Pike County Democrat, Volume 28, Number 36, Petersburg, Pike County, 14 January 1898 — Page 3

$lugibe®0Utttij§em0rrat tt. MeC. ITOOH, JBdltor ud Proprietor. ^PETERSBURG.; • - INDIANA. MUSIC OF THE MILLS. With cadence sweet as tripping feet Across the room at morn. We hear the bell from factory tell. And catch the note of horn That’s winding out as merry shout Across the distant^ hills, And Joining in, with merry din The music of the mills. Where shadows creep and lilies sleep In quiet hiding* place; Where Whippoorwill, when all is still, Down by the old mill race, dtonds mournful note from swelling throat Till song the night air fills, Above the bird there’s faintly heard The music of the mills. "From engine-room and mammoth loom. And warehouse near the track. Is busy thrum and drowsy hum. ’Neath floating cloud of black; -Sweet song of bread and children fed The sturdy workmen fills. Ah to the skies the sparks arise. With music of the mills. On every hand, as vision grand, From east to purple west. The waving grain on yielding plain 8 Tells of a nation blessed; . While shadows flee beyond the sea. Back from the granite bills, And sweet and clear to-day we hear The music of the mills. Tell out the song to waiting throng. As white-winged ships sail on To tropic strand and stranger land Of darkness scattered^-gone; Farewell to care, for everywhere The message stirs and rorills— •Ring out the gloom with song of loom And music of the mills. —A M. Bruner, in Chicago Inter Ocean.

^T\0 let the child go," said Aunt I J Allie. “Old Mr. Pardee is down there'; he’ll look after him. There is not the slightest chance of his coming to any harm if he behaves himself. Run ney, and bring' us a greet, big 1 fisfi for|;nner!” / “Very well, Iko, you mat^go!" sighed mamma, anxiously, “but I will not have you sit with your legs hanging over the edge of the wharf. Now, promise me you will be careful." !■ “Yes'm,” said lko. He was already half way down the garden path. "And, oh, lko! listen to me!"t Iko paused obediently, but there was a slight indication of impatience in the way he twiched his shoulders. “WaLk down between the freight car rails! “Yes’m." "You make a perfect baby of that child,” said Aunt Allie. severely. "He's a regular little old maid'now.’’ “lko ^ shy.” mamma asser d, quietly, “and 1 suppose he is old-fashioned from hating lived almost exclusively with grown [icople; but he is not afraid of anything, and his tenacity of purpose is sometimes quite astonishing.” Aunt Allie* smiled skeptically as she bent over her sewing, but wisely said nothing. Meanwhile lko—whose name was Isaa^, by the way. and a very good name it is for a fisherman—was walking as fast as his thin little legs could carry him down the middle of the long steamboat wharf, and between the wooden rails on which the flat freight car traveled dow n and back twice a day. At the landing the wharf widened and made room for a shed which opened on both aides to let the primitives railway pass through, and beyond, framed in by she opening of the shed, was old .Mr. Pardee, in the blazing sunshine, perched upon cluster of posts which projected above the floor of the wharf. A nervous flush spread over Iko’s dedicate. dark face ns be approached the broad landing. He had not y.et made the acquaintance Of Mr. Pardee, and the figure on the posts did hot look sociable.! The old man wore a coarse blue cotton shirt, discolored in spots, and very patchy trousers; his bead and shoulder* were covered by a great hat of rough country straw, and all that Iko could see of his face was a pair of thin lips, exhibited in profile, closed, but making a slow, grinding motion indicative of tobacco. lko paused within a few paces of the posts, clutched his own hat front his tu ad shyly, and; gazed with wretched uncertainty at the imperturable old man. When some ten or twelve seconds had elapsed the great hat began to revolve upon the bent shoulders, and the withered, sunburnt 'face and small, bright eyes of Mr. Pardee were slowly turned upon the little boy; after which with no change of expression, no stop ping of that relentless, grinding motion of the lips, they were as slowly turned back again. Iko, hopelessly embarrassed, began to fumble with his fishing tackle, but he had never baited a hook before, and the little pieces of meat persisted in drop ping off before they touched the water. He grew redder and more clumsy after each unsuccessful attempt; once he pricked his finger with the hook.and from time to time he cast side glances of mortification and woe at the silent fisherman on the postal After the little fishing rod had been .r jerked back several times Mr. Pardee, who had appeared to be oblivious of what was going on below him. descend- * ed from his perch, took the rod from lko, swept aside the scraps of raw beef Aunt Allie had provided, as bait, hung a piece of catfish on the hook and led the boy around to one side of the wharf, where the shed cast a parallelogram of shade upon the floor; then, having first cast the line over with a carelessness that made Iko tremble for the bait, be returned to his own sunny pedestal. All this he did without a word*

Deo, being1 a polite child, wanted to say “Thank you,** but the silence of this peculiar old man choked the fountain of speech within him and he found himself incapable of uttering a sound. The air quivered hotly over by the Bhore and along the tops of the outlying bathhouses. The sunlight on the water- hurt Iko’s ^yes and he drew his hat over his face. The heat and the stillness made him drowsy. He wondered if old Mr. Pardee was annoyed with him for coming down to fish. He wondered which parts of those queer trousers had belonged to them when they were first made, and if that blue thirt had, ever been washed. He wondered if Mr. Pardee was warm Out there in the sun, or if he was like the salamanders mamma had told him about—those strange fairy creatures who were fireproof. He wondered, oh, a great many vague, sleepy things, that grew sleepier and sleepier all the time, till suddenly his body gave an unexpected little jump— as one’s body will sometimes when one is just on the point of going to sleep— and he lifted his hat and discovered that the parallelogram of shade had quite perceptibly shifted its position and he was on the edge of the sunshine. He stood up to move to a better place, and as he did so something at the other end of his line gave a desperate jerk and pulled him at a brisk trot over to the edge of the wharf. He clung to the rod with both hands and held back as much as he could, but the fish on the end of the line tugged mightily. Once he saw a big muzzle bob out of the water, and a tail swirled up as the fish went down again. Iko’s dreamy brown eyes were filled with the light of battle and a grim expression settled abobt his mouth. He had stopped himself within about two feet of the edge of the,wharf, and he dug his heels into a crack between two planks, but the fish pulled him over on his toes, and he was obliged to take a step forward in order to keep his balance. Try as he might, he could not lift the fish an inch out of the Water, but he could hang on to the pole, and he did so; his little knuckles were white and glassy with the strain. He rocked back and forth and .took another step forward. He was perilously near the edge, his eyes looked as if they were starting out of his head and his mouth was tight shut, stubbornly. Decidedly, mamma was correct when she said that “at times Iko showed an astonishing tenacity of purpose.” He made a feeble and entirely useless attempt to lift the fish up. and once more began to rock back and forth. As he swayed forward he could see the water and the green, slimy post against which he must inevitably strike his | head if he should go over. As he swayed back the sky went round dizzily. Then he went forward again and there was a singing in his ears. Instinctively he put his foot out to take another step, but he knew that he was walking straight off into space j —down, down. But still he clung to • the pole. Just at this exciting moment old Mr. , Pardee’s left hand gripped Iko’s collar ■ and hurled him backward, anywhere,

. V X I HE APPROACHED MR. PARDEE. anyhow, out of danger, and old Mr. Pardee’s right hand gave that fishing pole ' a s\^eep and ^ swing that sent the fish up against the side of the shed with a j prodigious slap. "Lawdy, lawdy!” said old Mr. Pardee; “1 like. to swallowed my cud!” "Pd have never let go! Never!” said Iko, blinking and crawling on his hands and knees toward the fish. "Lawdy, lawdy!” murmured Mr. Pardee again, as he examined the fish. He ! measured it from mouth to tail with a piece of string, lifted it upi clicked his teeth together in some mywterious fashion and said: "Ump. uni!" Then he returned to his cluster of posts, and Iko was left alone with his treasure. He knelt beside it for a k>flg while. He was really so shaken, both in mind and body, that he had not strength enough to move; Mr. Pardee had accomplished his deliverance with no gentle hand At last, after much blinking and staring, he became conscious of the fact that he had caught a. redfish, the largest he had ever seen, and moreover, the very first fish he had caught in al! his life. fn all his life! A picture of the dark water and the slimy green post flashed into bis mind, and he shuddered. Suppose Mr. Pardee had not arriving in time to pu!l him back, what would hare happened? The possible answer to this question took It stronghold upon Iko’s imagination. He looked up at the homely old fisherman, and a sensation of gratitude and excitement swelled within him, making him joyful and all aglow. Yes, this old man had saved his life! He touched the fish lovingly along its gleaming side, and as he did ao a way to express his gratitude came into his mind. His eyes sparkled over the vision of self-sacrifice which had burst upon him. Yes, he would give the fish to Mr. Pardee.

--- Perhaps—here the eyes grew a little troubled—perhaps the old man would lend it to him afterward for a few minutes, so that he could show it to mamma and Aunt- Allie. He lifted the fish, and pressed it against his shirt-front with one hand, to keep it from slipping out of his grasp, and with the other hand he took off hia bat; then he approached Mr. Pardee* and said: “I am very much obliged to you, sir! If it hadn’t been for you-1 should hare been drowned.” He gulped over the unpleasant word, and continued: “I want to give you my fish, please, to—to remember me by. I can catch another.” “Put on your hat,” said Mr. Pardee. Iko did so, and waited. He was accustomed to being thanked for his gifts, and this unconventional abruptness disconcerted him. Mr. Pardee leaned his own rod against a post, spat emphatically upon the water, rose and took the fish from Iko. Then he produced a piece of cord from his pocket and slipped through the creature’s, gills. “This fish,” he said, “is the biggest fish ever been caught here sence I f^rgit when; and I’m 80. If you ketch an^\ other like it in 40 year I’ll give ye a ^ dollar.” Iko, confused and humbled, and wondering why his innocent remark should so suddenly appear to be an unwarrantable boast, stood first on one foot and then on the other, while the old gentleman fastened a piece of stick crosswise to the string for a handle. “Does your paw come over to-nighf oh the boat?” “Yes, sir,” said Iko, meekly. s “Well, you give this here fish to him with old Mr. Pardee’s compliments, and say his boy is a fisherman by nature and a bawn gentleman. Here, take it.” “Oh!” said Iko; “oh!” and stood with mouth and eyes wide open. “Come again!” said Mr. Pardee. As Iko had not signified any intention of going home, this remark seemed to partake of the nature of a dismissal. He looked at his benefactor uncertainly for a moment, and then saying: “I will, I certainly will!” he turned and began to run down the wharf as rapidly as the heavy fish would allow. “Great boy, that!” observed old Mr. Pardee, as be settled himself once more on his posts. “He can catch another one! He can, can he? Lawdy, lawdy!” And he laughed an aged, cackling laugh. —Youth's Companion, CAKES AND ALE. The Topeka Barrel That Was Market* “Best Cider Vinegar.” Once upon a time, a great many years .ago, it came to pass that it was thought desirable to ship a hogshead of the very best Medford rum from Massachusetts to Kansas, to the city of Topekfi,*'the ;

capital of Kansas. Exactly why it was thought desirable to do so is a matter involved in some obscurity. Mere babblers, demagogues, persons belonging to the common herd, full of all envy and uncharitableness, hav^ been heard to say that the reason was that a United States senator was to be elected that winter at Topeka, and one of the leading candidates conceived the idea of tapping a barrel, with a view to shielding the honor of his beloved state from the shame of sending the wrong man to Washington. Be that as it may, the hogshead ol Medford rum was duly shipped. But for some purpose, presumably out of regard to the feelings of temperance fanatics—the leading candidate a/ore? said was a powerful pillar of the church —the barrel was marked “Best Cider Vinegar,” and thus it was entered on the shippers’ book. In due course it arrived at its destination. That same afternoon unwonted excitement of a suppressed and mysterious nature was observable in both branches of the Kansas * legislature. ! Those who were known to be ardent j supporters of the statesman to whom j reference has already been made could be seen tipping significant winks to other members who were supposed to be of that calm and judicious temperament which prompts its possessors to t study every* question carefully before making up their minds. In short, no',sooner had the two ! | houses adjourned than more than half I the members repaired instantly, though trying hard/to look as if they were going to a prayer meeting, to a certain |. house where the statesman who is be- ; iieved to have desired/to shield his state | from shame had engaged a suite of j ! rooms and was keeping open house, j The barrel alleged to contain “Beet i | Cider Vinegar” had, in some unknown manner, found its way thither. On a long extension table were glasses and i pitchers and sandwiches and crackers | and’ cheese and other |hings. A generous portion of liquid wjfc drawn from the hogshead, every glass was filled, and as eech legislator lifted the fearning goblet to his lips a glad shout arose in response to a toast expressive of good wishes for the success of the candidate for the United States senate who had given this touching evidence of statesmanlike qualifications. For though every glass was lifted to a pair of lips, it was lowered almost aa quickly as it was lifted, for every glass was filled in deed and truth, with “Best Cider Vinegar.”—Boston Advertiser. She Who Hesitates Xs Lott. “Tom, why did you not marry* Mia “Oh. she had a sort of hesitancy la her speech, and so I left her.” “A hesitancy in her speech; I never heard of that before! Are you not mistaken?” “No, not at all, for when I asked her if she would have me, she hesitated to say yes, and she hesitated so long that I cut her for another girl.”—Spare Moments. —The man who keeps three dogs never likes to see the basket a kumia his way when he goes tp meettaV— Sam’s Horn.

HURTFUL OR HELPFUL Rev. Dr. Talmage Discourses on ' the Influences of Club Life. Organization* Which May be Beneficial or Detrimental—The Influence of the Club oa Domestic and Com* mereial Lite In the following sermon Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage endeavors to draw the line healtfui and unhealthful conditions surrounding club life. The text is: v Let the young men now arise and p'ajr before us.—IL Samuel, it, 14. There are two armies encamped by the pool of Gibe on. The time hangs heavily on their hands. One army pro poses a game of sword-fencing. Nothcould be more healthful and innocent. The other army accept the challenge. Twelve men against twelve men, the sport opens. But something went adversely. Perhaps one of the swordsmen got an nnlncky clip, or in some way had his ire aroused, and that which opened in sportfulness ended in violence, each one taking his cdlteatreat by the hair, and then with the Word thrusting him in the side; so that that which opened in innocent fun ended in the massacre of all the 24 sportsmen. Was there ever a better illustration of what was true then, and is true now, that that which is innocent may be made destructive? At this season of the year the club houses of our towns and cities are in full play. I have found out that there is a legitimate and an illegitimate use of the club' house. In the one case it may become a healthful recreation, like the contest of the 24 men in the text when they began their play; iu the other case it becomes the massacre of body, mind and soul, as in the case of these contestants in the text when they had gone too far with their sport. All intelligent ages have had their gatherings for political, social, literary purposes—gatherings characterized by the blunt old Anglo-Saxon designation of “club.’* ^ If vou have read histo^/you know that there was a King’s dlead club, a Ben Jonson club, a Brothers’ club, to which Swift and Bolingbroke belonged, a literary club, whffch Burke and Goldsmith and Jousou and Boswell made immortal; a Jacobin club, a Benjamin Franklin Junto club. Some of these to indicate justice, some to favor the arts, some to promote good manners, some to despoil the habits, some to destroy the soul. If one will write an honest history of the clubs of England, Ireland, Scotland, France and the United States for the last 100 years, he will write the history of the world. The club was an institution born on English soil, but it has thrived well in American atmosphere. Who shall tell bow many belong to that kind of club where men put purses together and open house, apportioning the expense of caterer and servants and room, and having a sort of domestic establishment—a style of club house which, in my opinion, is far better than the ordinary hotel or boarding house? But my object now is to speak of club houses of a different sort, such as the Cosmos, or Chevy Chase, or Lincoln clubs, of this capital, or the “Union leagues” of many cities, the United Service club of London^ the Lotos of New York, where journalists,

dramatists, sculptors, painters ana artists, from all branches, gather gether to discuss newspapers, theaters and elaborate art; like the Americus, which camps out in summer time, dimpling the pool with its hook and arousing the forest with its stag hunt; like the Ceutury club, which has its large group of venerable lawyers and poets, like the Army, and Navy club, where those who engaged in warlike service once on the land dr the sea now come together to talk over the days of carnage; like the New York Yacht club, with its floating palaces of beauty upholstered with velvet and paneled with ebony, having all the advantages of electric bell, and of gaslight, and of king's pantry, one pleasure boat costing 33,000, another 315,000, another 130,000, another $>5,000, the fleet of pleasure boats belonging to the club having cost over S'i,000,000; like the American Jockey club, to which belong men who have a passionate fondness for horses, tine horses, as had Job when, in the Scriptures, he gives us a sketch of that king of beasts, the arch of ita neck, the nervousness of its foot, the majesty of its gait,'the whirlwind of its power, crying out: **iiast thou clothed his neck with thunder? The glory of his nostrils is terrible; he paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength, he saith among the trumpets ha! ha! and be smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains. and the ^shouting;"’ like the Travelers' club, the Blossom Club, the Palette club, the Commercial club, the Liberal club, the Stable Gang club, the Amateur Boat club, the gambling clubs, the wine clubs, the clubs of all sizes, the clubs of ail morals, clubs as good as good can be, and clubs as bad as bad can be. clubs innumerable. During the day they are comparatively lazy places. Here and there an aged man reading a newspaper, or an employe dusting a sofa, or a clerk writing up the accounts; but when the curtain of the night falls on the natural 4ay, then the curtain of the club house hoists for the entertainment. Let us hasten up. now, the marble stairs. What an imperial hallway! See! here are parlors on the side, with the upholstery of the Kremlin and the Tuileries; and here are dining halls that challenge you to mention any luxury that they can not afford; and here are galleries with sculpture, and paintings, and lithogrphs, and drawings from the best artists, Cropsey, and BieVstadt, and Church, and Hart, and Gifford—impassioned or placid; shipwreck, or sunset over fle Sheridan’s Bide or the noondkyparty of the farmers under the trees; foaming deer pursued by the hounds in the Adironor the sheep on the lawn. On

this side there are reading rooms where you find all the newspapers and magazines. On that side there is a library, wher s yon find all books, from hermerentics to the fairy tale. Craning in and out there are gentlemen, some of whom stay ten minutes, others stay many hours. Some of these are from luxuriant homes, and tl ey have excused themselves for awhile from the domestic circle that they may enjoy the larger sociability of ;he club house. These are from dismembered households, and they have a plain lodging somewhere, but they come to this clnb room to have* their chief enjoyment. One blackball amid ton votes will defeat a man’s becoming a member. For rowdyism, for drunk an ness, for gambling, for any kiud o' misdemeanor, ta member; is dropped on s. Brilliant cluib house from top to hot ;om. The chandeliers, the plate, tie furniture, the companionship, the literature, the social prestige, a complete enchantment. | But the evening is passing on, and so we hasten through the hall and down the steps and into th< street, and from block to block until we come toannother style of club house. Opening the door we find the fumes of strong drink and tobacco something almost intolerable. These young men at this table, it is easy to understand what they are at, from t ie flushed cheek, the intent look, the utmost angry waj of tossing the dice or moving the “chips.’’ They are gambling. At another table are mei who are telling vile stories. They ore three-fourths intoxicated, and bitween 12 and 1 o’clock they will go staggering, hooting. swearing, shouting on their way home. That is an only son. On him all kindnesi, all care. all culture has been bestowed. He is paying his parents in this way for their kindness. Tl fit is a young married man, who, only a few months ago, at the altar, made promises of kindness and fidelity, every me of which he has broken. Walk through andA see for yourself. Here art all the imjpliments of dissipation and >f quick death. As the hours of the night go away the conversation becomes imbecile and moire debasing. > ow it is time to shut up. Those who are able to stand will get out on the pt.vement and balance the lamp post or a gainst the railings of the fence. The ymng man who is not able to stand will have a bed improvised for him in the club house, or two not quite so overcome with liquor will conduct him to hie father’s house, and they will ring the door bell, and the door will open, and the two imbecil escorts will introduce into the hallway the ghastliest a id most hellish spectacle that ever enters a front door—a drunken son. Jf the dissipating club houses of this country would make a contract with ti e inferno to provide it 10,000 men a year, and for 20 years, on the condition t lat no more should be asked of them, the club houses could afford to make that contract, for they would save hon esteads, save fortunes, _ l. i: :—i i i _ _

o»f V wuivisi wi Jug uuu ovuta> x uc i v, 000 men who would be sacrificed- bj that contract would be but a small part of 1he multitude sacrificed without the contract. Butl make a vast difference between clubs. I have belonged to four clubs: A theological club, a ball 2lub and two literary clubs. I got ::rom them physical rejuvenation - ah 1 moral health. What shall be the principle? If God will help me I will lav down three principles by which you may judge whether the club wheru you are a meznb&r, or the club to which you have been invited, is a legitimate o**an illegitimate club house. First of all I want you to test the club by its in luences on home, if jkm have a home, i have been told by a prominent gentlemen io^club life that three-fourths of the members of the great clubs of these cities are married men. That wife soon loses her influence over Husband who nervously and foolishly looks upon all evening absence as an assault on domesticity How are the great enterprises of art and literaturs and beneficence and public weal to be carried on if eVery man is to have his world bounded on one side by iis front 'doorstep, and on the othor side by his back window, knowing nothing higher than his own attic Or nothing lower than his own cellar? That wife who becomes jealous of her husband’s attention to art, or literature, or religion, or charity, is breaking her own scepter of conjugal power. I know an instance where a wife thought that her husband was giving too many nights to Cnristian service, to charitable service, to prayer meetings, and to religious convocation. She ays ematically decoyed him away until now hk attends no church, anil is on a rapid way to destruction, hisSnorals cone, his money gone, and, 1 f;ar, his soul gone. Let any Christian wife rejoice when her husband cooperates evenings to the service of Goc, or to charity, or to art, or to anything elevated; but let not men sacrefice home life to clab life.- I can point out to yon a great many names of men who are guilty of that sacrilege. They are as genial angels at the club he use, and as ugfy as sin at home. They are generous on all subjects of trine suppers, yachts and fast horses, but they are stingy about the wife’s dress and the children’s shot's. That has made that which might be a healthful recreation and usurper of his affections, and he has m trried it, and hf is guilty of moral bigs my. Under this process the wife, whatever her features, becomes uninte resting and homely. He becomes critical of her. does not like the dress, dees not like the way she arranges her hair, is amazed that he was ever so t aromatic as to offer her hand and heart. She is always wanting money, money, when she ought to be discussing eclipses, and Dexter and Derby day, a® d English drags with six horses, all at awering the pull of one •Tibbon.” 1 tell you, there are thousands of homes in th; cities being elubbed to death! Theit are club houses where membership always involves domestic shipwreck. ?’elt me that a man has

joined a certain club, tell me nothing' more about him for ten years, and I will, write bis history if he be still alive. The man is a wine puzzler, hie wife broken-hearted or prematurely old, his fortune crone or reduced, and his home a mere name in a directory. Here are six secular nights in the week.* “What shall 1 do with them?” says the father and the husband. “I will give four of those nights to the improve meat and entertainment of my family, either at home or in good neighborhood; 1 will devote one to charitable institutions; 1 will devote one to the club.’-’ - 1 congratulate you. Here is a man who says: “I will make a different division of the six nights. 1 will take three for the club and three for other purposes.” 1 tremble. Here is a man who says: “Out of the six secular nights of the week 1 will devote five to the club house and one to the home,, which night 1 will spend in scowling like a March squall, wishing I was out spending it as 1 had spent the other five.” That man’s obituary is written. Not one out of 10,000 that ever gets so far on the wrong road ever stops. Gradually his health will fail, through late hours and too much stimulus. He will be, first-rate prey for erysipelas and rheumatism of the heart. The doctor coming in will at a glance see it is not only present disease he must fight, but years of fast living. The clergyman, for the sake of the feelings Of the family, on the funeral day will only talk in religious generalities. The men who got his yacht in the eternal rapids will not be at hia obsequies. They will have pressing engagements that day. They will send flowers to the coffin lid, and send their wives to utter words of sympathy, but they will have engagements'else where. They never come. Bring me mallet and chisel, and 1 will cut on the tombstone that man’s epitaph: “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” “No,” you say, “that would not be appropriate,” “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.” “No,” you say, “that would not be appropriate.” Then give me the mallet and chisel, and I wiU cut an honest epitaph: “Here lies the victim of a dissipating club house!” I think that damage is often done by the scions of some aristocratic family, who belong to one of these dissipating club houses. People coming up from humbler classes feel it an honor to belong to the same club, forgetting the fact that many of the sons and grandsons of the large commercial es- *> tablishments of the last generation are now, as to mind, imbecile; as to body, diseased; as to morals, rotten. They would have got through their property long ago if they bad had full possession of it; but the vi^ly ancestors, who earned the money by hard knocks, foresaw how it was to be, and they tied up everything in the v^ilL Now, there is nothing of that unworthy descendant but his grandfather’s name and roast-beef ratundity. And yet how many steamers there are which?'feel honored to lash fast that worm-eaten tug. though it drags them straight into the breakers.

1 he way to conquer a wild beast is to keep your eye on him, but the way for you to conquer your' temptations, mv friend, is to turn your back on them and fly for your life. ’ Oh, my heart aches! I see men struggling against evil habits, and they want help. ’ I have knelt beside . them, and I have heard them cry for# help, and then we have risen, and he has put one hand on my right shoulder, and the other hand on my left shoulder, and looked into my face , with an affinity of earnestness which the judgment day will have no power to make me forget, as he has cried out with his lips scorched in ruin; “God help me!” For such there is no help except in the Lord God * Almighty. 1 am going to make a very stout rope. You know that sometimes a ropemaker will take very small threads and wind them together until after awhile they J>ecome ship cable. And I am going to take some very small, defer icate threads and wind them together until they make a very stout rope. I will take all the members of the marriage day a thread of laughter, 9 a thread of light, a thread of music, a thread of banqueting, a thread of congratulation, aud 1 twist them together, and I have one strand. Then I take a thread of the hour of. the first advent in your house, a thread of the darkness that preceded and a thread of the light that followed, and a thread of the beautiful scarf that little child used to wear when she bouUdedout at eventide to greet yon, and then a thread of the beautiful dress L}' which you laid her away for the resurrection. And then 1 = twisted ■ all these. threads together, and 1 have another strand. Then I take a thread of the scarlet robe of a suffering Christ, and a thread of the white raiment of your loved ones before the throne, and a string of the harp cherubic, and a string of the,harp, seraphic, and I twist them all together, and I have a third strand. "Oh!” you say, "either strand is strong enough to hold fast a world.” ■ No. I will take these strands, and I will twist them together, and one end of that rope I will fasten, not to the communion table, for it shail be removed—not to the pillar of the organ, foe that will'crumble in the ages, but I wind it ’rOund and’round the cross of a sympathizing Christ, and haring fastened one end of the rope to the cross, I throw the other end to you. Lay hold of it! Full for you life! Pull fur Heaven! i. One man dies in the electric chair because he never knew a mother’s love, and another goes throagh the gates, saved by the powet- of a wife's affection. Out in life’s stream, with the current dead against him and the wind of adversity blowing in his face, many a little petticoat has been the tugboat that brought the husband safely into port.—Rev. J. H. Smythe. Methodist, Philadelphia, Pa. * As a matter of fact, nobody believes in a hell except for his neighbor.—Ram’s Horn Woman'* Inflame*.