THE DAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL.
B Y S. B. WESTON.
s;itosim (wleekln Jonrual,
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(Sarto.
F. M* HARFER
jUtorney apd Calippellor at Lain,
0.1 1F50.7, t.f.
J. L. JANES,
Attorney At Law,
DAWSON, «A.
at Court tlonse.
Feb. 9-6 m,
DR. G. W. FARRAR
HAS located iu this city, and offers his
Professional services to the public.
Office next door to the “Journal Office," on
Main Strtet, where he can be found in the
dav, unless professionally engaged, and at
night at his residence opposite the Baptist
church feb. 2-ts:
C. n. WOOTKN. * L. e. novr.s.
WOOTEN S HOYLE,
Attorneys at Law,
fMirso.r, e.i,
Jan 6-ly.
C. W. WARWICK,
Att’y at Law and Solicitor in Equity
SMil'll VILLB, aA.
Will practice in South Western and Pntaula
circuits. Collections promptly remitted.
K. J. WARREN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
SI.inKSW'ILM.E, - . - «•*.
Dawson Business Directory.
Dry 4/nods Merchants,
riKIM,* TUCKER, Dealer* is
A/ Di\v Good* Clothing, Boots and Shoes
Groceries 4ic. .Also agents for some of the
most approved Fertilizers. Main Street.
KUTNER, EDWARD, Dealer in
Staple and Fancy Dry Goods, Groceries
Hardware, Crockery etc.
ORR. W. F. Dealer In Fancy and sta
ple Dry Goods, Main at., next door to
J- W. Reddick’s.
Grocery Merchants.
HOOD, B. 11., Dealer in Groceries and
Family supplies generally, at W. F.
Orr’s old stand, under ‘Journal’’ Office,
“sin at.
T OYLESS, J. E. Grocer and Com
A J mission d/wreliant, Dealer in Bacon,
Boar, Liquors, &c.
|) EDDICK, J. Grocer dealer in Ba-
AL cou, Fiour, Lard, Tobacco, &o.
HARDWARE.
T EE ft BROTHER, Dealer* in
~ Hardware. Iron and Steel, Wagon Tim
,•> and Plantation Tools. Also Manufao
turers of Tin Ware,Main st., at J. B. Perry’s
old stand.
I>AEDWIT, ANDREW. 'Dealer
r~ , ln Dry Goods, Groceries, Hardware 6’ifc
t®r|y. Furniture, 2d door from tlie Hotel.
Druggists.
( HEATHAIU, V. A., Drugglit and
. -Physician. Will visit by day or night,
P»tienta in Town or Country—will prescribe
j? » n -V end all tbe ills that flesh is heir to.
. ?*P* * complete supply of Drugs and Med»
icmes. School Books and stationary—Gar.
nen Seeds &0., &0., At his old stand. The
Ked Drug Store on Main St., TERJfS Strict
? tcsA for all articles sold. Monthly settle-
n >cnts for Professional Serricos.
TATES, dr. J. R., Dealer hi
ai „ ru &*i Jfedioines, Oils, Paints, Dye
stuffs, Garden Seed, to., Ac.
Livery Stable.
pRITCE, N G.ft J. K., Sale,
jj and Lirery Stable. Carriages,
Buggies, Drays, Wagon*, Harness
»uu Mules for sale or hire. Horees boarded
reasonable rates. Depot Street.
BLICKSHITII shop.
Ware, randall. win make
ni an< * re P**t Wagons, Buggies Plows,
n i. ,on Sweep, Shocing'horses, near Tost
„i, ace ' ready to do work good and
che *P Jan 19-ly
LndlleS Mistake,
The visit over, bidding her adieu,
/ took my liat, and, bowing low, withdrew,
Then, starting homeward, soon I missed my cane
■Retraced my steps and rang the bell again,
y heard a rush, the door flew open wide,
And with a bound Lucille stood by my side,
Around my neck her loving arms she threw.
Kissed me, ye gods, she kissed me through and
through,
Stock still 1 stood, not daring to return
The glowing kisses that myltpß did burn,
I tried to speak, and gasped, -1 clean forgot -
/ left my eane > She started as if shot.
And cried with sobs she vainly tried to smother,
•Oh dear 1 Oh dear I 1 thought ’twas Dan, my
brother,
W r hat shall Ido V she asked me o’er and o’er,
1 lacked the courage to say •• Do it more I
So looking sheepish seized upon my stick
And forthwith homeward trotted double quick.
IThen on my conch, in vain / courted sleep.
1 tossed, and pondered; what wealth of love
7hat girl possesaes, other girls above I
And if a brother she should hold so dear,
What must a husband to her heart appear I
The Idea grew, aud—Well, to end the tale
I aonght her after and to such avail,
That ere a twelve month its full course had rnn
J woo’d, I won her-and we twain we re one ;
Anil onee / told her that my love began
The night she kissed me in mistake for Dan.
‘For Dan I’ said she, ‘why blessyour Btnpid head,
Poor brother Dan was safe and snug in bed.’
‘You didn’t know it I’ ‘Why, of course / did,'
Aud iu my breast her blushing fare she hid.
.... * *
Through all these yours I did not once regret
My brving fallen into the trap she set.
Happy I am, and happy, too, /’ve made her,
/Hthough at times 1 laughingly upbraid her ;
A nd then she says, ‘The moral, dear, of this is,
That gi-ls don’t often raako mistakes—iu kisses I”
REMARKABLE DISEASE.
A Case of Mortification in an
Apparently Healthy Man.
In order fully to appreciate the hor
rible and utterly incomprehensible suf
ferings of the case which we are about
to describe, it is necessary to premise
some of the circumstances of the vic
tim’s life, as related in a recent Ger
man paper. Ezekiel Feldman was a
young Saxon, who had determined to
apply himself to the study of theology
almost as soon as he began to com
prehend that every man ha| work to
do in this world. It was not without
finding the great obstacles to overcome,
nor without many trials and hardships,
that he succeeded in gratifying his
worthy ambition. Os poor parentage,
and of impracticable habits himself, as
is frequent among those given up to
abstractions and pious thoughts front
early boyhood, it was with great diffi
culty that he succeeded in taking the
regular course at the university,
through which alone he could attain
the ministry iu his country. Ho was
not what you would call a brilliant
young man, but he endeavored to make
up in application and industry what ho
lacked in talent. So he ploded. along
until he had received his degrees.
As yet but half the work, and per
haps the least difficult portion of it,
had been done. By means of the stric
test economy, by avoiding all the asso
ciations of the students 1, corps which
would lead him to the kneips, and by
developing a commendable ingenuity
in the way of providing physicial sus
tenace out of moral plontidute, he pas
sed his course. But now came the
long and tedious search for a position
that would yield him a living. This
was rendered the more harassing as ho
found himself sufficiently mortal to fall
in lovo with a girl of his native town,
and ho could look forward to a corn
summation of the marraige and his
earthly happiness when he would be
proved with a pasturage.
At last his patience and industry
were rewarded with prospective suc
cess. He wrote an enthusiastic letter
to his betrothed —quito as enthusiastic
as old Dr. Brown when he said fer
vently “Let us pray” after his first kiss
in which ho pictured the natural
beauties of the rural pastorate which
had been promised him. “Let us
thank God, dear Mario,” ho wrote to
hor, “that Ho has given us so much
grace!; and I hope before the quarter of
another year shall have passed to lead
you into the pastor’s “house at Hotle
ben as tho pastor's wife, there to enjoy,
God willing, a long, a happy and easy
life.” . ...
For once in his life Feldman was
not destined to be disappointed. I e
received the position which ho hoped
for—a pastorato under the- pastorago
of a country nobleman—and within
eight days after his appointment ho
led his new wife into the new home.
Both found tlxo simple country me
well suited to thoir tastes. Their cir
cle of society was small but very se
lect—consisting of the old baron, a re
tired colonel, the young baron and his
wife and the schoolmaster. This com
pany used to come together very ire
quently, amusing themselves with a
game of whist or “skat,” sometimes
devoting themselves to musical enter
tainment one at others discussing the
latest events in tho literary world.
Pastor Feldman was also an enthusi
asm naturalist in which he was the
more encouraged as the young baron
was likewise devoted to science, and
both spent many hours among the
plants and animal life of the charming
grounds an 1 woods. These things are
mentioned to make it duly appear how
terrible was the trial which still wait
ed this good man, and just aitor it
soemed as though he had boon com
fortably settled for life.
It was one summer evening after the
intense heat of the sun had been some
what modified, that Pastor Feldman
made his way to the baron s house
But the holy man’s eye was mot quiet
and friendly as usual, and smgu ar an
xiety spread over his face. lie met
the old colonel on the steps and ms
anxiety only increased as be noticed
the latter turned away from lnm,
quickly drawing his snuff-box-from his
I pocket, and taking an enormous pinch
into his nose. The pastor sighed and
made his way into the drawing-room
DAWSON, OtA„ THURSDAY MAY 11, 1871.
where he found the baron and his wife.
He had scarcely spoken the words of
customary salutation, however, before
tho baroness hastily withdrew toward
the door, and the baron himself could
not conceal a certain embarrassment.
“Your surprise and your disgust do
not astonish me,” said the poor pastor,
sadly ; “you notice it, too, don’t you ?
There is tho unmistakably and dread
ful death-odor about mo !”
It is, indeed, a very remarkable
smell,” said the baron.
“I can explain it in no other way,”
replied the pastor, with sorrowful ear
ne*tness, “than by assuming that mor
tification has alroady set in. I had
the first intimation of it to-day during
a baptism which I was giving. My
wife remarked it as soon ns I camo
home, but I thought that a thorough
washing would remedy the whole mat
ter. But tho action of tho colonel,
whom I just met, and your own, left
mo in doubt that it is something deep
er than all this. If my assumption be
correct, I have but a few days to live.”
The baron and his wife tried to con
sole the poor man, but in vain.
“I am lost,” he said, with a melan
choly attempt at a smile. “God’s will
be done. All I ask’ is, that lie will
give me time to put my family matters
in order, and then I will willingly
die.”
The pastor went homo and threw
himself upon the bed. Tho baron
sent tho stablo-boy to tho nearest town
to bring the doctor. The latter found
his patient in a great sweat, with a
steaming pot of herb tea by his side.
“Save him, doctor, for God's sake,
save him,” cried the young wife, as
she burst into tears.
The doctor examined, inquired, felt,
smelled, drummed, and listened at tho
patient’s side, but then shook his head.
He found it impossible to locate or ac
count for the ominous odor.
“It is a very strange thing,” 6aid
the medical man. “Continue drink
ing the herb tea, and take a purgative,
for which I give you a proscription.
In the morning, tako a cold bath.
Further than tins, I cannot advise you
for tho present. In fact, I will ac
knowledge that, in all my extensive
practice, no disease of this nature has
over been presented to me.”
The poor pastor drained whole riv
ers of herb tea, gulped down the med
icine which the doctor had prescribed,
and next morning, after a sound and
refreshing night’s sleep, he felt as well
as usual. But in the afternoon, just
as Ire was going to church to unite a
young couple in’marriage, the dread
ful odor made itself painfully appar
ent again. The pastor wont through
tho marriage sorvioe with, a trembling*
voice, while tho bridal pair &ud friends
looked anxiously about them to find
tho source of a smell which was sim
ply unaccountable to them. At last
the undivided attention of tho compa
ny was directed upon the pastor.
There could be no doubt about it—the
horrible smell came from him.
The bridal pair and their followers
withdrew from tho church -as soou as
possible, and tho preachor crawled
home and sent for the doctor again.
The latter came and found his patient
in his dressing-gown, stretchod upon a
sofa, hut this time thoro were no evi
dences of tho singular odor.
“I toll you something is wrong, Ez
ekiel, ’ said his good wife ; “you must
go to Dr. Oppolver in Leipsic—l shall
die of fear if you do not ”
“It’s no use, M arie,” was tho poor
husband’s answer. “It is tho warn
ing of tho deathly poison—mortifica
tion itself—-and no physician can avail
now. I hear the call from above, and
am ready to yeild to the supreme will.
You must be consoled, Marie; the
Lord will not desert you. You will
not suffer for want, for, since I have
had this good place, I have had my
lifo insured for SO,OOO, besides which
you will receive tlio regular widow’s
pension. I had hoped indeed, to spend
many happy years with you yet, but
man proposes and God disposes.
Then a few days passed without any
apparent change, tho dreadful odor
manifesting itself from time to time.
Yet the pastor ate, drank, and slept
liko a healthy man When at homo
and free from tho odor, he would gain
new hope.
One day, a servant camo from tho
baron’s house, and said that tho colo •
nel had sent him to_ invite the pastor
to a game of “skat.”
“I can’t go, my dear Frederick, said
the pastor, “I cannot make any vis
its in my present condition. You must
toll the colonel so.”- „
“I can’t tako any excuse, sir, said
the servant; “the colonel says that he
will come for you himself if you do not
go without- As far as the smell is
concerned, givo yourself any un
easiness. Large pinches of snuff and
pipos of very strong tobacco have boon
provided, which will counteract every
other smell. So you will be expected
at 3 o’clock.
The good pastor had felt that the
colonel had given him this iyitation in
order to afford him some distraction,
and that it would be rude on his part
to reject it. He went, but he noticed
in ascending tho mansion stops that
tho odor had come back, and it was so
much stronger now that there was no
doubt as to tho death smell. The bar
oness went away as soon as the odor
manifested itself, and the colonel or
dered the card tabic to bo brought to
the open window, and the pipes to be
lighted. Tho poor pastor played in
vorv despair, for, in »pite of the thick
clouds of smoke, the dreadful smell
rose into the noses of the poor players
from time to time, as if k were a warn
ing of tho mortification of all flesh.
The pastor happened to be very lucky
jn the game, and this caused his spir
its to rise somewhat. lie had just re-
ceived a hand full of face cards, and
wa6 sure ,to win the game, when a ser
vant male his appearance and asked
tho attrition of the young baron for a
moment.
“Well, what is it?” asked the bar
on, as he laid down his cards.
“The mole-catcher has just come,
and I wanted to ask if he should begin
at once on the lower meadows, as tho
vermin have done more damage there
than anywhere else ?”
“Certainly. Let him sot his trap
there first, for the moles have nearly
eaten up there. Givo him a groschon
for every one ho catches.”
Tho servant loft the room and the
baron turned to tho table to tako up
his cards. Hero he found a most as
tonishing sight. The pastor sat there
with open mouth and staring eyes,
the five isr.fecards spread out on the ta
ble bofore him, the fingers of his right
hand stretchod out like a falcon’s
claws, and unable to speak a single
word.
“My God, pastor ?’’ cried the colo
nel. “What in the devil is tho matter
with you?”
This sacrilegious mixture frightoned
the pastor out of his apparent trance. 1
“Moles !” he cried, “moles ! What
an immense sheep I have been.” And '
then the good man began to danco j
around the card tablo like a madman. |
“But, great heaven, tell us what the '
matter is !” cried the colonel again, j
as he jumped from his seat.
“He is crazy !” exclaimed the school
master, as he placed his chair between
h imself and tho dancing pastor.
“Moles !” cried the pastor again, as
he stood almost breathless in front of
tho baron. Then, reaching his hand
into the back pockot of his coat, he
brought forth—in a manner that is
simply indescribablo—a dead mole.
Then he dropped it as if it had been a
hot coal, out of the window into tho
garden below.
The problem was solved. During
a walk a couple of Sundays bofore, he
had picked up a dead mole and placed
it in his pocket, with the purpose of
adding it to his collection of objects of
nature, but had entirely forgotton it.
Os course, this was the source of this
horrible and inexplicable odoY —morti-
fication indeed—which had given ev
erybody so much concern, and the
pastor now remembered that it had on
ly been perceptible on those occasions
when he had put on his best coat,
though not thought of it bofore.
He hurried back to his good wife,
throw his arms about hor nock, and
burst into tears of joy, as he exclaim
ed : “God be thanked and praised
forever, my dear Marie ; I didn’t smell
at all—it vrat> t. mole.”
Since that time, Pastor Feldman
less absent-minded than before has
lived a happy life with his wife and
family, and there has been no serious
“mortification” in his whole household.
Ttie Supports of Religion..
When tho pulse beats high, and
wc are flushed with youth, and hoalth,
and vigor, when all goes on prosper
ously, and success seems almost to an
ticipate our wishes, then we feel not
the want of the consolations of reli
gion ; but when fortuno frowns, or
friends fo»ake us; when sorrow or
sickness, or old ago comes upon us,
then it is that the superiority of the
pleasures of religion is established
over those of dissipation and vanity,
which are very apt to fly from us when
wo are most in want of their aid.
There is scarcely a moro melancholy
sight to a considerate mind than that
of an old man who is a stranger to
those only true sources of satisfaction.
llow affecting, and at tho same time
how disgusting, is it to see such an
one awkwardly catching at the pleas
ures of his younger years, which are
now beyond his reach ; or feebly at
tempting to retain them, wliilo they
mock his endeavors and eludo his
frasp ! To such a one gloomily, in
eed, does the evening of life set in !
All is sour and cheerless. Ho can
neither look backward nor forward
with hope ; while the aged Christian,
relying on tho assured mercy of liis
Redeemer, can calmly reflect that his
dismission is at hand ; that his re
demption draweth nigh. Wliilo his
strength declines, and his faculties de
cay, ho can quietly repose himsolf on
tho fidelity of God; and at tho very
entrance of tho valley of tho shadow
of death, ho can lift up an eye, dim
perhaps and feeble, yet occasionally
sparkling with hope, and confidently
looking forward to tho noarpossession
of his noavonly inheritance, “to thoso
joys which eye hath not scon, nor oar
heard, noither have entered into tho
heart of man.” What stiiking les
sons have we had of tho precarious
tenure of all sublunary possessions !
Wealth, and power, and prosperity,
how peculiarly transitory and uncer
tain ! But religion dispenses her
choicest cordials in the seasons of exi
gence, in poverty, in exile, in Sickness,
and in death. The essential superi
ority of that support which is derived
from religion is less felt, at least it is
loss apparent, when tho Christian is in
full possession of riches, and splondor,
and rank, and all tho gifts of nature
and fortune. But when all theso are
swept away by tho rude hand of time
or the rough blasts of adversity, the
truo Christian stands, like thg glory
of tho forest, erect and vigorous ;
stripped, indeed, of his summer foli
age, but more than ever discovering
to tho obsering eye tho solid strength
of liis substantial texture. — Wiltor
foree.
A physician in Goshen, Indiana,
prepared a dose of chloral-hydrate for
his wife, but she, afraid of its effects,
refused to take it. To show her that
it was harmless the h usbar.d took the
dose himself, aud died from its effects.
The Fatal Four.
I Five of us were sitting in James Mc-
Devitt’s room, talking and drinking,
when John Fisher suddenly said —
) “Let us form ourselves into a socrot
society, to bo known as tho Fatal Four.
|We will take a solemn oath to help
each other in any cause whatsoever
We will confide all our socrots to each
other, and swear, also, not to divulgo
any secrets entrusted to our care.”
j James MoDovitt, John Fishor, Hen
ry Bonoombo aud Peter Carnicuger,
immediately agroed ; but I declined to
join any such foolish society. Honry
i Boncombe was asked to draw up an
oath, and ho complied. And such an
oath as it was ! I considered it a
blasphemy.
| As I saw that aftor I had refused to
join them they regarded mo coolly, I
soon departed. Littlo did I think
what an influence this “Fatal Four”
would have over my future life !
I My name is George Wolinan, and I
j was a clerk in the store of Mr. Seth
, Cleveland, with a salary of eight hun
dred dollars a year. My employer
j had a daughter, Isabella, as beautiful
as a dream ; and, to tell tho truth, I
J was in lovo with her. But I had a ri
j val in the person of John’Fisher, one
|of the “Fatal Four.” ne was somo
j distant connection of Mr. Cleveland’s
j and was reported to be immensely
; rich.
I loved Isabella with my whole soul,
| and she loved me. But how could I
ask Mr. Cleveland to give mo his
daughter for a wife on a salaiy of oight
hundred a year ? However, lat last
stimmonod up courage enough to ask
him.
“And does Isabella love you ?” he
said.
“Yes, sir, I think sho does.”
“Well, George, of course I couldn’t 1
think of giving my daugter to a man
who has nothing to support her with 1
but eight hundred a year. But, I
know you to be an honest, industrious |
young man, and if, at the end of two 1
years, you are any hotter off, I shall I
give my consent to the niarriago.” |
Os course I thanked him, aud wont
and told 801 l the good nows. !
Through some means John Fishor j
heard of our engagement, and he was
furious. But he managed to put on
a good face, and congratulated ino.
Now Mr. Cleveland had a safe in
which ho had placod United States
Bonds to a large amount, and also
some four or five thousand dollars in
cash. There wore but two keys to the
safe. Mr. Cleveland had one, and I
had tho other.
About a month after my conversa
tion with Mr. Ulevolaud, he called me
into his private office and told me that
the safe had been robbed tho be
fore, and that a handkerchief with my
name on it, and covered with blood,
had-been found on the floor. There
were also finger-marks found on the
safe, marked with blood. It was in
vain I protested my innocence, and ex
plained that I had cut my finger the
day before, and had used my hand
kerchief, and had Probably dropped
it. Appoarancos were against me,
and I was committed to jail on cliargo
of burglary.
I refused to employ a lawyer, as I
know that I was innocent. 1 received
a visit from Bell, and she porsuaded
me to let her employ a detective, to
soe if ho could not find the guilty par
ty or parties.
The day of my trial caine, and I re
ceived no communication from John
Ross, the detective. I was conducted
to the court room, and placed in the
prisoners’ stand. The witnesses wore
called, but the most deadly evidenco
was given by Mr. Cleveland. He
spoke of my uniform conduct and mor
al character, but tho mark of the
bloody hand, aud my blood-stained
handkerchief could not be explained.
I told the jfldge that I had nothing
to say except that I was innocent. —
Then the usual question, “Guilty or
not guilty ?” was asked.
“Not guilt}’,” I answered.
“Yes, as I can prove !” cried a voice
frprn the crowd, and John Boss, the
detective come forward, having in
charge—could 1 beliovo my eyes ?—the
‘Fatal Four.’
Detective Ross was called to tho
witness box, aud testified as follows:
My name is John Ross, and my call
ing is that of a detective. 1 wus em
ployed by a friend of tbo prisoner’s.
I examined tho bloody print of tho
hand on the safe, and discovered that
the hand that made that mark had
but tlireo fingers ; tho forefinger was
missing. I followed this clue, and
fouud that tho robbory had been com
mitted by a society or organization
known by tho name of the “Fatal
Four,” but directly by John Fisher,
ho having unlocked tho safe by a key
abstracted from the pocket of Air. Geo.
Welman, without his knowledge
The forefinger of his right hand is
gone. I accused him of robbory, and
he confessed .it, and implicating the
rest of tho “Fatal Four” as his ac
complices. He said that he had con
tracted gambling debts, or ‘debts of
honor,’ and that he had confided tho
fact to tho ‘Fatal Four,’ aud by their
instigation and help ho had committed
the robber} - ; that he found a liand
korchiof-of Mr. Weltnan’s on tho floor
of the office, covered with bood, and
that he conceived the idea of laying
the blame of the robbery on Mr. Wel
man ; that he cut himself slightly, and
with the blood he made the mark of a
bloody hand on the safe, and left the
handkerchief on the floor.”
Os course I was discharged. Mr.
Cleveland said that in atonement for
his mistake, I should marry Bell im
mediately. The sign of our firm now
reads “Cleveland and Welman.” The
I “Fatal Four” were sent to Sing Sing
for a long period of years.
So docs flic World.
Our rarloil day* pas* on and on,
Our hopes fade unfulfilled away.
And things which seem the life of lift?,
Are taken from us day by dav ;
An& yet through all the busy ■treeta
The erowd of pleasum*oookeru throng,
The puppet’* play, the showman’s calls,
And gossips chat the whole day long,
sdnd so the world goes on.
Our little dramas come to naught;
Our lives may fall, onr darling pluus
J/uy crumble Into nothingucss,
Our firmest castle fall to sand t
A ud yet the children sing and dance,
The money makers laugh and shout,
The stars unmindful, still shine bright,
Unconscious that our light is out.
so the world goes on, *
The houae grows sad that once was gay,
The dour ones acek their blessed Home,
And we may watch and wait in rain
To hear thefr well known footsteps come;
And yet The sunlight checks the floor,
Aw d makes the summer shadows long,
The rose-buds at the casement bloom.
The bird pours fourth his cheeiful song,
Aud so the world goes on.
And God goes on, and with our woe,
Weaves golden threads of joy and peace,
Guarding with his heart of hearts,
Our (lays of puiu. our days of ease- •
J7e marks them all- the seed, the sheaves,
The danger’s smile, the mourner's tears,
vfud keeps them safe- -llis children nil—
Through all the great eternal years,
Aud so, thank God, the world goes oa.
Drifting.
Tho following beautiful sentiments
are from that excellent Dollar Month
ly, Wood's Household Magazine :
Anybody can go with tho tide 1 It
requires no effort to go with tho cur
rent I Any one can drift! And how
many, how very many aro drifting.
The bright sea-weed floats along to
tho ocean, and, as it goes, sends us
back by the ripples, a final farewell
The flowers that wo toss in tho stream
float onward, but uot upward, and we
soe thorn no more. Boats must be
anchored or manued, or they too aro
swept away by tho hurrying, restless
waters.
There is uo standing still in this
world. We must either advance or
retrograde, go up stream or down, re
sist tho current or drift with it.
It is so easy to drift! Wo think
while the sky is blue and cloudless,
and the bright green shores skirt ei
ther side, while the waters glido along
peacefully, though powerfully, that
there is no need of borrowing trouble;
that somehow or otlior, all will be
right and bright in the end. Wo draw
in our oars of self-restraint, and ar
range the rudder of morality so as to
keep about midway of tho stream, and
then we ply ourselves to enjoying the
.present. Wo have plenty of company
all tho way—it's so popular to drift.
Now and then we meet somo one
struggling against the current, work
ing manfully, heartily, hopefully, aud
gaining slowly but surely. Wo ad
mire his pluck, his s toad fastnoss of
purpose, but we aro not ready for such
life work. Wo think but littlo of the
hereafter, and are bound to get our
rest, our happiness, our fill in this
world. We tell him the current will
bo against him all tho way ; that he
will find it work, work, work, con
stantly ; that ho had hotter stop toil
ing, adopt a free and easy life and
drift along with us. A warning comes
from him across the water. Ho urges
us to turn while wo have it in our
power. He speaks of tho destrurtiun
which will surely overtake us if wo
continue in our cours l '. lie warns u*
of tho grave “where there is uo work,
nor doviee, nor knowledge nor wis
dom.”
110 tells us wo aro taking our rest
in tho wrong place; that God Iras or
dained sweat for foreheads iu this
world ; that “This is not our continu
ing city,” that we seek ono to cento.
Glowingly ho speaks of the beautiful
laud whither he is directing his
course, and implores us to accompany
him, and as we hesitate, he tells us of
one whose “grace is sufficient” for us,
who will help us in every time of need,
and he breathes a prayer to Him who
increaseth the strength of those that
have uo might. Ho urgos us to tako
the cross for a compass, and be. guided
by it. But we turn away. We are
‘ not ready to deny ourselves, wo aro
not willing to “work out our salva
tion.” Besides the choice would not
bo popular with tho multitude. • No,
wo will drift and take away tho con
sequences, family behaving, locklcw.ly
trusting that wo shall avoid tho des
truction so surely prophesied.
| We' may trust what wo will, wo
may believe what wo may, but there
is only ono trust, ono hope, one belief
that can afford us salvation. We
must beliovo on tiro Lord J esus Christ,
for “There is none other name under
heaven given among men whereby wo
: must bo savod,” and “Whosoovor liv
-1 oth and believeth in Him shall nevor
die.”
It takes a groat deal of will, moral
courage, and Christian principle to
stem the tide. Did it ever occur to
you when everything seemed against
you, and repeated failures stared you
in the face, when discouraged and
disheartened, aud almost determined
to yield to tho force of circumstances
—that to give up in despair, to cease
to make further effort, was what any
ono could do ? A coward is easily
overwhelmed by difficulties, easily
persuaded to drift, for it takes unusual
bravery, courage, perseverance, to rise
above successive defeats —to impel
oneself onward against the powerful
currents of this life.
Any one can sin ! We need 1 no help,
no assistance in yielding to tempta
tion. V\ e* got no credit for going
astray, it’s a very common thing to
do, there’s no merit in it—it requires
no skill, uo tact, no talent, no money
to sin ! Any one can drift 1 But it
takes prayer, religious principle, earn-
VOL. VI.--N 0 13.
ostnoss of put-pose, constant watching
to resist tho evil in this frorhl—to’
struggle against thfi tide.
A coward doesn’t dare to be in-'
dependent in ignoring prevailing cus
toms, even though bo should know
thorn to bo wrong, still, ho will drift
with tho masses - It takns resolution
firmness, Christian heroism to brave
public opinion and espouse an unpop
ular causo when wo bulievo it our du
ty so to do. Our motives a'ro not ap
preciated, wo are mado objects of de
rision and reproach oftentimes, but wo
must find comfort in looking to the
cross, and must be guided by it, re
membering “That the suffinings of
this present time are not worthy to be'
compared with tho glory which shall
bo revealed in us.”
It is left with us to choose whether
we will drift or not Our wills are
given us that we may make this choice.
W® are allowed to decide our own fate.
If you driit you will eventually be
Lost. You will drift into outer dark
ness. You won’t need a Christ by
your side to comfort and strengthen
you. You won’t need a cross to in
spire and encourage. Prayor will bo
as useless to yeu as a koy without, a
lock, fts long as you aro determined to'
drift, and when the shadows fall, a tiff
the night approaches, they will signi
fy that eternal darkness is your por
tion—the portion of all those who
drift But if you decide to resist the'
current, “Tho joy of the Lord will bo
your strength.” “VVhon thou passeth'
through the wators He will bo with
thee, and through the rivers they shall
not ovorflow thoe. Your path will b#’
as the path of tho just, a shining light
that shineth more and more unto the
the perfect day.” The perfect day is
Heaven—an eternity of rest. “Let us;
labor therefore to enter into that rest.”
BAD ON SCOTLAND.
[Springfield Republican Letter.]
“To tell the truth about it, the Scot
land that’s invested in romance, that
lives in tho memory and in tin
air, is very different from the Scotland
that’s on tho ground as you find it-
Conceive yoursolf dallying among the
honeysuckles that over bang tho door
way of a butiful cottage; roncive your
self going in and finding the bottle'
and Bible togother, and thinking the
place kind o dirty—this is really very
much like going to Scotland. Who
ever has read ’Waverley,’ the Scotisli
Chiefs,’ or tho songs of him who sign
ed himself, with a dignity that seem
ed unaffected, ‘Robert Burns, Poet,’
is prepaired to believe that tho ‘Lights'
and BUados of Cottish Life’ must bo
a picture of genuine simplicity and
happiness, of which by no means tlio
hard conditions of tho subject render
ed necessary to paint evil larking in
tho midst. He does not, for instance
suppose Soouttcr Johnny and Tain,-
getting ’unco happy, a caso of wido
application, but attributes all the bad
to the intention of the author. Yet
Scotland is more drunken than Ire
land. Each drinks
gallons of whiskey a year, but Ireland
is nearly twice as populous. Scotland
has twice as manv distillores, but Ire
land brews aad *drinks much more'
ale.
For every 240 hihabitants in Scot
land thoro is a house licensed to serf
spirits for consumption on the prem
ises, aud the combined family >vine
and grocery trade is very large besides.
Scotland indeed has a plodgo of her
unenviable superiority being in posses
sion of an ebouy whistlo won at a drin
king bout in the time of James VI.,
when, in the train of Anne of Denmark
thore como to Scotland a Danish gen
tleman of gigantic stature aud inordin
ate lovo for driuk, being, in short, an
immonso walking hogshead. 110 drank
at various courts of Europe without a
defeat; but, challenging tho Scots to"
a contest, the conditions of which
were that ho should be victor who'
continued longest able to blow the
whistle, a Saottish baronet, after a
contest of three days and three nights'
left the Scandinavian under tho table,-
unable to pucker. The whistle was,-
at'last accounts, in tho possession of a‘
Scottish M. P. m
Hot toddy is poured every night
down the throats of noblemen, clergy,
judges, laborers, ladies, and strangers,
who soon fall into the habits of the'
country. It seems, however, to be
drank not with desperation, but from
horeditary habit, aud strong liking.
Nowhere but in Great Britain, where,
tho Times soys, drinking is the crying
scandal, -frill you- find so many dry
looking mouths, so many flushed faces'
so many lips washed and wrung, and
Scotland in this respect, is a3 bad as
any part of tho kingdom 1 .
Another bad tiling According t d
official statistics, the proportion of il
legitimate births to the total number,
is iu Austria about 11 per cent; in
Scotland, Denmark and Holland about
10 per cent; in France awl 'Prussia,
about 7 per cent; iu England, Nor
way and Sweeden, less, and in Ire
land, which preserves its chastity
while suffering every other degrada
tion, least of all. Within fifteen;
years tho number of illegitimate births’
registered in Scotland amounted to'
over 160,000, and many doubtless es
caped registration; while the Scots
man, the chief newspaper of Scot
land, estimates that during the time
over 100,000, or ono-third of the first
births aftor marriage, occurred within 1
six months This number affiled
makes over 250,000 Women unchaste'
'before marriage, or about 1-7,000 a
year, besides prostitutes. This im
morality, by which say one sixth .of all
the children are born- before marriage,
or within six month after, belongs, it
is said chiefly to the, lower classes, but
it will never do for nations to ascribe'
guilt to the working people, and then 1
call thems* Ives in any degree rid or i»
