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TBE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 3, 1S92.
n
HT FIRST PATIENT.
I had been in my new lodgings for a
week. A week that had dragged itself
aloug in an endless series of days,
every one bringing to me the dreams
and the hopes of an entire lifetime.
Over the glass door of my neat little
si>artment, the white door-plate with
which it is customary to announce the
office of a practicing physician, had
shone for a week. For the same length
of time my little reception and consul
tation-room had waited with its dark
curtaius and ftraight-backed chairs for
the patients who were to coinc to seek
the advice and help of Dr. Max Er
hard r. After all, I had no cause to
wonder that my room remained so
empty in the first days, tor the neigh
borhood had first- to get accustomed to
my name, and to the fact that they
could find good medical advice in their
near vicinity. All this t said to my
self comfortingly at that time. When
by g >0'i fortune ! should be able to
heid only one patient, then the situa
tion would quickly change. My repu
tation would increasej and soon the
rush of people to my consuitation-
r tom would proclaim" my success. I
should soon g-> about in a pretty, little
carriage, with a dark brown horse
driven by a respectable coachman;
then, indeed, then
At last, a thought which completely
overpowered me came into my mind.
I was again ia spirit with my Cousin
Marie, who certainly would make the
prettiest of doctor’s wives that one
could imagine. I loved my fair cousin.
As a boy, I had shown her every little
chivalrous service which in either
house or garden is demanded of the
stronger comrade. As a Junior in
school, I had inscribed my first poem
toher; and as Senior I had badly in
jured my voice, which was just then
turning to baritone, by singing inces
santly of “the flaxen-haired girl.”
When I returned home after pa sing
tiie first examination, the first thing
of all that the student noticed was
that “the flaxea-Iiaircd girl” had
come to love him as completely as he
loved her, but neither said anything
on tiiat subject. My University period
parsed by. All the time I worked
earnestly", and whenever I had under
gone the tedious struggle of exami
nations victoriously, Marie’s dear eyes
seemed to express her lively interest
iu the successful accomplishment of
all my endeavors. And when Cousin
Marie, greeting me upon my return,
said softly, “Herr Doctor Erhardt,” J
looked deep into her dear eyes, and
said still more softly, “Frau Doctor
Erhardt.” Then I saw a bright blush
come over her face, as sbe turned has
tily toward the window-seat.
Now and then, during the next few
days, I had opportunity to speak to
Marie of ail the castles in Spain
which a young physician could
build in bis empty dwelling; but I
dared not inform her of my dream in
regard to the future doctor’s wife.
There lay in the blue eyes of my dear
est an expression which kept back my
words, even when they almost found
utterance. I had no doubt but that
Marie would eventually be my wife,
but it seemed ns if a lack of confidence
in my ability as a ph\>ician lay in her
glance. That increased my pride, and
induced me to reinuiu silent and await
the time when the report of my first
professional achievement would pro
claim my ability to Marie.
With my thoughts absorbed in ail
these things, T s t on the alteruoon of
a dreary November d iy in iny consul
tation-room, and.at first failed to no
tice a faint ring at my bell. Then I
arose to open the door iny.-eif, as I bad
sent my errand-boy to market.
I confess that, during the few steps
which were necessary to bring me 10
the door, a flood of strange thoughts
came over me. A caller was seeking
my help. Very likely it was a patient
of high birth, and 1 should certainly
receive a rich reward and fame, and—
I was already married to my dear
Marie.
I opened the door. In the half-dark
of the late jViigud. day stood a poorly-
clad woman i»e:ore me. Out of her
haggard and charcoal-blackened face
looked a pair of great, dark ejes be
seechingly at me.
“Doctor,” said the woman in a
trembling voice, “Doctor, be merei ul,
O, please. My little Marie is so sick.”
The name atoned for the wo nan’s
unpromising appearance, which coin
cided badiv with my latest dreams.
“Who are you? Who seut you to
me?” I asked.
“No one,” the woman answered
quickly amt in a low voice. “O Doc
tor, do come! I have b
is he a man who has learned to do his
duty. Bo I went with her, after I had
gathered together the necessary instru
ments with a pomposity which aston
ished and hair shamed even myself.
Across the street we took our course,
into a great courtyard lying behind a
mar of houses. Then she led me up
five flights of stairs, each one darker
and stee|»cr than the last, and flually
through a badly-fitting door into a li -
tie room withslanting ceiling and very
little windows. Oh a miserable but
neatly-arranged bed lay a child of per
haps" fourteen months. Her limbs
were fever-heated, and her eyes were
wandering and inexpressive.
The woman bent down to the bed
side. “She does not know me! Site
does uot know me!’’ she moaned.
The child coughed ; it was a croup
ous cough of tiie worst sort. I tore a
leaf from my book, and wrote my first
prescription as a practicing physician.
“To the nearest apothecary,” 1 said
Tiie woman looked at me, embar
rassed.
“Cun T take it to the one in the Ivon-
igstrasse?” she said.
“No, no,” I cried, “it requires the
greatest haste; why will you not go
to the apothecary iu this street? ’
The woman reddened perceptibly,
in spite of the charcoal dust. Finally
she stammered, “The ajKithecary iu
the Konigstrasse knows me; I carry
coal there, and he will perhaps—I have
no money.”
A heavy tear dropped on the paper
iu Irer hand.
“These people, who ran pay no phy
sician and no druggist,” said J, angrily,
but inaudibly. 1 took out some money,
and said aloud, “There, take that, and
go quickly.”
Tiie woman kissed the hand of her
child, and then, before I could stop
her, she kissed mine also, and hastened
away. 1 looked around the room for a
seat! A rickety chair, a red chest, an
old table, some miserable dishes on a
poor, cold oven, which occupied the
place of a hearth, comprised all the
furniture. Hanging on the wall iu a
corner was a threadbare woolen gar
ment, and also a . child’s cloak aud a
little hat with a ribbon around it a fin-
ger’s-breadtli wide; on a bracket hang
ing next to the little window was a
wi tiie red myrtle tree, a red geranium,
and a hymn-book, with disgusting
yellow edges. That was everything
the room held.
I sat down beside the little girl. She
was apparently well eared lor. Her
limbs were round and pretty, her
golden hair was soft and curly. She
was unconcious; lier blue eyes stared
straight before her, as if she was look
ing into the far, unknown distance.
The room w T as cold. I went to the oven
and found only some splinters of wood.
There were so few that I did not
attempt to build a fire. I sat down and
waited for the woman and the medi
cine. Ever and anon my glance would
wander around the miserable room.
Here was a poor hard-working woman
who carried charcoal on the street,
while her child lay in want aud sick-
uess, and yet she loved her baby ten
derly.
Suddenly the thought shot through
me that I could not save the child. 1
had i*ecu called too late. I had not
resolution enough to try any doubtful,
energetic effort to save her, to snatch
her from thearins of Death. My heart
w T as heavy. I sprang to the door and
listened lor the lootsteps of the mother.
She came finally; my reproachful look
met her downcast one. “There were
so mauy many people in the store. A
woman like myself did not dare to
press forward.”
An hour of torment went by. The
meubduo availed nothing. Little
Marie could not swallow it. An oper
ation oa the throat w’as of no use. The
child died, died before my eyes on the
bonoru of the mother, bowed down by
gii -f. „ ,
{She finally looked up in a terrified
manner; a tear had fallen on her hand
but she had not wept.
“You are wet ping, doctor,” she said
sofily. “Ah, don’t w*eej» sir, you will
stand before many a sick l* d as you
have stood here, where the Lord wid
not help.”
She looked fixedly at the little corpse.
“I have loved her very dearly. I h »ve
done for her w’liat I could iu my pov
erty. Whenever 1 cauie home Irorn
my work I found her so pretty, so
charming! For hours she would lie in
tied or on the floor and play with
almost nothing, and she laughed for
joy when I came home. God has taken
her from me. He loves her more than
I do, bu«, oh I shall be so lonesome!”
I pressed the woman’s baud, but
could not speak. I dropped some
v.-„ v„..,v. - ..ave been carrying, — .
coal all day from the wagou into a i money on the table, and silently went
house near by. 1 live over there ini out. At home I laid niy instrument
the courtyard. My child has been sick j case away, and sat down disliearu
since yesterday. I found her so much j cued. I could eat no supper. 1 went
worse that I came to you at once.”
I hesitated somewhat; the disen
chantment was so great.
The woman wiped her face with her
blackened hand.
It was a face which already showed
many furrows caused by sorrow and
“I should have gone for the charity-
physician,” she said, wearily, “but
your servant, Doctor, is a child of the
shoemaker iu our courtyard, and he
has told everyone that you are such a
good man. Ob, do help my little girl!”
I decided to go with the woman.
to bed and tried to get to sleep. Hut
the picture of the gloomy attic, of the
dead child, of the submissive and pa
tient woman, kept me less from sleep
than the tormenting self-reproach with
which I thought over everything that
I had doue. My first patieut! 1 sim
ply groaued, and then the words of the
poor woman came to me again • “Don’t
weep, doctor, you will stand before
many a sick bed as you have stood
here, where the Lord wid not help.” •
I had been summoned too late; I had
not been able to save the child. “You
will stand before many a sick bed as
ace In the pillow. It was a terribla
night; tiie torturing thoughts which
made me so restless were very different
from the pleasant dreams which had
encouraged me in both my wakitigaud
my sleeping hour*.
Early on the following day an old
college fiieiul came, who had sought
me vin his way through the city, lie
dragged me over ihc crowded streets,
Into the mu«ueius, into all sorts of res
taurants. He complained of my tael
turnity. I feigned a headache and
escaped the necessity of having to seea
sensational play at the Court Theatre.
Tired and worn out, I went at la-1
alone to my room. On my way there
l passed the window of a brightly
lighted flower shop. I walked iu and
bought a costly, white camellia and
some sweet-smelling violets. I went
up the five flights to the room of the
poor woman. I found the door war
unlocked. It was faintly lighted, and
a little coffin stood in the middle of
the room. In it lay I lie child dressed
in a white gown. The ribbon < n the
hat on the wall hud been made into
two little bows, the myrtle wreath lay
on the blonde hair, and tiie geranium
was laid upon her breast. On tiie
table stood a lamp, and the open song
book lay near by it.
I laid the beautiful white flowers in
the lit tie motionless band, and put the
bouquet of violets on the qui d breast:
then I looked at the open book. Tire
page w r as turned at an old song which
I had learned at school, aud had soon
forgotten.
I bid the book away sighing. Tire
words which I had read, the awful
stillness, tire penecefully-resting child,
oppressed my heart; I went home, after
asking in the house for the hour of the
Interment.
I went to bed early*. I was very
tired, and all disquiet left me. And a-
if called forth by a strange power, tin
words of an ardent prayer flowed over
my lips; the prayer that God migh
bless me in my difficult position, ami
might change iny conceited as-lira net
iu my own skill into a submissive trus>
in Iris protection, whenever my little
knowledge and my earnest wishes
would not avail; that I might hope fur
God's comfort at all siek beds, where
I must, as on yesterday, stand helpless.
Early in the morning, I awaited the
little coffin iu the courtyard. A man
bore it; the mother in her poor, black
clothing followed. Site pressed my
hand, and gave inc a thankuil look
when she saw that I joined tire little
procession. Tiie way was not long;
the streets were almost empty; the aii
was very mild for November. As tin
iron gate of tire burial ground opened,
tbe weeping woman dropped her heu“
upon lier breast. Deside the open
grave stood a clergyman.
“ I have made it my duty, as long
my strength lasts, to give a last bless
ing to all the dead of my parish,” sai
lie, softly, as my astonished look men
his.
Dear, kind priest, you did not suspect
how the plain, homely words of bless
ing which you spoke over the litth
coffin gave comfort to the poor woman
and to myself as well!
“In God’s hand everlasting rest I?
found.”
“ I know it, I know it,” sobbed tlv
woman, aud she beut her pale fac.
over the hand of tiie young priest.
On the evening of the same day, 1
went to my relatives. All the oldt-
member of the family were absent
Only Cousin Marie was at homo t
receive me. We sat at t lie window am
let tiie moonlight shine upon us, am
then I told her how I lmd visited in;
lin-t patient and what I had learm«
thereby of value to my calling. Mari
-aid nothing during my confession, bu
suddenly 1 felt myself embraced by lie
arms. She looked at me with inois
eyes.
“ Look, Max! ’’ she said. “ Now yoi
know well iu what respect you fnilet
in your profession. Thunk God tint
you have gained Ibis kuowltdjn
through your lir.-t patient! Now j
think that yon will become an abb
physician, who will always do good
even when his own skill shall no.
avail.”
I kissed my cousin.
“And now, what do you mean?'
I sail. “Have you the courage to
become the wife of such a doctor ? ”
Hire smiled in the mid*t of her tears,
ami we were betrothed at last.
Fortune willed it that on the next
day 1 should again be called to attend
a child, who was very* sick with t.h«
croup. I was also fonuna'e enough re
be aole to save it. Much grace ha
God since then allowed to be bestowed
through my hands to the sh k amt the
poverty-stricken. My profession l*e-
came dearer and dearer to rue. The
mother of the child who had been my
first patient soon moved into my house
to attend to the management of the
household until my dearest one became
my wife. She then staid with us us
cook, until later she became nurse to
our first-born daughter, Marie. She
wept over the child for joy, and iu
thankful remembrance of the little
blonde girl who bad shown me what
it is to be a physician.
Marc Doyen.
DETECTIVES
w*at*4 la lien coui.tr to act io the Sieret S.rvlan under
(aotraotloun Iron Caiit. • rannun. es-Chief IMtetlm of Ola-
daaari. Zap-mac uot nocro-uir. KnubHih-d J1 ycur*. Par**
SaSw. uSwtbmn fMaHtreBwwa« C» 44a*
A Brief Mention
OC Oao of Atlanta's Noblest Insti
tutions.
The Beautiful Building of the Atlanta
Young Men’s Christian Association that
stands on the cormr <■( Wheat amt Pryor
streets, next to the Eq'iitable Building in
Atlanta, is always an cbj*ct of interest to
visitors to the Capitol city, not only on
account of its architectural beauty but be
cause associated witli it is the name • f
ilie lamented and much loved Il nry
Grady—having been an important factor
in the conception of the work.
It may be interesting to tbs many read
ers of the r.iJXXY South to know whet it
furnishes tbe young men, amt lias fut-
i,ished them in tbe past nine months,
two hundred and rifry persons a day vis t
its rooms on an aggregate of (>8,850. So-
(daily it has furnished to young m m 15
high class entertainments aud receptions.
It is difficult for those who ei j >y the
privileges ( f happy homes to realize what
a boon-ru eh soeni i nt« rtaiumi-nts are to
\oung men who c.-me from distant places
seeking to lay the foundations oi their
fonuui s in Atlanta.
During ti e p.-riod mentioned the As«o
ciatiou has furnished toils members 25 000
bariisand nine classes a wet k iu systematic
hod/ 6011(11111:, Im i jg supplied with an ix
ceilent gymnasium.
Class* s in stenography, penmanship
and book-keeping are conducted each eve
ning ai the w«ek. Pupils are taught by
pud teachers and instruction is free to all
members. Situations have been found in
good business bouses for quite a number of
young men. lJuu«!r*ds have been itcro
duced to good hoarding I oases, and many
nave been viebed by numbers aul aided
financially by tbe benevolent in our
rauks. ,
While tbe At sedation looks after tbe
sociil, physical and intellectual interests
of youug men, it does nut forget tbe more
important want, tue spiritual, as the fol
lowing figures show. One hundred and
six y-oue sp«cial religious meetings have
beeu conduct id by the Associ ttion.
Two huudred aud oue yettug men have
requested prayer, eighty-three who were
coal abd form el in their spiritual life,
have promised to lire better, and sixty
have pro'efsud Christ as a personal Savior.
The building is open every week day
from 9 in the morning to 10 at night, aud
on Sundays from 2 to 0 o’clock. Any
young mm of good moral character can
become a member by paying £10 for tbe
privilege. The reading room is opeu ev
ery day and tbe tas.lea are supplied with
latest magazines and dailies; if you hav’nt
visited this elegant home,—providt d for
Atlanta’s youug men, without regard to
religious belief, do so. A warm welcome
awaits you.
LOST THE OPIUM HABIT.
Story of a Man Who Conquered It
After a Struggle.
Aterii"i'onVbVnian,”«>iimostiSiii'yoataTOhjo.«toodhari.” I Wd my'SSSSKl'SSKSSraWSa'iSUKS
One day I realized, writes a former vic
tim of the opium habit, that my word was
no longer a sy mbo'. of truth, and the moral
nature I had not quite drowned leaped up
in the dark and called me “liar” to my
face. Then I awoke, and for the first time
for many a day I prayed. Then also came
the resolve—the determined resolve, come
what may—to be done with this damnable
tyranny.
At 0 o'clock that evening I took a hearty
meal of meat (principally) and a little
(eery little) red wine. It was June 10,
1808 1 hail determined to walk into the
summer night, walk till 1 die if necessary,
but walk till 1 won my battl", if I lived
through the ordeal. 1 left my watch at
home that 1 might uot pawn it far opium;
I tick no moDiy with me; eveu as 1 ieit
home, and struoa across the downs, l felt
the * raving counug on ('lie hour uf my
isuuitiittiie day (l.Sd wa* at hind), and f
anew my temptation was with uiu, aud
realiz d notv lung aud bitter the snuggle
io Lo*
Tue craving seemed to me a palpable
shape mat walked inside mo—a pn a-.nce
that outran tue an.I lost me, au>l c.iU!
back to uie like a lailMut dog that would
not iose or It ave me, that i coil'd not
leave or lose! Sometimes L sung, some-
liana 1 raved and swore, sumo limes I
prayed auu wept, but iievtr onct*, thank
Goa, dm my resolutions taller.
Mucu oi that u.gut 1 ciuiKt remember.
II in things cam j uuck to me at tiuivt
eucu as a mu 1 had ouce, hutting my
knee. 1 tuiuk J frightened seine oue who
asked me some queotioas, aud i believe 1
can recvliei.l mat i rny.eif g«ew at oue
tirno lull ol feat—iear of hurting myself,
not others; aud men 1 suiLreu tuirsl—
su jh thirst, such awfui thust, but l must
uave slaked it a Anew hen , lor iu iLe mor
ning my ciothcs aud necktie were aii wet,
an iso Was my hair.
At 7 iu the morning of the next d ty I
tuunu uiy'se.i ieauiug oil a gale aud Jook-
iug out on the landscape b I re me with
a sort oi cum us womur as to how I cauie
there; u*y heau mopped ou my bauds. I
Si. pt lor (i teiaa) ouiy a sew m mates,aud
awoke quite v* oil. Hiu e that day L have
uever toucued it, aud have never b^eu
leiuptod to touch it. Oi course, 1 aui weli
aware that the doses to wnrcii 1 had
become acoastouied were not very large,
but 1 am also sure that luey were on ilia
increase, an a having told my experience
lately to a distiugUisUod ISuglisU physi
cian, he btgged ure, for the sake cf oth
ers, to put ou iec-*id these plaiu aud siui-
! pie facts.
j Turn 1 now da, and if I do so anony-
i muusiy, it is only because I believe that
! no iuitutr good could follow tim knowl*
j edge of my identity or name.—The Sp c
I
THE DREADED BLACK BEARD
A Firato who Locked Enough Lika
Satan to bo Ills Brother.
Pamlico Sound, now tbe haven cf the
storm-tossed mariner and tbe home of
peaceful industry, was once the theatre of
far d.fferent scenes. In the beginning of
the Isst century its plscent waters reflect
ed a flag which stnu k ttrroi to tbonsands
of In-aits and paralyzed the commerce of
tbe New World; the thickly clustering
vines and luxuriant growths fringing its
shcres coi-cealed, like tbe original EJen, a
biding devil, the foe cf God and man—
Blackboard, the pirate. From a strange
tendency < f bum »u nature the life of tbe
pirate posei>ses a faiciu .ting interest, not
only for th^fiu ill l.oy who devours tbe
pa.es of bis half dime yellow-back novel,
butalrofor tiie reader of stronger judg
ment ai d better taste. Indeed, *• in* of
ihe greatest writers have been unable to
resist tbe fascinations of this wide and
teiuptii g Held. .
Sir Wa ter Scott, Marryatt and Cooper
thought it uot unworthy their mighty
I* us, and the genius of ltyron attached
one « f its hijrii'St flights iu the description
of tbe prisoner 0 »nrad, iu rile lonely tur
ret, baring bis bosom io the midnight
stonu and defying tbe lightning of ofTeud-
ed heaven to transfix huu. Of ail this un
holy t rood Blackboard was facile prin-
c* ps, as Milton says of S .tan: ‘*By merit
rr.ia*.d to that t»ad. en ineuce.” , It wa* an
Arabic liadition, lelatrie t»tbe great un
known Atlantic, lhat the gnaried and
b uy hand ot the devil rose from out of
the waves of the S-a «<f Darkness to seize
the presumptions mariner, and in his dia
bolic career Blackboard seemed to lie the
impersonation of ibis mystic monster.
Perhaps a great*r dtinun never piowled
tbe seas or walked the earth iu human
form.
Even in personal uppearanco he was
hideous and repulsive, nature having
stamped him both as a physical and moral
monster. The name by which lie was
known throughout the wir'd was derived
from asiug tiar circumstauce, which illus
trates Li.s savage ferocity. His naturally
dark aud forbidding face was covered al
most to bis fierce, sensuous eyes with a
shaggy black beard, reaching below tbe
waist. This hirsute adornment, ol which
he was very proud and which he culti
vated with s«dnlous care, he was
accustomed to braid with ribbons and to
twist about bis ears until it stood forth
like projecting boms. Into tbe ends of
these he stuck small, slowly burning fuses
whose sulphurous fumes enveloped him in
a lurid hue end rendered him a uot unfit
ting repretentation of the Satanic ideal
whose character he so successfully emu
lated. In time of action he slung around
hia neck a scarf into which wi re thrust
three braces of pistols. Our read* rs, even
those who are not endowed with Dan-
tesque powers of imagination, and espe
cially our feminine lrieads, can readily
fancy the impression such an aspect wonlu
create when met upon the lonely ocean
with the black flag fluttering above his
head and bis merciless face lighting up
with a gleam of demoniacal joy as his
helpless victim! walked the fatal plank.
The real name of this man was Edward
Teach, and be waa a native of Bristol,
Eugland. Of his early career nothing
definite is known. He first emerged from
obscurity as a common sailor on board a
privateer commanded by Captain Benja
min Hornigold, sailing from Jamaica and
preying upon French commerce. In that
humble capacity he distinguished himself
hy bis skill aud courage, which attracted
the attention of bis not over-scrupulous
commander, wbo had intrusted Iimu with
a prizs he had captured In 1717 these
two choice spirits spread their satis from
Provideuce (tuspicious name!) for Amer
ica, captaring en vaysga tbree vessels
laden with wine, flour aud miscellaneous
cargoes, which they appropriated to their
own use anti turned tbe crews adrift.
Tue speed of their vessels being crippled
by foul bottoms, they cleaned upon tbe
coast of Virgmi« and sallied forth in quest
of fresh booty. Ou this ciuise they secured
tbe most valuable prizi yet captured, »
large French Guineauiau.rt ihly freigh ed,
bound f >r Mutinique. At 11ds ] incture
lloridgnld’s avarice seemed to have been
satisfied, or more likriy his heart failed
bint, for, taking the two a osscls with » bich
tbev originally sailed, lie ret urned to Prov
idence and availed himself of a pardon of
fered by the King to all pirates whoshould
turreoder in a specified lime. .
Teach, however, only emboldened by
sn cess, now as-mined an independent
character and b grn the eireer of ertm*
which rendered his nami so tufatnous.
Some Fanny Answers.
totor.
A writer in T!ie Deccan Budget give*
some amusiug examples of mistakes made
by Indian students in iheir examination
papers. In an historical paper the qu-a-
tion W->.s to explain tbe sentence, ''She
(Q teen Mary) was not ouly bis wifei, bat
Los friend.” Tue translator made the
passage to ruu, ‘'dlad was nut oulxJrs
wife, but the wife of all bi» friends.
other stu leut h . givett au explanation of
S*iic law wiiicb at ouce accounts for the
fact that m »u*rchy b ts come to ait eu.l in
Fiance, lie detiues Salic law as “a law
m France by wind it» man descended
trout ttir female sex waa to g^t the Fr*n n
crown.” Oar student explained th it * the
II tb -ans Gorpn Act was a very iu>p ertant
act passed iu 1023 It declared ti.at tue
bread and wiue taken at the L r I s Sup,
per is tue real biood and body of Chri-t.
Another who iintgiued the Act of Uni-
finutty to tie a law said that it means
‘•that ail soldiers should dress alike. A
youth:ul apostle ( f celibacy gives the
to low tug example of a leg cal conclusion;
-Marti gits a lottery—io.teties are ille-
gai— ergj, marriage is illegal.” Tue fol
lowing is a oetiuiiiou given of a sponging-
hous.: “Iu England tbare are many peo
ple w uo live by spongtqg on others, so
there are h* ures in which%dme who sre so
lazy to woxk depend on others.”