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THE BAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL.
rTs. R. WESTON.
321 Jloumul,
" fCß Lisaw *7«* rnoMDir.
Three mnnitu , 2 S
O.e *
ftr \/gRTI3INQ :
OXI MONTH.
I TWO MONTHS
| THREE M'THS
J
| SIX MCNTHS.
j ONI TEAR.
So.
mb'**
s7m f 5 00 # 7 00 #l2 50 S2O 00
— ■" SCO 76010 00 18 00 25 00
n 00 10 00 12 00 20 00 30 00
jimii. 7 w
ano U 00 16 00 26 00 40 00
four*
77~ 10 00 1 8 oo 25 00 40 00 60 00
—" 15 00 25 00 85 00, 60 00,170 00 I
1 CllL. w
z== The money for aJ
&£K!S£ and» .B« «* »
li uvertidements inserted at interval, to be
*iriditional charge of 10 per cent will
A Je on advertisements ordered to be in
"idrerti *» mein winder e head of “Spe
i linticei" will be inserted for 15 cents
**' f#r ih» first insertion, aud 10 cents
I" ' ’r or ,ach subsequent insertion.
velrinents in the “ Loci Column ’
-illhe inserted st 20 cents per line for the
S, and lScent- per line lor each subse
’“ril communications or letters on business
tamndrd for this office sheuld be addressed
„"Ths Dawson Journal
rail-ROAD guide.
'• B,,,W 7e»SrTral.~ ad
yijl, HOLT, Pres. | VIRGIL POWER, Sup
Uavs Maces... .., n . u
Arrive atEufaul* Y.L, „
Arrive at Mac*n *
Connecting wi h AtSsoy branch train .•
J.ithri le, aud wilt Fort Gaines branch train
it CVhbf r .
JUTACLX SISHT AND ACCOMMODATION TRAINS
"?.'*? *
Arrive at L'. 0 ' * “
Uevs “ ® [ “ !
Iffiff silicon . *
Connect etS nithvlle with Al any train on
Jfonday, Tuesday, Thursday »nd Friday
liirbia. Ke train leaves on Saturday nights.
COLUMBIA PASSENGER TRAINS.
Leave 7: m.
Arrive it 00lu m buß v v -
L*ave p. m
Arrive at M.con fi: ” s p - M
COLUMBUS MIGHT PASSENGER TRAIN
Urn Macon p. m.
Arrive at Columhus 5.00 a. m
Lane Columbus 7:00 p m
Arrive at Jfacon 4:43 A. M.
nitron and Brunswick Passen
ger 'l’raiiie.
GEO. W HAZELHURrST, President.
Leave Maron 9:15 A. M
Arrive a' Brunswick 10:20 p 1 M.
Leave Brrinsaick ..4 30 a m.
JrriveatM con 7:50 P. x
TRAINS TO tIAWKINSVILLB
Leave* Macon R tOO p. xi
Arrive at llankinwilie 6:30 P M
Leave H.wkinsville 7:'iO A M‘
Arrive it Macon 6:16 a. m
This train tuns daily, Sundays excepted.
W**tcrii dt Atlantic Railroad.
FOSTER BLODGETT, Sup’t.
NIGHT PASSKNQF.It TRAIN
Dave Atlanta 7 00 P. M
Arrive at Chattanooga 8.80 A. M
Leave Chattanooga ........7.50 P. M
Arrive at Atlanta '. .4 14 A. M
DAY PABBKNQEK TRAIN.
Laara Atlanta ...8.15 A. M
Arrive at Chattanooga 4.20 P. hi
Dave Chattanooga 7.10 A. M
Arrive at Atlanta 3.17 P. M
DALTON ACCOM ENDATION.
Dave Atlanta 3.10 P II
Arrive at Dalton 11 85 P. M
Dave Dalton 2.00 A. M
<rd». at aO.ni, ,1 OO A W
Xribsjiwal ©ante.
TI. F. SIMMONS,
attorney at law,
imh y+sojr, Gfiii
|)ROHPT attention given to all business
A lotruaud to hia care.
•Ug6 9ttf
». wootxn. l c. hoyle.
WOOTEN & HOYLE,
Attorneys at Law,
Jan S-ly.
-
Att y Law and Solicitor in Equity,
SMITHVILLS, OA.
lacutuiu* Ct tv u 'k Western rand Patau-
Collections promptly remitted.
J,K ‘ WARREN,
attorney at law,
"aaats%. lE ... M .
*S«U. INMAN & C 0„
COTT OO factors
n , AND
Emission Merchants,
*
T. w **’ wVW© York.
J WI3, A * cnt . Dawson, Georgia
Dawson Business Directory,
Dry Goods Itlcrciiiaiils,
CIHW, & TUCK FIR, Dealers in all
/kinds of Dry Goods and Groceries. Main
Slreet.
KITTWER. J iron, Dealer in all
kinds of Dry Goods, Main street.
IOYLESS * GKirm, Dealers
J in Staple Dry Gnmls and Groceries, also
and Commission J/ercbants, J/aln Street,
McKEW WEY and CHOP €ll,
Dealers In Drv Goods, Clothing, Staple
Qoods and Family Groceries, Jfiin street.
OKIS, W . F. Dealer In E’ancy and ato -
nic Drv Goods, Main at., under ‘‘Jour
nal” Printing Office.
Grocery merchant*.
J. A., Warehouse and
Commission Merchant, and Dealer in lia
con, Flour, Meal and Provisions generally, at
Sharpe At Brown’s old stand, Mlin Bt.
Ii'AH.HJU, Atl tRPE & CO..
Dealers in Dry Goods, Groceries, and
Pianiation Supplies.
CAREER & SimmOWS, Groeery
V X and /*rovision Dealers, South aide Pub
lic Square.
HOOD, B. 11., Dealer in Groceries and
Family suoui'es geuerallv, 2nd door to
‘Journal” Office, Main gt.
MIZEI.L, K . C. & Cos. Grocery and
Provision dealers. Next door to the Ho
tel Main Street, Dawaon.
Druggists.
CHIEATHAYI, C. A., Druggist and
/ Physician. Keeps a good supply of
Drugs and Medicines, and prescribes for all
the ills that flesh is heir to. At bis old stand,
the Red Drug Store, Main st
JAWE3 Ac COYEESS, Dealers in
Drugs, Jfedicines, Oils, Paints, Dye
Stuffs, Garden Seed, ite., &c.
BAKERY.
re. 501,0710 W, Biker, Confee
• tinner, and dealer in Family Groceries
Fi-h and 0' »ters, J/iin Street, next to J. W.
Roberts & 00.
PHYSICIANS.
HODS ETT W. 11. Prae-icing Phy
sician, and Surgeon. Office at Cheat
ham’s D' ug Store.
DRS. J. W. PRICE & SOS,
thankful for past patronage bv close
attention and moderate charges hone to re.
reive a continuance of the same. Offi.ie, Dr.
Gilnin’s nH s-and jan IS, if
« Watcli Kcpuircr.
VI.I.XA, .loin P., will .epair
Watches, Clocks, Jewelry, M usic Books,
Acco dious, &c , always tube found at his
old stand, on North side of Public Square.
Livery S!aS>l«‘*.
I’VARAI’TI, A 811 4IIPE, Sale
1 „tid Feed Stable. .Horses and J/ui- s
for sale. Horses boarded. North side Pub
lic Square.
nitIHE, A. «S. & J. K.. Sale.
L Feed and l.iverv Stable, Depot (Street.
Good horses and vehicles sot hire oti reason
able terms. April 14, ly.
BAR ROOM.
1) IX WARD, Dealer in Fine Wines,
Brandies. Whiskies, Lager B. er, &c ,
West side public Square, Main street.
n. K. ADAMS, H K. WASHBURN, A A ADAMS,
Eatouion, Ga Savannah, Ga. Ameticus.Ga.
ADAMS. WASBURN & CO.
FACTORS
AND—
Commission Merchants,
No. 3, Stoddard’s Lower Range,
ayl3Y.9;6n Savant ah. Ga
Ai.k’t H CriQ'-iTT, James Pach^,
Baker Cnuntv, G». New'oe, Ga.
H i;G h 11. GoLQOITT, Savannah, Ga.
COLQUITT & OACCS,
COTTON FACTORS & GENERAL
t OM MISSION MERCHANTS.
Bay street, Savamiali, «»•
Special attention to the Bale of Cotton,
Lumber ant Timber. Liberal advances on
Consignments. may6jtf
brown house.
K. E. BKOW.t «st SOM,
Fourth St., Opposite Passcrger Depot
Macon, Georgia.
epnid House haviujr lately been refitted
I and repaired, and is no* one of the best
Motels in the State and the most conve
nient in the city. The table ts su r pt.ed with
everything the market affords. leblS 6.
LYON, IitGRAFFENHEID & IRH\,
m iA
Macon, • * • Georgia-
WILL (jive attention to Professional Busi
ness in the Macon, .South.western, and
Fatsul i Circuits; in the U S Courts, in ba
vanuah and Atlanta ; and bv Spetial Con
true! in miT part of the iState.
Sept. 28,*6» ; ly.
PLANTATION FOR SALE,
Ism offering for sale a plantation near
Whaley’s Jflll", in Terrell county, nine
mile* Northwest of I) ivrson, con'aining St
Hundred acres of Cat and Hickory laud ;
800 acres cleared, wi'l, good improvements,
Gin House and Screw, &e , &e..
For particulars as to teims ut-d price, call
on the subscriber in Zhwsnn.
June 18,tf. WII. KAIGLEB.
ERROBS QF YOUTH
A Gentleman wh« suffered for years Iron,
Nervous Debility, Premature Decay, and all
the effects of youthful indiscretion, will, fc
the sake of stiffering humanity, send free to
all who need it, the receipt and directions for
making the simple remedy by which be was
enred. Sufferers wishing to pio?t bv the ad
vestiser’s experience, cao do so by address
ing in perfect confidence,
j S ’ JOHN 13. OGDEN,
tmcJ.ly No. 4*2 Cedar root, s»N.Y
dawson, ga., Thursday, july 21, i8?o.
SELECTED POETY.
Till* Lift* I* IVltjii We 71a K«* it
BY CHARLOTTE YOUNG.
I.et’a oftener talk of noble deeds
rarer of the bad ones,
sing about our happy days,
v4ud not about the sad ones.
We were not made to fret and sigh,
And when grief sleepa to wake it;
Bright happiness is standing by--
This life is what we make it.
Let’s find the sunny side of men,
Or be believers in it:
A light there is in every soul
That takes the pums to win it.
No ! there’s a slumbering 1 good In all,
And we perchance may wake it;
Our hands contain the magic wand—
This life is what we make it.
TTjcu here’s to those whose loving hearts
Shed joy and light about them !
Thanks be to them for countless gems
ne’er had knowu without them.
O ! this should oe a happy world
To all who may partake it,
71ie fault’s our own if It is not—
This life is what we make It.
Two Lillie Kitteus.
Two little kittens, oue stormy night,
Began to quarrel and then to sighs,
One had a mouse, the other had none,
And that was the way the quarrel begun.
“/ 11 have the mouse,” said the bigger cat»
“You’ll have that mouse? We’ll see about that I”
“I will have that mouse,” said the elder one
“You shan’t have that mouse !” said the little oue.
I told yon before ’twas a stormy night
When these two kittens began t j fight,
The old woman seized her sweeping broom
And swept the two kittens right out of the room.
The ground was covered with frost and snow,
And the two little kittens had no where to go ;
So they laid them dowd on the mat at the door,
While the old woman finished sweeping the floor.
Then they crept in as quiet as mice,
All wet with snow aud cold as ice,
For they found it was better that stormy night,
7o lie down and sleep than to quarrel and fight.
MISCELLANEOUS.
The Way of Escape.
BY T. S. A.BTIICR.
My heart aches for the wretched
man. His debauch was over; his
nerves unstrung ; the normal sensibili
ties of a tine moral nature, quickened,
alter a brief into most acute
perceptions. Such a haggard face !
Such hopeless eyes ! 1 see the picture
now, as a haunting spectre.
“Let the memory of tiiis hour, so
burdened by pain aud repentance, be j
as a wall of defence around you in all J
the future,” I said.
lie looked at me drearily. Slowly
shaking his head, ho replied :
“Suek memories are no defence.—
My soul is full of them. When temp
tation assails, they fall away, aud I
am at tho mercy of mine enemy, who
rushes in. like a hungry wolf, to kill j
aud to destroy.”
“Is there no help for you, then ?” I
asked.
Ho shut his eyes and was very still, j
If an artist could have seen his face
then, and faithfully caught its expres
sion, those who looked upon the im
age must have felt such pity in their
hearts as makes the eyes grow dim
with tears.
“I fear not,” he answered, after a
little while, in a hopeless kind of way
“It cannot be ” 1 spoke confident
ly and assuringly. “Mo man is given
over to such utter ruin. There must (
be, and there is, a way of escape from
every evil.”
“Except the evil of a bad and de
grading habit—that vile second na
ture,’ he answered, “the steady cur
rent of which is forever bearing him
downward, toward a storm-wrecked
ocean, fit l may seize the oars in u
larm, as I have done scores of times,
and pull against the current, making
head for a* little while. But, human
strength avails not hero. The arms
grow weary, the spirit flags—it is eas
fer to drift than to row; and down,
tho current bears him again. It is
tho history of thousands and tens of
thousands, and I am no exception.”
“It cannot be,” 1 answered. “There
is help for every man, no matter how
weak, nor how beset by enemies ; else
God’s word must fail ”
“It does fail, I think,” he answered,
is a gloomy, despairing kind of way.
“No ! no ’ no !” Quickly and cm- j
pliatically did I reject his conclusion.
“Have it as you will. 1 shall not
argue the point.” He spoke almost
listlessly.
“Then, I say, there is help for every
lnan, no matter where ho is or what
he is. We cannot fall so low that the
Everlasting arms arc n< t still beneaih
us, ready to hear us upward to moun
tain heights of safety.”
"Oh, that those arms would bear
me upward!” almost groaned my
poor friend. “I have no strength in
myself. 1 cannot climb. Unless lift
ed by another, I must perish.”
‘ So bad as that ?” I said.
“Just so bad,” he answered, slowly
aud bitterly. “Tliis second nature I
have made" for myself, is my ruler.—
Reason, conscience, the love of my
wife and children, my good reputation,
pride, manliness —all human powers
and virtues axe its slave. And such a
bondage!’
There was uot a ray ot hope m fns
dreary eyes.
“You must try again, I said, cheer
ily. "No mau need be a slave ’
“Easily said ! ’ was his impatient
answer ; “while yet all men are slaves
to so me habit from which they cannot
“tSay, rather, from which they will
not break. ’ , „
“You mock mo with idle words.
“No; 1 speak only tho words of
truth and soberness. There is human
1 strength, and there is divine strength.
The Everlasting arms are always
beneath and ready to boar us up, if
wo will but lean upon and trust them.
Human strength is but a.*> a broken
reed ; divine strength is suro as God
himself. It never fails.”
There came into his heavy eyes
a feeblo play of light. Tho stern
rejection that upon his lips faded off.
“In our own strength, nothing,” I
said ; “In God’s strength, all.”
I saw his hands moving in an un
certain way. Then they rested one
against tho other. Suddenly they
were clasped together in a kind of
spasm, while his eyes flow upward in
a wild, half-despairing appeal to God.
his lips groaning out tho words—
“ Save me, or I ant lost! ’
• Even now, memory gives back the
thrill that swept along my nerves as
his cry penetrated my ears.
Never from any' human soul went
up, unheard, a prayer like that Ho
who once and forever took upon him
self our nature, aud who was in all
points tempted as we are, yet without
sin, aud who is touched always with
the feeling of our infirmity, stands
close beside us, knocking at the door
of our hearts, that ho may eomo in
and help and save up. All hell is
poworless before him. Impure desires
flee from his presence like night birds
when the sun arises , and tho cords of
evil habits are broken, as the withes
that bound the arms cf Samson, at his
lightest touch.
I waited for a little while without
speaking, watching him closely, to see
if he would rise into anything like
confidence. Gradually, tho hard, de
sponding look faded from his counte
nance, and I saw a calm resolve begin
to show itself about his mouth.
“One effort more,” he said, at last,
speaking slowly, but very firmly.—
“One effort more, but not ill my own
strength I have tried too often, and
shall never try it again. I give up
the struggle as hopeless. If God fails
me, I am lost.”
What a fearful crisis! If God
fail ? Ho never fails—is never nearer
to us, nor stronger to help, that at the
moment when, despairing of our owd
strength, we turn to him. The only
danger lies in our not trusting him
fully.
“13ut how shall I trust him ? ’ How
shall I get a transfer of his strength
to my will '( How is it that his power
can supplement my' weakness ? lam
away down in the valley of sin and
shame ; how am I to get upon tho
mountains of purity, peace and safety ?
Will he bear me up as on the wings
of an eagle ? or must 1 climb and
climb, front day to day, until I reach
the summit ?”
“You must climb,” I said.
“I cauuot. 1 have no strength. I
have tried it a hundred times, and
tailed.” He answered with returning
doubt.
“And will fail again, if you trust in
your own strength. Bui, with God
given strength, used as your own, tho
ascent is sure.”
“Ah ! 1 see !” Light broke all over
his faco. “I see ! 1 see !” he repeat
ed “God does not lilt us out of our
siu and misery, but gives us divine
strength, if wo ask him in all sineeri
ty, by which we lift ourselves.”
“Yes.”
“It is very simple and clear.” He
drew a long breath of relief, like one
who has a toad taken from his mind.
“Tho law of our dependence on God
for help,” I said.
“Yes. And now I see the meaning
of this sentiment, in an old hymn I
often heard sung when I was a boy,
and which always struck me as a par
adox :
“ When 1 air. weak, then am 1 strong.
“The Christian poet,” I answered,
“lifted into something of inspiration,
olten sees truth in clearer light than
we w h o are down among tno mists
aud showers.”
“Ah mo !’’ he sighed ; “your closing
words remind ino of the depth at
which I lie, and the almost infinite
distances above mo to which I must
rise ere out of danger.”
“Aud to which you may surely rise
if you will,” I answered, with cheer
ful assurance.
“By God givon strength only !” he
spoke solemnly.
“Aye ; never, never for an instant
lose bight of that! Never, no mattei
how strong you may i'eul that you have
grown, trust in yourself. Iu the hour
of temptation, look upwards, praying
in the silence of your heart for strength
to resist.
“Best of friends !” he exclaimed, iu
deep emotion ; “You must have beun
sent to me by God. Hope dawns on
a night that has been starless. I see
tue way of salt ty —for me tho only
way. No one knows but myself how
hard I have tided to reform, nor iu
how many ways I have sought to es
cape from a terrible thraldom. But
all has been in vain. When this re
morseless appetite that has enslaved
me, asserted itself, my will becamo as
i nothing.”
Long time we talked, I saying all
that 1 could to strengton him.
i On the next Sunday, much to my
l surprise aud pleasure, 1 saw him at
church with his wife. I could not ro
-1 member when I had seen him there
i before. At the close of the services,
■ as 1 moved down the aisle with the
' crowd, someone grasped my hand
| aud gave it a strong pressuro. I
! turned and 100 *ed into the face of the
friend 1 had trie.l to save.
“Oh, Martin ! ’ 1 said, as I received
a glance luff of moaning, and then re
\ turned his hand pressure. .
Wo walked for a few moments aide
by ride without speaking, and th*>n
J wo soparatod by tho crowd,
j On the aunoay Hollowing, Lo was at
church again ; and Sunday after Sun-
day found him in the family pow that
for years, had seen him so rarely.
Three or four months went by, and
Martiu’s feet were still in the paths
that led upwards. But one day I was
shoet-od to hear that he had fallen
again. On careful inquiry, I learne 1
that he had been with his wife to an
evening entertainment, given by a cit
izen of high worth and standing,
whose name is on every lip as munifi
cent in charity; but who, whatever
may bo his personal conviction, is not
bravo enough to banish wine from the
generous board to which ho invites
Iris friends. And I learned still fur
ther, to my grief and pain, that the
glass which broke down the good res
olution of Martin, and let in upon him
the fierce flood of repressed appetite,
was proffered by the hand of this good
citizen, as host.
I lost no time in going to my poor
friend. I found him away down the
valley of humiliation, his soul in the
gall of bitterness. # Shame and sorrow
were in his heavy eyes; but not de
spair. I took hopeful notice of this.
“It is very hard for us, all but God
forsaken wretches !” ho said, bitterly,
after the first formal sentences had
passed between us. “He gives, in a
princely way, to churches and to char
ities ; is oue of our -best and most lib
eral citizens; and yet, utter I have
taken a few steps heavenward, he puts
a stumbling block in my wuy and I
fall back towards hell!”
“You could not have fallen over any
stumbling block man or devil might
place in your way,” I answered, “if
you had boeu walking in divine, in
stead of human strength.”
“Well do I know that,” he replied.
“And so,” I said, “let this sad fall
keep you in a more vivid remembrance
of human weakness. Never for one
instant trust in yourself. Stand per
petually on guard. The price of your
liberty is eternal vigilance.”
“It is a hard fight,” he said, with a
sigh, despondingly.
“Life is a warfare,” I replied. “Wo
are nil beset with enemies, who know
too well our vulnerable places,—ene
mies that never sleep ; implacable, cru
el, ever seeking our destruction. I,
you, all men have them. Trusting
only in human strength, no one gains
a victory ; but in divino strength the
issue of battle is suro. And so, my
friend, gird up your loins again, and
be weary and valiant”
Hope and courage came back into
his heart.
“Beware of ambush,” I said, as I
parted from him that day. “The ene
my, coming on you unawares, is more
to be dreaded than when he forms his
lino of attack to the sound of trumpets.
Seek no conflicts ; keep off liis ground ;
but when he comes forth to meet you,
giving challenge, do battle in the
name of the Lord.”
A few weeks afterwards I was pres
ent when a gentleman of large wealth
and good standing, both in church
and society, said to him—
“l didn't see you at my house last
evening.”
“No,” was tho rather curt reply;
“It is safer for me to keep off the dev
il’s ground. ’
“I don’t understand you, sir ! ’ re
plied the gentleman, a flush of sudden
anger in his eyes, for he felt the re
mark as a covert insult.
Martin’s face grew sober, and he
answered with a calm impressiveness
that caused the anger to go out of his
listener s eyes, and a thoughtful con
cern to take its place:
“I am fighting the devil,” he said,
“and must not give him tfie smallest
advantage. J ust now lam tho victor,
and hold him at bay. Ho has his
masked batteries, his enchanted
grounds, his mines and pitfalls, bis
gins and mirey sloughs; and I am
learning to know the signs of hidden
danger. If I sass into any of his
snares, I am in peril of destruction;
and though 1 struggle, or fight my
way out, 1 am weak or wounded, and
so the less able to meet tho shock of
battle when he rushes upon mu as 1
stand on guard, ready in Uod’s name,
for tho conflict.
“His enchanted ground is a social
company, where wine flows freely. I
speak of what it is to mo, aud call it,
so far as I am concerned, tho devil,s
ground. Ho caught me I here not long
ago, and had mo at his own advant
age. But, I will not again set foot
thereon. If you, good citizens, make
of your homes, in mistaken hospitali
ty, placos where the young find tom
tation, and the weak, stumbling block,
men, such as I am, must shun them as
the gates of hell.”
“liis manner had grown more and
more impressive.
“Is it so bad as that?” remarked
the gentleman, in a voice that showed
both surprise and pain.
“dust so bad,” Martin answered,
impressively ; “I believe lieigart’s old
est son was at your house ?” .
“Yes.”
It was the devil a ground for him ?
An hour or two ago I saw him com
ing out of a saloon, so drunk that ho
could not walk straight. only
three days ago, his father told a friend
that his boy had certainly reformed,
and that he now had more confidence
in his future than he had felt for a
long time.”
“You cannot mean what you say?”
The gentleman exclaimed in visiblo
agitation.
“I have told you only tho sad and
solemn truth,” was Martiu’s answer ;
“and if I had accepted your invitation
1 might now bo lying at a depth of
misory and degradation, the bare
thought of w hich makes me shudder 1”
The gentleman stood for a littlo wiiile
ac if stuattad*
“This is frightful to think of,” he
sail, and I saw him shiver.
“It is the last time,” he added,” of
i ter a pause—“the last time that any
■ man shall go out of my house weaker
. und more degraded than when ho
| came in. If my offering of wine
j cause my brother to offend, then will I
not offer it again while the world
stands. ’
“Ah, sir!” answered Martin, “If
many, many more of our good citizens
would so resolve, hundreds of young
men now drifting out in;o the current
of intemperance, might be drawn back
into safer waters; and hundreds of
others who are striving to make head
against it, saved from destruction. I
speak feolingly, for I am one of those
who are struggling for life in this fa
tal current.”
Tho way of safety for a man like
Murtiu, is very narrow and straight.
If he steps aside into any of tho pleas
ant paths that opon on the right hand
and on tho left, lie is in the midst of
peril. If ho grow confident in his
own strength, aud losb dependent on
that which is givon from abovo, tho
danger of falling becomes imminent.
Martin fell again. Alas that this
should have to be told.
“Was that Martin who passed us ?”
asked a friend with whom I was walk
iu S’ ,
“Nol answered, in a positive
voice ; and yet as I said tho word my
heart gave a throb of sea man
was so like him.
“It was, lam sure. Poor wretch !
Ho tries hard to reform; but that
cursed appetite is too much for him.
I m afraid there is no help. He’ll die
a drunkard.
I turned back quiety aud without a
response, following the man we had
passed. J ust as 1 came up to him, he
had stopped at the door of a drinking
saloon, aud was holding a brief par
loy with awakened appetite.
“In God’s i anio, no !” I said, laying
my hand upon him.
He started in a frightened kind of
way, turning on me a haggard face
and blood-shot eye. I drew my arm
within his, and lod him away, passive
as a child. Not a word was spoken
by either, until we were in his office,
which was n.it far distant, and the
door shut and locked. He dropped
into a chair with a slight groan his
l ead sinking upon his chest. He was
the picturo of abject wretchodnoss.
“Ho leuveth the ninety and nine
that are safely folded,” I said, speak
ing in a low, tender voice, “and goeth
out into the wilderness to seek that
which is estray.”
He did not answer.
“You have looked to tho strong lor
strength, you have prayed to him for
succor, and ho has come very near to ’
you and helped you Because you
again went out of the fold, his love
has not tailed. II o has found you out
in the wilderness and brought you
back to a place of safety. Only trust
iu him, aud all will be- well. He is
the friend that stickoth closer than a
brother. His is a love that never
fails.”
I waited for him to reply, but ho
kept silence.
“It must have been no ordinary
temptation,” I said.
Still he was silent.
“The enemy must have eomo on you
unaware,” I added, after a brief
pause. “The bolt must have fallen
ere you saw tho warning flash.”
“I was taken at disadvantage; but
I hud time to know my enemy', and
should have given battle in God’s
name, instead of yielding liko a cra
ven ”
Such was his reply. It gave me
hope.
“Tell me the whole story,” I said.
Ho raised himself to a firmer atti
tude ; and I saw swift lights begin
ning to Hash in his dull eyes.
“Wounded again in tlie house of a
friend, ’ he roplied.
What friend ? ’
“One on whom God had laid the
special duty of saving human souls—
our minister !”
“Not Mr. L I”
“Yes."
I was confounded.
“1 went to him for help,” continued
Martin, “and instead of tho counsel
and support I thon so much needed,
for my old enemy, appetite, was gath
ering up his strength, and setting his
host in battle array, 1 was tempted
and betrayed! 1 should have gone to
God, aud not to man. With his Di
vine Word iu my thought, and prayer
in my heart, I should have opposid
the awakening enticement of desire,
us I have so often done and prevailed.
“Tell mo how it happened," I said.
“As I havo just told you," he re
plied, “I .was not feeling very strong.
That old restlessness of which I have
spoken, had come back upon me, and
1 knew what it meant. So,. I said to
my wife, ‘I think, Mary, that 111 step
around and see Mr. L . Id like
to talk with him.’ She looked at me
with a slight shadow of concern in her
faco , for sho had learned to know the
signs of a coming hour of darkness,
when the powers of hell renew their
direful assaults upon my soul. ‘Do,’
she answered ; and I went.
“I found Mr. L in his library,
but not alone. Mr. E , the bank
er, had called in to havo a talk with
the minister about a college for theo
logical students, in which both felt
considerable interest. Eunds wore
wanted in older to give the Institution
| the required oflicieucy ; and tho ways
! and means of getting funds were earn
| estly dijeussod by Mr. L and
i tho capita ist. Astor an hour's
; talk, aud the arrangement of a plan
I for securing the object in view, Mx.
; L - rang a boll- To the
I who cr.nm in, Lo said, something in a
; low voice, that I did.'not hoar. Tho
servant retired, but came back in a
YOL. V. —NO. 23.
few minutes bearing, to my surprise
and momentary consternation, a tray
with wine and glasses. I saw 1 pleased
light in the banker’s’ eyes, as they
rested on the amber-oulored wine.
“ ‘Some fine old sherry,’ said Mr.
L——, sent by a friond abroad. I
want you to taste it.’ And he filled
the three glasses that wore on the
tray, handing one to his guest and an*
other to me In myself—my poor
weak self! —l was not strong enough
to refuse. If I had looked up to
God, instantly, and prayed for strength
to do the right, strength would, I
knov, have come. But I did not. I
took the glass, not meaning to drink,
but to gain time for thought. To hare
refused, would have boon, I then felt,
to set myself up as a rebuker of these
men ; and that 1 had not the courage
to do. No, I did not mean to taste
the wine. But, as they lifted their
glasses, drank and praised the fruity
juice, I, iu a kind of mesmeric lapse
of rational self-control, raised my glass
also, and sipped. A wild, fierce thirst
possessed mo instantly, and I drained
the glass to the bottom 1
“A sudden terror and great dark*
ness fell upon me. I saw tho awful
gulf on whose brink I stood. ‘I will
go home,' I said to myself; and ri»*
iug, I bade the two men an abrupt
good night and left them. But I did
not go directly home, alas for me !*
There were too many enticements by
the way. Indeed, I don’t know how
or when I got home.
“Os the shame, the anguish, the
despair of this morning, I cannot
speak. You don't know what it means
—have no plummet by which to sound
its depths of bitterness. I left home
for my office, feebly resolved to keep
ttwuy from tempation; how feebly,
you know ! If the good Lord who is
trying to save me, had not sent you to
my rescue, I would now be—oh, I
cannot speak the frightful words I”
“Ho never leaves us nor forsakes
us,’ I answered. “He is always go
ing out upon the bleak mountains, to
the hot desert, and into the wilderness
of wild beasts, seeking his lost and
wandering sheep. If they hear his
voice, and follow him, he will bring
them into his fold, where is peace and
safety."
“Good Shepherd of souls,” my
friend said, audibly, lifting upward
his eyes, that were full of tears, “save
me from the wolves ! They wait for
me in all my paths ; they spring upon
ine iu all my unguardod moments;
they hide themselves iu covert places,
thirsting for my lifo ; they steai upon
me in sheeps clothing—they beset mo
everywhere ! Good Shepherd 1 1 have
no help but in thee ’’
Breaking tho deep, impressive si
lence that followed, 1 said—■
“In liiin alone is safety. So long
as you hear his voice, ami follow him,
no wolf' cun touch you with his mur
derous teeth. But, if you go out of
his sheep fold, aud trust in your own
strength to overcome the wild beasts
that crowd the wilderness of this
world, destruction is sure.”
A few years havo passed since then,
and Martin still holds, in divine
strength, the mastery of appetite.
Tho vile second nature ho had formed
unto himself, and which bore him
downward, for a time, in its steady
current, grew Aveakor and weaker, as
the new life, born from above, gained
strength. In the degTeo that ho re-
aud denied tho old desires, did
they grow weaker ; and in their place,
God gave him purer and healthier de
sires, so that ho became, as it were, a
new man.
“The wolves are not all dead," I
said to him one day, as we talked of
the present and the past.
He looked a little sober as he re
plied—
“No, my friend. I often heat them
howling in the distance ; and I know
full well, that if I leave toy Shep
herd s side, and step off into the wil •
demess, vainly trusting in myself, that
I shall boas powerless to stand
against them as a helpless sheep.
For me, I am not safe for a moment,
except when I trust in God’s strength
to supplement my weakness. When
I do that, all hell cannot prevail
against me
[ Wood's Household Magnate.
What is tho diffronce between a
soldier and a fashionable lady ?—One
faces the powders, and the other
powders the I’aceJ
A sick man was told that nothing
could cure him but a quart of catnip
tea. “Then I must die, said he, for
I don’t hold but a pink
A fop in company, wanting his ser
vant, called out, “where is that block
head of mine V” A lady present an
swered, “on your shoulders, sir.”
June, give tho baby some landanum
and put it to sleep, aud bring me my
parasol, I am going to meeting for the
melioration of the human race.
Tho way to treat a man of donbtful
ceeditis to take no note of him.
The prime-evil forest avbs situatod
in tho Garden of Eden.
Advice to persons in search of em
ployment—Westward hoe !
Tho Pope’s favorite bull—“l’m in
fallibul.”
Animadversion —any mad version
of one’s opinions.
Epitaph on a waiter—He could wait
no longer—he is gone.
Rations that one can seldom lira
upon—aspiration.
Played out—base bail, locauao It «aa-
UOt bo p-UyoU i
An agreeable perecn is defined "as
oao who agrees with you.”. . s».