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* * f 1: 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. ‘