinkinj. Modera
tion in it may be indulged without any harm
I can control myself. If a man can t drink
without getting drunk he ought not to drink at
all but I am not one of that sort. This to some
may seem a perfectly fair and conclusive speech.
But let us look at it closely. These are two
points to be examined in scrutinzing the qual
ity of an act. How will it affect me., as con
cerns myself ? How will it affect me as concerns
my relations and contact with other people. Le-
us take them in the order here presented.
1. Is it safe for a man as concerns himself to
begin moderate drinking either in a social glass
of wine at home or in an occassional glass in a
saloon ?
History can teach us at this point. Have any
strong men—strong intellectually and strong
morally, ever fallen by these habits, into gross
intemperence. If he has thus fallen, it is en
ough to arouse fears for tne safety of any one
who begins in the same way. But it is univer
sally conceded that not one with many, have
fallen here. If so, how much greater ought to
be our fear. If a place has established its repu
tation as a shipping place, men never ought to go
there except for the most urgent reasons. But are
there urgent reasons for any man to become a
moderate drinker. Do not financial considera
tions, do not prudental conaiderattions, do not
moral considerations obtain in the premises to
urge him to avoid such a habit.
But how does it effect my relations to the State,
to society, to my own community. It is admit
ted on all sides that intemperence is the most
colossol social evil of onr day. Every body
knows that it costs us GO,000 men and $600,000,-
000 annually in United States alone. Every
body knows that this estimate is no adequate
expressoin of the sin, the shame, the disgrace
the sorrow, the widowhood, the orphanage which
follows in the path of intoxication. Every body
knows that in the face of such an appalling and
truthful statement of facts, that eyery true man
ought to rise up in the majesty and strength of
his manhood and suppress it. Every body
knows that the magnitude of the cause demands
all self denial aud all effort to eradicate the
evil.
Now with these facts before us, we just want
to ot»y, that the moderate, drinker by his moder-
erate drinking is simply powerless to do any
thing to remedy the evil. We cannot fight in
public, that which we tolerate in private, with -
out stultifying and debasing ourselves. A man
who talks temperance with a wine-perfumed
breath, is simply trying to brace himself against
shame.
The naked question is whether a man is wil
ling to sell his power to do good to a great mul-
titue for a useless and dangerous practice. If
he is there, he has very little conscience, very
little benevolence, very little manhood, and a
great deal of selfishness.
Bishop Beckwith confirmed 17 persons in
Rome, Ga., last Sabbath week.
It is said that the Russian Greek church has
56,500,000 members and 38,605 churches.
Bishops Cummins, Nicholson and Fallows, of
the Reformed Episcopal church, were originally
Methodists.
It is said the Baptist Missionary Union closes
its financial year with a deficit of $26,000.
The Evangelical Alliance have a hall in which
religious services will be held in connection
with the Paris Exposition.
Dr. E. T. Winkler, of Alabama, will preach
the commencement sermon at Mississippi Col
lege in June next.
Rev. George Mailer has recently held a series
of meetings in St. Louis, under the auspices of
the Y. M. C. A.
Mrs. Albert Barnes, widow of the late Albert
Barnes, died at home in West Philadelphia on
the 31st of March, 1878, at the age of 76.
The first Home Missionary Convention of the
General Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran
ehurch of North America met in Omaha, Tues
day, May 14.
Of over 100 students of the Baptist Institute
at Richmond, Va., 60 are preparing for the min
istry, and five for missionary work in Africa.
A service of song, interspersed with addresses
from ministers, was given by a choir of IVir.
Spurgeon’s orphan boys, in Union Chapel, Lon
don, on April 18th.
The latest absurdity in connection with
preachers and preaching-places is the name of
a new place of worship at Coventry, England,
just registered as ‘Salvation Factory.’
The Baptist church at Lagos, Africa, has con
tributed, within a year, $100 to the treasury of
the Foreign Mission Board of the Southern
Baptist Convention.
In the last year, it is said, that three hundred
thousand copies of the Scriptures, translated
into some seventy-five dialects, have been sold
and scattered through Russia alone.
The Florida Baptist has been sold to Messrs.
James P. Harrison & Co., publishers of the
Christian Index. A Florida department, edited
.by H. B. McCallum, will be added to the Index.
Between the invention of printing, abont 1450,
and the discovery of America, in 1492, a period
of 42 years, not far from a thousand editions of
the Bible, and parts of it, were published in
Europe.
Rev. J. B. Vinton,D.D., missionary to Bur-
mah, who has been spending the summer iu
this country recruiting his health, set out on
his return to the scene of his earnest and suc
cessful labors on March 30th.
A charitable enterprise of a most interesting
character has just been started in New York. A
house has been fitted up to be kept as a ohild's
nursery for the benefit of poor laboring women
who are compelled to leave their homes during
the day. There is a school-room and nursery,
reception, and dining-room and kitchen. ‘