Pike County Democrat, Volume 26, Number 24, Petersburg, Pike County, 25 October 1895 — Page 3

<Slu£fifet County §mo«at M. KeO. 8TOOP8, Editor tad Proprietor. PETERSBURG. - - - INDIANA. MY BOY IS GONE. My boy is rone! The house is very still. The summer breeze creeps through the empty hall Old Rover venders vaguely down the hill. Mutely expectant of his master's call. Ah. Rover, you and I shall wait in rain: We shall not hear that merry shout again. The kitchen clock ticks out the lonely hours. And. undisturbed, puss slumbers in the sun: Vo heedless feet are racing through the flow* ers. As oft and oft his careless feet have done Alas! my little boy with dancing feet Will nevermore come flying down the street Mow long the day! How cruel long the day That once sped by as if on fleetest wing: The while 1 watched him in his happy play. And smiled to hear his childish carol ring. Dead silence now: dead silence every* where. » And naught for me but heavy, dark despair. This morn 1 found, behind the closet door. His tattered cap. a ball, a cherished game. {I caught them to my heart, and o’er and o'er. With broken sobs. I called my darling s name. Not all the wealth of all the land and sea Could buy that d'6ar old ragged cap of me. They tell me it is wrong to grieve like this; That I should look with hope and faith' above: That he is happy in that realm of bliss. And does not need my careful mother love ’Tis kindly meant: they speak the best they know: * , But, oh! I cannot, yet. my woe. ,^-Mrs. Louise J. Strong, in Home and Country. = i WINNING A WAGER. BY HENRIETTA PRATT.

H, FLORENCE. I’m 60 g 1 ad you’ve come!” I And Kitty WalIters gave her friend a raptuous hug-. “And just in time, too, cherie,” she continued, “for tomorrow n i g h t Mrs. Wilson (fives a masquerade party, to open her new

frohome. She left such an urgent invitation for you, ,but we were afraid you would disappoint us.” Kitty Walters had met her old school 'friend at the depot, and, talking and laughing, hurried her into the carriage. “But Kitty, 1 have no fancy dress with me,” broke in Florence when Kitty stopped for breath. “Never mind, mamma and 2 can ■scheme one vfp for you. Just wait till you see mine; I planned it to represent -a marguerite—white satin train, that was grandma's wedding dress, and oh, so pretty and quaint, and yellow gauze -skirt and waist with white petals .over it. The train is all bordered with flow“er, and the sweetest little cap—just a great big marguerite! And don’t 1 look ni$e in it? We’ll fix you out in some way. Oh, it jyiil be such fun, and you will meet Tom.” “And who may this Tom be, dear?'’ asked Florence. “Er—Mr. Lee,” stammered Kitty, Mushing- “I know you will like him, fbut please don’t try to like him too 3much, for you see—oh, well, that is”— turning to look out of the carriage window—“you see we had a little spat last night and he went home in something of a temper.” “Are you really engaged?-* Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Florence, as the -vision of a fiainty bridemaid’s dress rose before her. “Well, not exactly,” Kitty replied, “but I’ll tell you all about it after luncheon. There’s no time now, for here we are dnd mamma is waiting on the porch to welcome you.” That afternoon, with Mrs. Walters, they went up to the attic to see what they could find in the way of a costume j for Florence.

i ve nan a mina to give you \ mine,” Kitty said, seating1 herself on a j biff trunk and swinging her little feet j back and forth. “You see, Tom asked ;me to go with him and then bet me five pairs„of gloves to a new hat that I ^couldn’t get up a good enough disguise j to fool him, provided I gave him a i waltz. I took the bet, intending to I take my costume to Mrs. Wilson’s and I dress there after our arrival, so that 'Tom. couldn’t get even a peep at it. And now, what do you think! I was just ^rating the finishing touches on m3' cap last night when Tom called. I dropped it and went into the parlor to ' *ee him. We were joking over our bet, -when in came that scamp of a Bob with my cap on his head. Of course ‘Tom pretended not to notice it, but I •could have cried. When he sees it .again he will know me at once.” And poor little Kitty dolefully shook her .curly head. “Never mind, dearie, you will have the prettiest costume there, and you can send him this in payment of your bet.” And Florence held up an old high silk hat, which had belonged to Kitty’s grandfather and whioh Mrs. Walters had just resurrected from an -«ld trunk. Kitty did not answer; she was thinking. “Oh, Florence, if yoii’d only do it!” she exclaimed at length, with an excited laugh. “It would be such fun— and 1 am sure you could do it, you are so clever.” * “Do what, you little goose?” asked Florence. “Why, just this: you take my costume and go with Tom, and I’ll dress up in some old duds as a beggar. Tom will never know me and I’ll be sure to lool him.” “But I don’t know Tom!** “So much the better. He doesn’t know you are here, and so won't suspect a thing. You can be all dressed .and masked when he comes, and can step right into the carriage. He won’t; know your voice under the, mask, and -we’re about the same figure. You can •

just say that we will call the bet oft, as he saw the cap laat evening.” “But 1 won’t know how to talk to him.” “Oh, 1*11 post you on a few subjects to carry you through till you get there. It’s only a little way, and Tom always does most of the talking, himself. You’ll only need to say ‘yes’ to everything, and pretend that you are tired.” “Shall I say ‘yes’ to everything?” “Oh, s you know what 1 mean—but you will, won't you?” The temptation of the pretty gown was too much for Florence, apd so it was settled. The next night saw Florence go off with her father with considerable misgivings. Kitty had dressed herself as a beggar, and had procured a hand organ and a cat, which she dressed up as a monkey. -1 Florence looked very sweet in Kitty's pretty dress, with her long, dark braids hanging down her back. She acknowledged as much, as she viewed herself in the cheval glass, but her heart failed her when she was informed that the formidable Thomas had arrived. “What if he discovers me? I mustn’t let him—that's all—I must carry it out, now!” She gave herself no time for further thought, but ran downstairs and into the parlor. “You saw my cap last night.” she said, giving him no chance,for a greeting, “and so Wb must call the bet off.” “That’s so,” Tom acknowledged. “It wouldn’t have been quite fair, and there was no time to change it But -why have you got your mask on?” “Because of my hair,” she replied nervously. “Bow do you like my wig —isn’t it lovely?” And she swung around to show him her long braids. “Not as pretty as your own light curls,” he answered, tenderly. “Say, Kitty, forgive me for*being such a bear last night, I—” “Oh, that’s all right,” she broke in. “It was my fault. Come let's go. I wouldn't be late for anything.” She thought she could do better out of the glare of the lights and the tender scrutiny of his brown eyes. lie put her into the carriage and, to her horror, she heard him give the order: “Drive slowly.” “Oh, mercy,” she thought, “I know what that means. I guess I had better tell him.'’ But before she had the chance, he relieved her by saying, quietly: “I suppose you might as well know how I am to dress, and then we can have as many dances as we like. After all I am glad that we shall know each other. I am Oliver Cromwell, for the evening, and I want at least four waltzes. May I have them, Kitty?” “Yes,” murmured Florence faintly. Kitty had told her to say “yes” to everything. “And say you will forget how pn-1

“There can be no mistake; bat there! I’ll not say a word more, dear, until yon wish me to," Tom broke in, quiet* ly, and Florence, with a sigh of relief, drew herself back as far as she could into the corner. Kitty had certainly never anticipated this; and what was she not getting the poor girl into! “Tom,” she hesitated, “won’t you please have him drive a little faster? I’m getting so cold.” “Certainly,” Tom answered. “1 should have remembered your dress was thin. Such a dainty gown, Kitty; you look as if you had just stepped from some old painting.” He went on I talking about trifles, but her thoughts j were in a whirl and, unconsciously following Kitty’s suggestion, she murmured “res,” to everything at random, until the carriage stopped, and she thankfully drew a deep breath of lelief to think the trial was over with at last. In a few minutes they were in the ballroom and. rushing up to Kitty, she whispered, nervously: “It’s all right, but such a time! I'm just dying to tell you all about it.” And Kitty gayly gronnd out a strain of “Do, do, my huckleberry, do,” and catching Oliver Cromwell by the arm whirled him off for a few- turns of the waltz which the orchestra w.as playing. She had on a pair of her brother's boots and managed to waltz more on his feet than on the floor. He thought the beggar woman was one of the small boys of the family, and rudely brake from her to rejoin his Marguerite, from whose side he scarcely parted, bringing her ices and giving her every attention. But wherever Cromwell and the Marguerite wandered the beggar always followed, grinding the little hand organ, whose annoying strains were not half so provoking as the constant presence of the performer. To tell the truth, Kitty was getting a little anxious. Then the march came: in which they were all to unmask before going to supper. Tom was walking with his Marguerite and the Org^a grinder was at their heels. Kitty had told the joke to several of her friends, and quite a crowd gathered around them. Tom had taken off his mask, and stood waiting for his partner to do likewise, but poor Florence did not havp the courage. ^ “I will help you with it,” he said, gently, and he loosened the cord that held it on. The mask fell off and disclosed a perfect stranger. Tom gasped. A merry peal of laughter came from behind him. “You've lost, Tom,” said Kitty, demurely.. “Let me introduce you to my old friend. Miss Travers.” “We've already met, with a vengeance!” Tom blurted out; and then realizing the immensity of the joke, he

AT THE MASQUERADE.

kind I was to you last night,” be continued, leaning towards her. “Your little face haunted me, and I want to tell you how badly I felt after I> had gone. And then there is something else I must tell you—” “Oh, don’t crush my sleeves,” broke in Florence. Something h%d to be done. This was becoming a desperate situation. And then she went on, hurriedly: “You see, lam not much more than basted together, and this stuff is so flimsy, the least little pull would tear it.” That will keep, his hands off, she thought; but she saw she must do all the talking now. It would not do to give him another chance. “This was grandma’s wedding dress,” she continued, “and if 1 should tear it mother would feel so badly. What have you been doing to-day?” He was thinking that sleeves were a small matter to come between them, when he was so eager to declare his love. “Oh, the usual round of calls, but I was longing all the time for a drive.” This was better, and, after all, it wasn’t so hard. They ought to be nearing the house, for Kitty had said it was not far, though already it seemed to her that they had gone miles. “Well, why didn’t you go?” she asked. “Because the little girl I had asked to go witft me refused to. But tonight 1 have something much more important to ask for—” Florence saw her mistake. “Who did you call on?” she interrupted. “And which 1 hope you will not absolutelj' refuse me,” he continued, determlnately, taking possession of one of her hands. “It means my whole life’s happiness, Kitty dear, for—” “Tom, see here!” she exclaimed, in a trembling tone. “If you really mean that, and . will promise not to say a word more about it until we are on our way home, I will answer “yes’ to anything! No! I won’t allow that,® either,” with a gasping sob. “You must treat me very sedately until then, or I’ll—■ m—tell you what an awful mistake—”

broke into a hearty laugh, in which Florence quite willingly joined. “I hope Miss Travers will excuse my seeming forwardness; and* Kitty, I’ll settle the score with you on our way home.” And Florence whispered to her friend that he surely would!—N. Y. Truth. Names, Not Numbers. «. Thirty years ago a subaltern in the English service was expected to know every man in his company by name after he had served six months with it. We all know how invaluable it is to speak to another by name: “Step shorter, Atkins!” “Lower your buttr' Jones!” “March on that bush, Robinson!” appeal to the men directly. “Step shorter, No. 4 from the left!” “Lower your butt, there!” “March on that bush, you in the center!” appeal to none in particular, and half a dozen heads will be turned round to see whom the officer means. It is irritating in civil life to be spoken of as Mr. Thingummy or Mr. What‘s-your-name, and soldiers have the same feelings as civilians. The subaltern of today is expected to know as much as the subaltern of thirty years ago. The queen’s regulations say; “Subaltern officers, on joining, are to provide themselves With a nominal roll of their charge (half the company), and are as soon as possible to make themselves acquainted with the disposition, character, age and service of each of their men.”—Blackwood’s Magazine. __ He Had Observed It, Too. • “Fashionable people have a great way of saying they are not at home when in reality they are at home,” said the man who had been out trying to collect some bills. “Yes,” replied a fellow employe. “Well, that seems to be the way of the world. The more money a man owes the more he tries to put on style.” —Washington Star. —Ethelred II. oik England was The Unready, from the fact that he was always behind with his military preparations to resist an enemy.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. The Great Preacher Makes an Eloquent Plea for the Horse, Aad, InelclrnUtUjr, Telia of Race Track Kvlla—The Wicked W»y» or Bookmaker*—The Horse Is War and Peace. Rev. T. DcWitt Talmage, in his iterttOD prepared for publication this week, discusses “The Dissipations of the Race Course,” basing his words on the text: Hast thou riven the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? He psweth is the valler.and rejoiceth. he *oeth on to meet the armed men. He saith among the trumpets, ha, ha: and he smelletbthe buttle afar off. the thunder or the captains and the shouting.—Job mb.. 19. SI. 2k We hare recently had long columns of intelligence from the race corn's*, and multitudes flocked to the watering places to witness equine competition. and there is lively discussion in ail .households about the right nnd wrong of such exhibitions of mettle and speed, und when there is a heresy abroad that the cultivation of a horse’s fleetuess is an iniquity instead of a commendable virtue—at 6uch a time a sermon is demanded of every minister who would like to defend public morals on the one hand, and who is not willing to see an unrighteous abridgement of innocent amusement on the other. In this discussion I shall follow no sermonic precedent, hut will give independently whan I consider the Christian and common sense Tiew of this potent, all-absorb-ing and agitating question of the t urf. There needs to be a redistribution of coronets among the brute creation. For ages the lion has been called the king of beasts. I knock off its coronet and put the crown upon the horse, in every way nobler, whether in shape, or spirit, or sagacity, or intelligence, or affection, or usefulness. He is semihuman, and knqws how to reason on times, part horse and part man, seems centaur of olden

to be a suggestion oi tne iuct tnat uie horse is'sometlnng more than a teeu§$. Job in my text sets forth his strength, his beauty, his majesty, the panting of his nostril, the pawing of his hoof, and his enthusiasm for the battle. What Rosa Bonheur did for the cattle, and what Landseer did for the deg. Job with mightier pencil does for the horse. Eighty-eight times does the Bible speak of him. He comes into every kingly procession, and into every great occas on, and into every triumph. It is very evident that Job, and David, and Isaiah, and Ezekiel, and Jeremiah and John were fond of the horse. He comes into much of their imagery. A red horse—that meant war. A blank horse—that meant famine. A pale horse—that meant death. A vyhitf horse—that me&nt victory. Good Mordecai mounts him while II a man holds the bit. The church’s advance in the Bible is compared to a company of horses of Pharaoh’s chariot. Jeremiah cries out: “How canst thou contend with horses?” Isaiah says: “The horse’s hoofs shall ^ be counted as flint.” Miriam claps her cymbals and sings: “The horse and the rider liatn He thrown into the sea!.” St. John describing Christ as coming forth from conquest to conquest represents Him as seated oil a white horse. In the parade of Heaven the Bible makes us hear the clicking of hoofs on the golden pavement as it says: “The armies which''were in Heaven followed Him on white horses.” I should not wander if the horse, so banged, and bruised, and beaten, and outraged on earth; should have some other place where his wrongs shall be righted. I do not assert it, but I say I should not be surprised if, after all, St. John’s descriptions of the horses in Heaven turned out not altogether to be figurative, but somewhat Jliteral. As the Bible makes a favorite of the horse, the patriarch, and the prophet, and the evangelist, and the apostle stroking his sleek hide and patting his rounded neck, and tenderly lifting his exquisitely formed hoof, and listening with a thrill to the champ of his bit, so all great natures

1U cat A A *»%• » V w comiastic terms. Virgil in Isis Georgies almost seems to plagiarize from this description in the text, so much are the descriptions alike-=-tbe description of Virgil and the description of Job. The duke of Wellington would not allow any one irreverently to touch his old war horse Copenhagen, on whom he had ridden fifteen hours without dismounting , at Waterloo, and when old Copenhagen died his master ordered a military salute fired over his grave. John Howard showed that he did not exhaust all his sympathies in pitying the human race, for when sick he writes home: “Has my old chaise horse become sick or spoiled?” There is hardly any passage of French literature more pathetic than the lamentation over the death of the war charger Marchegay. Walter Scott has so much admiration for this divinely honored creature of God that to “St. Roman’s Well” he orders the girth slackened and the blanket thrown over the smoking flanks. « Edmund Burke, walking in the park at Beaconsficld, musing over the past, throws his. arms around the worn-out horse of his dead son, Richard, and weeps upon the horse’s neck, the horse seems to sympathize in the memories. Rowland Hill, the great English preacher, was caricatured because in his family prayers he supplicated for the recovery of a sick horse, but when the horse got well, contrary to all the prophecies of the farriers, the prayer did not seem | quite so much of an absurdity. But what shall I say of the maltreats ment of this beautiful and wonderful creature of God? If Thomas Chal-* mers in his day felt called upon to preach a sermon against cruelty to animals, how much more in this day is there a need of reprehensive discourse. All honor to Prof. Bergh, the ohief apostle for the brute creation, for the mercy he demanded and

achieved for the king of beasts. A nmn who owned four thousand horses, and some saj forty thousand, wrote in the Bible: ° “A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.” Sir Henry Lawrence’s cure of the horse was beautifully Christian. He says: “I expect we shall lose Conrad, though I hare t: ken so much care of him that he may come in cooL I always walk him the last four or fire miles, and, as 1 walk myself the first hour, it is only in the middle of the journey we get over the ground.” The Ettrick Shepherd, in h s matchless "Ambrosial Nights,” si >eaks of the maltreatment of the h irse as a practical blasphemy. Ido n it believe .in the transmigration of souls, but I can not very severely denounce the idea, for, when 1 see men who cut and bruise a. id whack and welt and strike aid maul and outrage a till insult; tlie horse, that beautiful servant of | the human race, who carries our bur- ! d ns and pulls our plows, and turns ! o ir threshers and our mills, and runs f<ir our doctors—when I see men thus ; batiug and abusiug and ontrag- j it g that creature, it seems to me that ; it would only be fair that the doctrine o transmigration of souls should prove | true, and that for their punishment j they should pass, over into some poor ! miserable brute and be beaten and i vr hacked and cruelly treated, and j frozen and heated and overdriven; into { an everlasting stage horse, an eternal traveler on a towpath, or tied to an eternal post, in an eternal winter. s: aitten with eternal epizootics! Ob, it'. it not a shame that the brute creat on, which had the first possession of onr world, shpuld be so maltreated by t :ie race that came in last—the fowl and the fish created on the fifth day, t ie horse and the cattle created on the morning of the sixth day, and the human race not created until the evening of the sixth day? It ought to be that if any man overdrives a horse. ' cir* feeds him when he is hot, or j recklessly drives a nail into the tj nick of his hoof, or rowels him to see ■

1 itn prance, or so shoes him that his f blocks tlrop blood, or puts a collar on t raw neck, or unnecessary clutches 1 is tongue with a twisted bit, or cuts c Bf his hair until he has no defense ft gainst the cold, or unmercifully abbreviates the natural defense against i nsec tile annoyance—-that such a man i! s that himself ought to be made to pull and let his horse ride! There is a delusion abroad in the world that a thing must be necessarily pood .and Christian if it is slow and Cull and plodding. There are verj’ few go-xl people who seem to imagine it, is humbly pious to drive a spavined, palled, glandered, spring-halted, blind8: taggered jade. There is not so much virtue in a Rosinante as in a Bucephulus. We want swifter men. and the to get off i;s jog trot. Quick tempests, quick lightnings, quick steams; why not quick horses? In the time of war the cavalry service does the most exeas pnd swifter enterprises, • Lurch of God needs "t cut ion, and as' the battles of the. world are probably not all past, our Christian patriotism demands that we be interested in equinal velocity. We rof^lit as well have poorer guns in our arsenals and clumsier ships in our navy yards than other nations, as to have under our cavalry saddles and before our parks of artillery slower horses. From the battle of Granicus, where the Persian horses drove the Macedonian infantry into the river, clear down to the horses on which Philip Sheridan and Stonewall Jackson rode into the fray, this arm of the military service has been recognized, llamilcar, Hanpibal, Gustavus Adolphus, Marshal Nev were cavalrymen. In this arm of .the service. Charles Martel, at the battle of Poitiers, beat l:*ack the Arab invasion. The Carthagenian cavalry, with the loss of only seven hundred men, overthew the Roman army with a loss of seventy thousand. In the same way the Spanish chivalry drove back the Moorish hordes. The best way to keep peace in this country and in all countries is to be prepared for war, and there is no success in such a contest unless there

Our Christian patriotism and our instruction from the word of God demand that first of all we kindly treat the horse, and .then after that, that we develop his fleetness and his grandeur and his majesty and strength. But what shall I say of the effort being made in this day on a large scale to make this splendid creature of God, this divinely hpnored being, an instrument of atrocious evil? I make no indiscriminate assault against the turf. I believe in the turf if it can be conducted on right principles and with no betting. There is no more harm in offering a prize for the swiftest racer than there is harm at an agricultural fair in offer in g a prize to the farmer who has the best wheat, or to the fruit-grower who has the largest pear, or to the machinist who presents the best cornthresher, or in a school offering a prize of a copy of Shakspeare to the best reader, or in a household giving a lump of sugar to the best behaved youngster. Prizes by all means, rewards by all means. That is the way ; God develops the race. Rewards for all kinds of well-doing. Heaven itself is called a prize: “The prize of the, high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” So what is right in one direction is right in another direction. | And without the prizes the horse’s fleetness and beauty and strength will never be fully developed. If it cost I $1,000 or $3,000 or $10,000, and the result be achieved, it is cheap. But the sin begins where the betting begins, for that is gambling, or the effort to get that for which yon give no equivalent, and gambling, whether on a large scale or a small scale, ought to be denounced of men as it will be accursed of God. If you have won fifty cents or $3,000 as a wager, you had better get rid of it Get rid of it right away. Give it to some one who lost in a bet or give it to some great reformatory institution, or

if you do not like that, go doe* to the river and pitch it off the docks, ¥o» can not aiford to keep it. It will ham a hole in your purse; it will burn * hole in your estate, and you will lose all that, perhape ten thousand times more—perhaps you will lose all. Gambling blasts a man or it blasts his children. Generally both and all. What a spectacle when at Saratoga, or at Long Branch, or at Brighton Beach, or at Sheepsbead Bay, tbs horses start, and in a flash fifty thousand dollars or one handled thousand dollars change hands! Multitudes ruined by losing the bet, others worse ruined by gaining the bet; for if a man lose in a bet at a horse race, he may be discouraged and quit, but if he win the bet he is verv apt to go straight on to belli •• ’ An intimate friend, a journalist, who in the line of his profession investigated this evil, tells me that there are three different kinds of betting at horse races, and they are about equally leprous; by “auction pools,” by “French mutuals,” by what is called “bookmaking”—all gambling, all bad, aU rotten with iniquity. There is one word that needs to be written on the brow of every pool seller as h? sits deducting his three or five percent., and slyly “ringing up” more tickets than were sold on the winning hor&e—a word to be written also on the brow of every Bookkeeper who at extra inducement scratches a horse off of the race, and on the brow of every jockey who slackens pace that, according to agreement, another may win. and written over every judge's stand, and written on every board of the surrounding fences. That word Is, “swindle!" Yet thousands bet. Lawyers bet. judges of courts bet. Members of the legislature bet. Members of congress bet. Professors of religion bet. Teachers and superintendents of Sunday-schools, I am told, bet. Ladies bet, not directly, but through agents. Yesterday, aud every day they bet, they gain, they lose. and this summer. while

the parasols swing and the hands clap and the huzzas deafen, there will be a multitude of people cajoled, and deceived, and cheated, who will at the races go neck and neck, neck and neck to perdition. Col* tivate the horse, by all means, drive ' him as fast as you desire, provided you do not injure him or endanger yourself or others; but be careful and do not harness the horse to the chariot of sin. Do n$t throw your jewels of mortality under the flying hoof. Do not under the pretest of improving the horse destroy a man. Do nos have your name put down in tho ever-increasing catalogue of those who are ruined for both "worlds by the 5 dissipations of the American race course. They say that an honest race course is a “straight” track, aud that a dishonest race course is a “crooked* track—that is the parlance abroad; but I tell you that every race traek. surrounded by betting meoand betting women, and betting customs, is a straight track—I mean straight down! Christ asked in one of His Gos> pels. “Is not a man better than a sheep?” I say, yes, and he is better than all the steeds that with lathered flanks ever shot around the ring at a race course. That is a very poor job by whigh a man, in order to get a horse to come out a full length ahead of some other racer, so lames his own morals that he comes out a whole length behind in the race set before him. Bo you not realize the fact that there is a mighty effort cn all sides to-day to get money without earning. it? That is the curse of all the cities; it is the curse of America—the effort to get money without earning it, and asj other forms of stealing are not respeo* table, they go into these gambling practices. I preach this sermon on square, old-fashioned honesty.; I have said nothing against the horse; I have said nothing against the turt. I have said everything against their prostitution. Young men, you go into straightforward industries and you will have better live hood, and you will have larger permanent success than you can ever get by a wager; but,you get In with some of the whisky, rumblotched crew which I see going down

on the boulevards, though I never bet, I will risk this wager, five million to nothing, you* will be debauched and damned. Cultivate the horse, own him if you can afford to own him, test all the speed he has, if he "have any speed in him; but be careful which way you drive. You can not airways tell what direction a man is driving in by% the way his horses head. Ia3 my boyhood we rode three miles every Sabbath morn* ing to the country church. We were drawn by two fine horses. My father drove. He knew them, and they knew him. They were friends. Sometimes they loved to go rapidly, and he did not interfere with their happiness. He had all of us in the wagon with him. He drove to the country church. The fact* is that for eighty-two years he drove in the same direction. The roan span that I speak of was long ago un- * hitched, and the driver put up his whip in the wagon housed never again to take it down; but in those good old times I learned something that 1 never forgot: that a man may admire a horse and love a horse, and be proud of a horse, and not always be willing to take the dust of the preceding vehicle, and yet be a Christian, an earnest Christian, an humble Christian, a consecrated Christian, useful until the last, so that at liis death the ehurch of God cries out as Elisha exclaimed when Elijah went up with galloping horses of fire: “My Father, my Father, tha chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof’” —The chapters of the Brotherhood of St. Andrew, in Philadelphia and Boston, have undertaken the establishment of boarding homes for young men who are able to earn only very small salaries. They will be conduct* ed on an absolutely unsectarian basis* and it is hoped will accomplish v<jry much for that clasa. v