Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 October 1885 — Page 2

THE FAITHFUL GUIDE. EX i* ’ ,■ 1 "“““ ' . . BY HARRIET MAXWELL CONVERSE. To be Love's queen and with imperial sway To hold a heart in pondage day by day The vassal of a will; is but Love's shame, And cruel sorcery in Love's name I To be Love’s queen and with a royal sway To hold a heart In bondage each new day Is, not to lead, but follow Love the guide Wherever Love may bo; this world is wide, Yet ■wheresoe’er its pilgrimage may tend And whrresoe’er its pilgrimage may end, In needful toil, or strife, or halcyon dream. Love, in his wqndenons rule, is still supreme I And though a life be filled with grief and care, And burdens that are wearisome to bear, Yet Love is strong, and through his sufferings borne . , , Will share life’s pain and with life s sorrows mourn; And should red roses grow beside the way, Love, laughing, plucks them, bidding them to stay In tenderness that with his touch doth thrill In perfect life no winter frosts can kill; And when the almond blossoms withering fade, Love’s fireside glows within the peaceful shade— Consuming not with passion’s fitful flame— But steadfast, where, in glory of Love’s name, Hands clasping hands, the twain sit side by side Content, Love's queen and Love the faithful guide. —Home Journal. A FABLE. BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON. —-JI The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter “Little Prig, Bun replied, “You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year s And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy mv place. If I’m not so large as you. You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I’ll not deny you make A verv pretty squirrel track. Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut!"

STATION TEN.

BY VICTOR REDCLIFFE.

_ Click-click' ’ ■ Ernest Snowden, light-house keeper and signal-service sergeant at Station Ten,, sprang from his seat at the open window of the beacon turret and hastened to the little telegraph table in one comer of the apartment. It was long before dark and the lowering sky and frequent gusts of wind made his point of observation far from being a pleasant one. Yet with earnest eyes he had watched the rocky headland which sheltered the harbor over two hours, and his sad face told that his vigil was fraught with anxious, torturing thoughts. For he had expected to see the ship Falcon leave her anchorage, and, pointing for the East, hear away from Station Ten the woman he had loved and lost, the angel of a blissful summers dream of hope and joy. Click, click! His hand sent back the response to the call, and then relapsing into his sombre mood of thought, he sat mechanically waiting for the expected message. Station Ten, originally a section of the life-saving service and combined with only the signal turret and a boat-house, had lent its name finally to the growing little town, which had sprung up as if by magic around its splendid harborage. The dreariest prospect Lake Huron afforded could be viewed from its reef-lined shore on the north. To the south, however, favorable winds bore the stately ships swiftly thought the chain of waters, and Station Ten because an important shipping center being nearer producers than the railroads. For six months Ernest Snowden had been in charge of the station with the salary and rank of sergeant of the signal service, and had one assistant. A telegraph line ran to Woodson’s, the nearest railroad town, whence official dispatches were transmitted bv the service line direct to the light-house. " The regular report was ringing in his ears now. The technical points were heedlessly noted, but he started as the message concluded, “Cautionary signals ordered for” —then followed a long list of points in the line of the predicted storm, and among them Station Ten. He chronicled the local observations in his chart, sent the O. K. over the wire, and as he smiled sadly, seemed to hear his heart continue beating out its message of comfort to his gloom-haunted soul, even as the telegraph had ticked its life away through the magnetic points. “She will not go away to-night,” he murmured, “for the Falcon will not go out with storm signals flying,” and he took down the night lantern with its red globe and ignited the lamp.

There was a rail-guarded platform running around the house, and he passed from the door around it to where the light could be seen from the harbor. Here he swung the red lantern, and with a tireless glance down the stairway leading to the beach, returned to the watch-room. The light-house lamp, with its quadruple reflectors cast a broad stream of radiance over the waters. Seated by the window he watched the angry play of the waves in the distance, and gave himself over again to meditation. “She can never be mine,” he murmured, sadly, “but Lura Lee loves me despite her father’s cruel will, and that thought cheers me. If the storm continues the Falcon will not sail till morning, and when Percival relieves my watch at midnight I shall have a glance at Lura at her window, if nothing more.” Then his heart grew sombre as he went over the love-life of the past few months. He had met and loved the shy, winsome girl whose beauty obscured her father's poverty and made her the belle of the village. She loved him in return, but Jabez Arnold, a wealthy speculator, came to the village and coveted his prize. His wealth blinded old Adiel Lee’s fatherly affection, and the daughter, who held filial obedience as part of a divine law, bowed her head sadly to her fate and told the young light-house keeper, Ernest Snowden, that he must forget her. And a week since he had parted with her, she, heart-broken, he cast into the dark gloom of despair, all the more intense because his love-life had been so beautiful and serene. There were ugly stories afloat about Arnold, and it was even hinted that his wealth was greatly over-estimated. But old man Lee pointed stolidly to the consignments of merchandise and produce in the warehouse on the docks, and at the Falcon loaded to the water s edge with Arnold’s goods shipped from the interior, and silenced all cavil. And this night Snowden had heard Lura was to be a passenger on the Falcon, bent on a visit to a port down the lake where a maiden aunt lived. Arnold's ship, stored with Arnold’s goods, was to take Arnold’s intended wife away from Station Ten, and Arnold himself, back in the interior, upon his expected return in two weeks would find her home from her journey, forgetful of her fancy for Snowden her father prophesied, and the wedding would then take place. Of all this was Ernest Snowden thinking, and the minutes merged into hours as he •at absorbed in thought. Silence and increasing gloom was Shout him, the wind had risen to a mild hurricane, and he was

about to close the window when he started violently. Every pulse seemed thrilled to powerful excitement; his eyes grew wildly startled. There, just rounding the‘river cliff, was a, ship. He could not make out its hull, even tips masts were indistinct, but he saw a green light beneath a red one moving steadily towards the lake, conveyed an in-' telligence to his quick mind, more sentient than wnrdg. ; ■■ “The Falcon,” he gasped. ■ ( It,was not the fact that she was qbout to weather the gale. It was the mystery of her captain disregarding the storm signals,; and Lura would sail in the face of a threatened peril. “What does it mean?” he murmured, hoarsely, and then he stepped through the window and scanned the scene more clearly. “Great heavens!” He fell back as if driven by a powerful hand. His eyes had rested on the sheltered box where the harbor signals were placed. • The red lantern, placed there by his hands an hour previous, the signal of danger, the warning rarely disregarded in these troublesome waters, was gone. In a flash his mind, tortured with the fear of the unjust change of neglect, anxious to supsense for Lura Lee and the ship which probably bore her away, seemed to divine how readily the captain, deeming the rising tempest a passing gale and not observing the storm signal, had put out to sea. But the light? Who had removed it for that purpose? Had the wind torn it away or had an enemy—No, no, he had no enemy. But by foeman’s hand or accident removed, it was gone. Its absence held human life and property as a penalty, and his would be the blame —hid the loss. There was a second red lamp in the turret; he lit it, placed it in its box to warn cithers and then tore down the stairway to, tnebpach. 'A cry of despair broke' from his lips as he observed the lights of the Falcon round the point and disappear from view. “She must be overtaken; she must not run the risk of the rising storm,” he cried in an agony of excitement, as he saw how futile would prove any effort to reach the town in time to secure a boat and overtake her. “A yacht!” he cried, as he saw a boat moved near the little breakwater on the beach. “Oh, if I could but guide it around the reef and intercept the Falcon!” He ran to the spot where it lay. He fell back as the form of a man confronted him from the bottom of the boat, “What want?” The voice was gruff and uncivil, the face of the man obscured. Amid his excitement, Ernest Snowden spoke hurriedly, earnestly. “In heaven’s name lend me your boat or accompany me around the harbor rocks.” “In that sea?” — * ———~— “I must reach the harbor bar in ten minutes. Fifty dollars if you will assist me, for the ship Falcon is sailing unprepared, unwarned into the face of a terrible storm. “I won’t go. Find some one else,” A reflection from the shifting waves lit up by the light-house beacon, cast a sudden radiance on the speaker. “Jabez Arnold!” broke in wild amazement from Snpwden’s lips. The other muttered a subdued oath at the recogpition.

“As he stepped back his foot brushed back a piece of canvas. * “The danger signal/’ cried Snowden as his eyes fell on the station lamp in the bottom of-the boat. “Merciful heavens. I see it all! Jabez Arnold, it was you who removed that lamp.” The hand of the other had stolen to his breast-pocket as if to draw a weapon. , “Get out of this boat,” he cried, angrily. “What do I know of your lamp?” “It is true. I could not mistake it. You dare not deny it. Ah! man, if you have done this deed, at least retrieve your crime by saving the ship you would send to ruin —to save the woman I love, you love—Lura Lee.” ‘'Lura Lee,” echoed Arnold in startled tones ; “what do you mean?” “That she is on board the Falcon.” “Oh, merciful Heavens, my sins have been punished.” Arnold’s voice rang like a wail of anguish over the bleak waters. Snowden, intensely startled at the sudden change in the manner of his companion, noted with joy that he sprang like a madman to the chain, unloosed it, and, with a madman’s recklessness, put the boat to sea. As they passed the flame of light from the tower a glimpse of his face showed the pallor of horror, agony, and remorse on his stricken features. Like a feather driven over the crest of the waves, the yacht flew with the rapidity of a bird. Twice it lurched, twice its heel grated on an unfriendly reef. Then, as it rounded the cliff, the awful tempest drove it into the open water with frightful velocity. “Tpe ship! the Falcon!” cried Arnold, wildly. “ Straight ahead, but out of her course. Ph, Arnold, Arnold, reach her in time to save the threatened lives, to rescure Lura Lee-, and I will forget that you are the cause of their peril.” He could see the dancing lights of the Falcon in the distance. Then they seemed to plunge down like a shot. “She has struck the northern reefs!” he groaned. For the love Of heaven make haste.” i “Even if we perish/’ came hoarsly from Arnold’s lips. “Aye, even if we perish in 1 the attempt.” What was the secret motive which made Jabez Arnold a hero in that hour of awful peril?

Reckless of 'life, moaning, cursing by turns, it seemed as if even in his evil mind there dwelt a love for Lura Lee more potent than his love'for gold. With rising excitement, they saw as they neared the northern reef a waste of boiling waters with a stately ship beating to pieces on the dangerous rocks. Held trembling to the touch of a master hand, the little yacht quivered jamid the surging waves, in charge of Arnold, as Ernest Snowden raised his voice- loudly. One by one from the ill-fated Falcon the crew dropped to the water and were drawn to the yacht. / Jabez Arnold sprang from his post and into tile water as they lowered a woman’s form, and then as he lifted her to the yacht, a quick groan rent his lips. They were forced to drag him from the waves. Amid their peril they noticed not that he had sank an inert heap at the bottom of the boat. A glance at Lura, a prayer of gratitude, Ernest Snowden spread the clustered shrouds of the yacht to the breeze. And half- an hour later the terrorful, huddled handful of saved souls landed safely in the harbor at Station Ten. Snowden bent over his rival. v “Are you hurt?” he asked, solicitously?*"*" “Crushed between a rock and the yacht. That is all. Are they saved?” T - ■ “All.” , b ' “Thank God, and Lura?” “She is here.” Fainter grew Arnold’s tones. “Come nearer,” he murmured. Lura Lee moved to his side. “You will forgive me/’.he asked. “Will you put the red lamp neareftoy face?” Snowden wonderingly did so. “Lura Lee,” spoke the prostrate man, “J

am dying—dying with all my sins upon my guilty soul. Look upon my face an if, tell me if the remorse and repentance hiy atoning heXlt 'feels does not win from you one word of forgiveness for my cruelty.” The young girl scarcely comprehended him. “Forgiveness?” hhe repeated. “Yes, for I sought to-night to wrong the man by your side, to execute an evil, daring deed. At dark I came down the shore in my yacht with the vessel ana cargo of the F Alcon insured for three times its value. The captaiiVefused to be bribed to burn up the vessel\t the docks. Then, returning to my boat, I saw the red. signal. A wicked thought impelled me to remove it — to cast blame on ~my rival—to have the Falcon sail-unwarned into the face of a tempest in which I hoped she would be lost, for that insurance money alone could save me from financial ruin. Then Snowden told me what I did not know', that you were aboard of that vessel. Heaven, forgive me, I never knew how I loved you till then. Now lam dying. Tell me you forgive me and and I will die in peace, with the hope that my life given freely to save those I had doomed may atone for my evil past.” ' “I forgive you freely,” murmured Ltfra, brokenly. A placid smile stole over the white suffering face. Then the eyes closed, the form fell back as if in slumber —the slumber of death. They kept his secret very quiet. The insurance money was never applied for, and an explanation to tne Captain and the service officials concerning the stolen danger signal rested with them, and was not made public.. And thus, shielding the memory of the man whose love for Lura Lee had led him to a heroic sacrifice amid crime and cruelty, the two loving hearts death had reunited were blessed a year later by Adiel Lee’s consent to their happily marriage at Station Ten.

The Broncho.

A broncho is a horse. He has four legs like the saw-horse, but is decidedly more skittish. The broncho is of gentle deportment and modest mien, but there isn’t a real safe place about him. There is nothing mean about the broncho, though; he is perfectly reasonable, and acts on principle. All he asks is to be let alone, but he does ask this and even insists upon it. He is firm in this matter, and no kind of argument can'shake his determination. There is a broncho that lives out some miles from this city. We know him right well. One day a man roped him and tied him to put a saddle on him. The broncho looked sadly at him, shook his head and begged the fellow as plain as could be to go away and not try to interfere with a broncho who was simply engaged in the pursuit of his own happiness, but the man came on with the saddle, and continued to aggress. Then the broncho reached oqjt with his right hind foot and expostulated with him so that he died. When thoroughly aroused the broncho is fatal, and if you can get close enough to examine his cranial structure you will find a cavity just above the eye where the bump of remorse should be. The broncho is what the cowboys call “high strung.” If you want to know just how high he is strung, climb up on his apex. We rode a broncho once. We got on with great pomp and a derrick, but we didn’t put on any unnecessary style when we went to get off. The beast evinced considerable surprise when we'took up our location upon his dorsal fin. He seemed* to think a moment, and then he gathered up his loins and delivered a volley of heels and hardware, straight out from the shoulder. The recoil was fearful. We saw that our seat was going to be contested, and we began to make a motion to dismount; but the beast had got under yay by this time, so we breathed a silent hymn and tightened our grip. He now went off into a spasm of tall, stiff-legged bucks. He pitched us so high that every time we started down we would meet him coming up on another trip. Finally he gave us one grand farewell boost, and we clove the firmament and split up through the hushed ethereal until our toes ached from the lowness of the temperature, and we could distinctly hear the music of the spheres. Then we came down and fell in a little heap, about 100 yards from the starting point A kind Samaritan gathered up our remains in a cigar box and carried us to the hospital. As they looked pityingly at us the attending surgeon marveled as to the nature of our mishap. One said it was a cyclqne, another said it was a railroad smash-up; but we thought of the calico-hided pony that was grazing peacefully in the dewy meadow and held our peace.— Santa Fe Democrat.

There Was Life in IL

About eighteen miles' above Centralia, Illinois, the engineer began to blow toot! toot! toot! and to slacken his pace, and by and by the train came to a standstill. The male passengers rushed out, as in duty bound, and in time to see a man lying on the rails in front of the engine, and another man bending over him. When the crowd, headed by the conductor, reached the spot tho man on his feet explained: “I discovered him about ten minutes ago, and as I didn’t want to see the train run over him I gave you the signal.” “But why didn't you pull him off the track ?” asked the conductor. “I couldn’t be hired to touch a dead body,” was the reply. “What! is he dead?” “Reckon he is that”

We examined the body and found life in it. He was a poorly-dressed man, seemingly in hard luck, and for the matter of that so was the other. “1 think,” said the stranger who had stopped the train, “that he’s taken pizen and laid down here to make sure work of it. If you are a mind to take him on to Centralia I’ll kind o’ rub him into life and get a doctor to pump him out” The conductor assented, and we lugged the body into the baggage car. The case created considerable talk among the passengers, and a purse of $7 was made up for the unfortunate. However, as we sl&wed up for Centralia, and before the purse was presented, there was a great yelling from the baggage car, and we looked* oxit to see the two tramps dusting it across a held. It was a game they had played to get w twenty-mile lift.— Detroit Free Press. The man who speaks truth speaks it within the walls of no creed; confides it to no religion; the world is his auditorium, and the race his audience.

PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

Rough ’Handling of Children. The causes of jojnt diseases in childhood are frequently obscure, but this much is dertain, that the rough hand ling which children receive at the hands of ignorant parents or careless nurses, has much to do with the matter. ; Stand on any street corner and notice how children are handled. Here comes a lady with a three-year-old girl; she is walking twice as fast as she should, and the child is over-exerting itself to keep pace; every time the child lags the mother gives it a sudden and unexpected lurch, which is enough to throw its shoulder out, to say nothing of bruising the delicate structures of the joints; a gutter is reached; instead of giving the little toddler time to get over in its own way, or properly lifting it, the mother raises it from the ground with one hand, its whole weight depending from one upper extremity, and with a swing which twists the child’s body as far around as the joints will permit, it is landed, after a course of four or five feet throug the air, on the other side. • Here is a girl 12 years old with a baby of a year in her arms. The babe sits on the girl’s arm without support to its back. This would be a hard enough position to mantain were the girl standing still, but she is walking rapidly, and the little one has to gather the entire strength of its muscular system to adapt itself to its changing bases of support, to say nothing of adjusting its little body to sudden leaps and 5 darts on the part of its wayward nurse. Sometimes, during a sudden advance, yuu will see a part of the babe a foot in advance of its head and trunk, which have to be brought up by a powerful and sudden action of the muscles of the trunk and neck. Probably not one child in a hundred is properly handled.— Cincinnati Lancet and Critic.

Training of Children. Whatever may be the disposition of a man to severity, yet the fond endearments, wheedlings, and caresses of his children, whom he considers as part of himself, will ever prevent him from acting the part of a tyrant, unless he has a soul callous to all feeling, and deaf to all the calls of humanity. I believe it will be found upon inquiry that one-half of the errors which children commit, and our daughters in particular, owe their existence to the folly and ambition of their parents, who, under the ambitious idea that their children should dress as well as their neighbors’, feather them up in all the empty parade of of fashion, and thereby sow in their little hearts those seeds of pride, which spring up all the rest of their lives and effectually check all the benificent shoots of reason. To know how properly to deny or comply with the requests of a child seems to be one the nicest and most essential points of a parent; to deny him what is necessary and suitable to his own constitution and circumstances is cruel and unjust; to grant him more is madness and folly. But here will arise the question, Who is to be the judge of what is necessary, the parent or the child ? I fear the child too often determines that point, and the parent gives up what he should invariably support and own opinion. When once, through our weakness and affection for our children, we thus suffer them to triumph over us, we then take a lasting farewell of all order and subordination, and we must not complain should they then oppose us in every step we take, despite our authority, look upon us with indifferene and contempt, and at last accuse us of being silly dotards and the authors of their ruin. lam aware that this kind of doctrine will draw a frown on many a pretty face, but as I write not to flatter the folly of any one, nor to insult the empire of beauty, I shall address a few words to the little

female panting hearts. Remember, my little ones, that there is nothing truly valuable in this life but virtue, and that thie parade and glare of dress is more its enemy than its friend. Though modesty peculiar and graceful to your sex will not permit you to own, yet certainly true it is that your fondness for dress owes its origin to the wish of procuring yourselves rich and opulent husbands. Your gaudy dress may, indeed, entrap the fool or the coxcomb; but what girl of sense would wish to make a husband of either? The sensible man will not be directed in the choice of a wife by her lawns, her silks, or her satins, but by the internal perfections of her mind. He will consider how far she is capable of giving up the gayities and pleasures of life to the painful task of managing her family. He will consider that as she will partake with him of all his pleasures and comforts, so she must be of a mind that will soothe amidst the cares, troubles, and disappointments of this life, and think no home like her own, nor no man like her husdand. Happy must be such a union, equally miserable the reverse. My little daughters of Eve, however morose or antiquated you may consider these reflections at present, be assured the day will come when you will sensibly feel the truth of them, when you will with a sigh acknowledge how true was that long since told by “A Tender Parent”— Detroit Free Press. ______ ■

The Amusement Question.

“What shall be a young woman’s recreations and amusements?” Usually, whatever happens to be the fashion. Amusements come and go like the winds whensoever they listeth. Real amusements must generally bring the two sexes together—such is the law of heaven. No attraction is so strong as the attraction between men and women, and it is idle to call anything amusement that rules that out Yet the law of heaven is law, not anarchy, chaos; real amusement is always amenable to order, dignity, self-possession. Dancing is,, perhaps, the most decorous and beautiful Of pure amusements. Rhythmic, graceful, imperious, demanding exact obedience, displaying beauty of form, and motion, and decoration, it has received the tribute of all ages and all countries. It exhibits, at once, and produces strength and agility. It exhilarates and it fatigues, in one sway of pleasureable activity, training the body and tranquilizing the soul. Tennis is an exercise—active, and, if not in excess, most healthful Cro-

quet is but an animated idleness to the unskillful, yet, in the hands of a master, the balls do leap about like intelligent creatures. Boating, riding, rowing, their name is legion. One hesitates to strike a man when he is down, but the skating rink is crowded, indiscriminate and rather vulgar. Beal skating firs much to say for itself. Far the best way is to let the ypuag woman select their own amusements. A girl well reared, furnished with good principles’and fortified with good habits, may be safely trusted to play at whatever she likes. And at all good plays and by all good principles the intelligent and affectionate inspection of parents and elders is not suffered as a necessary evil, but welcomed as an additional pleasure, if not even demanded as a prerequisite to pleasure. —Gail Hamilton. 1

Faith-Healing a Fact.

There can be no question that faithhealing is a fact. The brain is not simply the organ of the mind; it is also the chief center, or series of centers, of the nervous system by which the whole body is energized, and its component parts, with their several functions, are governed and regulated. There is no miracle in healing by faith; whereas, it would be a miracle if, the organism being constituted as it is, and the laws of life such as they are, faithhealing under favorable conditions did not occur. The fallacy of those who proclaim faith-healing as a religious function lies in the fact that they misunderstand and misinterpret their own formula.

It is the faith that heals, not the hypothecated source, or object, of faith outside the subject of faith. The whole process is self-contained. Nothing is done for the believer; his act of believing is the motor force of his cure. We all remember the old trick of making a man ill by persistently telling him he is ill until'he believes it. The contrary of this is making a man well by inducing him to believe himself to be so. The number of the “miracles” performed will be the precise number sos persons who are capable of being thrown into a state of mind and body in which “faith” dominates the organic states. Pathologists will limit the area of this process to the province of functional disease; but we are not sure that they are justified by scientific facts in making this limitation. It must not be forgotten that function goes before organism in development, and that there are large classes of cases in which the disabilities of a’ diseased organ for a fair performance of its functions are mainly due to a want of power or irregularity in action. And it is a fact in pathology that if the function of an organ be maintained or restored, much of the destructive metamorphosis due to proliferation of connective tissue, fatty deposits, or even certain forms of atrophic change in which the nuclei of cell-life are rather denuded than destroyed, may be arrested and to some extent repaired. The vis medicatrix nature is a very potent faetpr in the amelioration of disease, if only it be allowed fair play. An exercise of “faith” as a rule suspends the operation of adverse influences, and appeals strongly through the conscioueness to the inner and underlying faculty of vital force. There are many intractable cases in every practice which might be “cured by faith.” It is well that these poor persons should be benefited by some means, it matters little what; and if they can be “healed by faith” we ought to be very glad, and thankful, too, for the mistaken zeal of those who, being weak-minded themselves, make dupes of other weak-minded folks to their advantage. This is a blind leading the blind in which they do not fall into the ditch, but, by a happy -combination of circumstances, actually escape danger and gain something to boot.— London Lancet.

Rev. Sam Jones on Depravity.

I never go digging about Adam with a little “hoe” and a big “L” Digging around is not part of my work. Poor old Adim! Let him rest in common sense. There is 6,000 years between him and you. Let him alone. You have got about as much as you can do to tote your own skillet. As to whether depravity is total or •partial, I just want to say this: Every man of us has got enough meanness in us to damn us; and what a fellow wants with more, than that is more than I know. I tell you the biggest rascal in Waco ain’t in jail by a good deal. For I declare to you that but for the best influences on earth I might have been incarcerated in jail or the penitentiary. I reckon there are five hundred men can stand up now and say amen to that. The Episcopal Church has no funeral sermons, and I think we had better do away with them, too. We had better have none in this town,’ than to have one preacher that will stand up and preach a man to heaven who is in hell. Heaven is the center of gravity of all that is good, and hell is the center of gravity of all that is bad. There are not enough devils in hell to drag a good man down to hell; there are not enough angels in heaven to lift a bad man to paradise when he dies. God doesn’t bind a man hand and foot and cast him into hell; God can’t keep sinners out of hell; the devil cannot keep good men out of heaven. When a bad man dies, he not only goes to hell, drawn thither by the natural forces of spiritual gravity, not only by the approval of God and the angels, but he goes to hell with tbe common consent of every other man living on the face of the earth. I don’t care who you are; what’s your age; where you live; what’s your color —if you are outside of the atoning mercies of Jesus Christ through faith and good works, you have got enough meanness in you to damn you; and it is only a question of time whenyou will be damned —and damned forever. When the devil went at Adam, he fell the first lick he made; when he went for Job, Job stood like a rock until the devil had fired the last gun at him. ■

Lord Lytton’s Impudence.

Lord Lytton, at the time of the declaration of Queen Victoria as Empress of India and the striking of the splendid medal honoring that event, impudently bought one, altered the inscription to “Victoria, Empress of the Arana,” and sent it, richly set, to an equestrienne. — Chicago Tribune.

A CLIME CLIME

Which Brings Naught but , Misery to Iti People. Sadder than most of the recitals ol the want, degradation, poverty, suffering, sickness, and death among the agricultural population of western Ireland is the account given of the condition of the farm laborers in central Italy by Mr. Beauclerk, one of the secretaries of the British Legation at Borne. The materials for this report were obtained chiefly from the official report of the Italian agricultural commission, appointed to inquire into the agricultural condition of the and to recommend improvement to be undertaken by the State. The statements in this official report are confirmed by the personal observation of Mr. Beauclerk. Tossy that the farm laborers, who embrace the largest proportion of the population, live and are treated like cattle, would be giving their condition much better than it really is. Cattle in most countries are housed in winter, and protected from storms during other seasons of the year. But in central Italy the farm laborers do not enjoy the protection afforded by barns and stables. In the Campagne district there are but 556 bouses for 22,754 inhabitants. Some live in huts and wigwams, others in caves and grottoes, or in the ruins of ancient buildings and tombs, whilst “many have no roof above them but the heavens, and no bed beneath them but the grass.”. In one commune 704 persons lived during all last year without a dwelling to call home. When the day’s work in the field was over, men, women, and children ate their rations under a shed ejected for the purpose of protecting mules, and then thre w themselves on the ground to rest. Here children ■were born, middle-aged women suffered from fevers, and old men died. Many were glad to obtain the sort oi food given to hogs, and to find shelter during a storm under a shed built to protect beasts burden. The condition of farm laborers is better in some parts of Italy, but it is very bad everywhere. The average wages of adult male agricultural laborers are less than SSO per year. On the large estates they work in gangs of several hundred each. They can be seen starting out in the gray mist of the early morning toward the. fields where they are to work, always accompanied by an overseer, who rides on horseback. They work in the fields till sunset, never leaving them to eat food. Such as is allowed them is brought and dealt out to them on the grass. During the entire day the mounted overseer rides among the laborers, who are of both sexes, to see that no one shirks or neglects his task. Here is the picture Mr. Beauclerk draws of them: “Men and Women bending to the ground, shivering in the chill mist of morning, Coiling in mournful silence, they might be but a herd of human cattle, resembling their fellows, but belong to a different and degraded race of captive helots.” It is certain that no one ever had the temerity to represent the condition of the serfs of Russia, the coolies of Borneo, or the slaves of any country as bad as this. Still the worst is not told in this horrible recital. That is contained in a report that in some districts half the agricultural laborers were taken to hospitals during last summer, and in the order from the general government “that dead animals be burned or buried in quicklime to prevent the peasants from digging them up and eating them, as often happens.”

The condition of the present proprietors is hardly better than that of the hired laborers. In the country 122,633 have farms that contain less than two and a half acres each. The soil is dug with a rude spade. There would be the reverse of economy in usingdraft animals, if the farmers could obtain them. Men are cheaper than horses, and woman than mules. The beast must be shod, but the human beings can go barefoot. It seems to be no great wonder that the jnembers of a family lament the death of a goat more than they do that of a near relatiye. This is the “free, united, and rejuvenated Italy” about which we have heard so much during the past few years. This is the land of flowers and ' sunshine, the country “where every prospect pleases,” the ancient home of art, literature, and science. Here Virgil, Horace,’and Tasso sung. Here are the grandest monuments of architecture the world contains. Here the finest painting and the most beautiful statuary of both ancient and modern times were produced, Here a civilization was established that, extended over three great continents, and a literature was produced that promised to endure through all time. Here a language was perfected that was the basis of the most of the tongues now spoken. This is the country whose agriculture 2,000 years ago was the wonder of the world. Here, according to Pliny, reaping machines drawn by horses were in use twenty centuries before McCormick was born. _,Now the agriculture of Italy is worse than that of Iceland; there are few machines for cultivating tbe soil or for harvesting crops. Human muscle is cheaper than rods of steel.— Chicago Times.

A Safe Place.

Frank Minier, a gentleman from Indiana, was seated alongside of the driver on the stage going to Brownsville. Thev were near the Rio Grande. Frank, by the way, had embezzled a lot of money, and was enroute to Mexico. ... “Is this country safe?” asked Frank of the driver. “Safe! Why,of course it Is.” “No robbers?" “Robbers! Why, this part of the country has got such a bad name that the highway robbers are afraid to risk their lives in these parts.— Texas Siftings. .

He Knew the Resemblance.

“My son,” said a father, gravely, handing the youth some money, “do you know why a $lO-bill is a carrier pigeon?” “Certainly, father,” replied the youth, pocketing the moneys “It flies so fast after it is once broken.” — Exchange.