WTIiLIE VIRITIJJO 2.1 THE COUNTRY. I wish 'at I could live out here Where there are hills to climb. And where a boy can slide dowu lika A flash, lit winter time ; Where they are drifts to tumble In And ponds to skate upon— I wish my Cousin John WHS me And I was Cousin John ! I'd like to have a colt to ride And lambs 'n' things to pet, With apples in the cellar, and Drink milk that's steamiu' yet : I'd like to live where I could whoop Around with all my might And never have to be afraid A cop would come in sight. It's jolly sitting In the sled When uncle drives to town, And lets the horses walk up hill And makes them gallop d >wu ! It's jolly getting out behind, Sometimes, and hanging on — I wish my Cousin John was me And 1 was Cousin John ! \ East-Side Thompson's Petition. \ < * 4 A STORY OF THE ALKALI PLAINS. * J S» iBY MARGUERITE STABLER. K 'WW W WW VSB It was not a pretty story, but it was more. It was fraught with that prim itive ruggedness one gets an impres sion of along with cutting prairie winds, bucking broncos, the crack of a revolver, the whiz of a bullet. The fellow's name was Thompson, nnd he could handle a bunch of steers with the best of them, but there was an air of metropolitanisiu about him that assorted ill with his surroundings. And although he went rougher than any man of them he had never been able to live down his nickname of "East- Side" Thompson. Under the influ ence of rolling prairies, the boundless sweep of cloud and sky, an intimacy with the e'ements and reliance upon nothing but his own wit and courage, a man grows to be a strong, sagacious, vital creature, so different, from our circumscribed idens of a man that, for want of a better term, we call him a "cow-puncher." The Three-X outfit of cow-punchers had bo HI on the trail more than a month, and, according to all precedent and reason, the rains should have set in weeks before, but they had not. The grass that. had sprung up with the first early showers had seared and died before the ne\t rain came to keep it alive. The shallow, sluggish little streams of brackish water that crawled along the bottom of their beds, which the year before had been swollen be yond their banks, finally gave out ut terly. In every direction the white alkali plains glistened away to the meeting line of the sky in an attitude of isolation. The oldest inhabitant in all the country could not recall a wiu ter that equaled this in dryness. Howbeit, Nevada was then a new state, and the population migratory, Wilson, the boss of the outfit, had hoped to get out of the sagebrush country and strike the California line somewhere above Bodie by the end of the first month out, but there was no rain, 110 water, and the plains lay in open cracks. Day after day the sun arose, smiled down upon the parched little bunch of men and cattle 14 long hours 11s he sailed across a cloudless sky.serenely unconscious of the male dictions hurled against him, while the bare, burniug prairie stared back in unblinking defiance. There wore gor geous sunsets every evening moments when the great fiery ball seemed al most to stand still to give a long back ward glance before dropping out of sight, and with a Midas touch turn all the world to molten gold. But to the played out cow-puncher sunset means nothing but bedtime—bedtime after a hard, parched, hopeless day. There were clear,chaste moonlight nights cf wondrous radiance, too, but the moon was seen only in the early morniug, when they rose to another day, more hard, more parched, more hopeless, l'he cattle—mere anatomical charts by this time—went staggering about in crazy circles, too weak to need watch ing, the three Xs 011 their tlanks re duce! to half the original size by the shriveling of the hide, or fell heavily to the earth to rise again, after many seasons of sun and shower, as prairie flowers and salt grass. Their bellow ing was reduced to a moan almost human in its misery,for the one voice common to all created things, animal or human, is the voi. Eof suffering. The Missourian, a great, hulking young fellow, was first, of the men to show signs of weakening. That is the most terrible moment in all like experi ences, when the men who have held on grimly and endured together see fine of their number losing his grip. This had been an ill-assorted outfit when they started out with the cattle across the plains, but stauding together, shoulder to shoulder, defying death against fearful odds knits a man deep ly into the life of his fellow. Among these men there was no spoken sym pathy, no overt act of kindness, but in their very sullenness was that grim mest of all sacrifices, each man endur ing in stoic silence in order that he might not intrude his own sufferings upon liis already overcrowded neigh bor. The cliuchiugof the lips to sup press a groan when one is tliirst-mad dened may require more heroism than faciug a cannon with flags flying and drums beating, inasmuch as "he that rnleth bis own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city." At last one day the Missourian gave out utterly. He was not of the cow boy build in the first place, bnt his splendid horse mans hp and enthusi asm had induced Wilson, the boss, or "Yankee Bill," as he was called, to take him 011. Iu his delirium he lay and cried for water, day and night. He blubbered aud begged for water. ENVY. JOHSKY VIBITINO IS Till CITY. 1 wished 'at I lived here, where th:njjj Are all set at the door, And wheie you see so many sights You never naw before ; I'd like to ride in nice, warm cars That whiz along the street, Instead of in a bobsled, where You nearly freeze your feet. They never have no wood to chop, Nor cows nor slioep to tend ; They never have to carry slop To where the pigs are panned ; They never carry water from A well that's far away. Nor every night and morning leed The stock a ton of hay. They never have no cows to milk, Nor other chores to do. And every time they turn around Tbev look at something new ; There's always lots that's going on, The streets are never still— I wish that Cousin Will was me, And I was Cousin Will! and called upon the names of those he had known in his childhood. Every lnau went about his owu business, wh ch was largely the formulating of fervent and eloquent oaths anent the heat, the drought and the delay, and apparently 110 one heard his cries. Wuter was the one thing he wanted, aud the one thing they could not get, so, after they had put his bojts under his head to make liim comforiable, they let him alone. Under ordinary circum stances a Missourian more or was of 110 great conseqnence to "lankee Bill," but this break iu the ranks shattered the last vestige of hope. Whatever may have been dnue after that in the effort to ke ?p up their spir its was mere bravado, for each man foresaw the end. The Missouriau had been a quiet sort in the camp,aud 110 one had ever heard him talk much, but now he talked incessantly in the soft, thick drawl of the south. And always of home scenes, of the memories of boy hood that whetted the edge of their torture till it was beyond all endur ance. Now lie was fishing along some stream; now he was in school strug gling with some problem he could never solve beyond "carry seven." Always coherent enough to call up memories iu their own minds of n youth, misspent for the most part. They could not move farther away because they were camped under the only shade insight. They thought of dragging him off beyond ear-shot, but while every one would have been glad to have done it, no man could do it himself. Their horny hands had grown gentle in their ministering touches. Escape was long since out of the question, for the horses were worse off than the men; not one of them could carry a saddle, much less a rider. Each lnaT had saved a last charge iu his revolver, kuowing that that per haps would be their only deliverance from a death too horrible to name. All but "East-Side," who, wheu a de cision had to be made bet ween himself and his horse, had led her out 1 ehiud a little acclivity and put his last charge through her game little heart. Now ho must make his exit in some other way, if he would let his disembodied spirit pass on unincumbered by a sun parched frame. The knife he carritd in his boot was a miserable hack of a thing, fit only for shaving tobacco or chunking bacon. He felt, a momentary regret, as he ran his fingers along its ,'agged edges that a man with his record should be obliged to make his end with so nieau a weapon. The big Swede iu a moment of madness had raised his pistol as if it had been a jug, saying: "Wal, boys, here's to a wetter country!" But he had not shot. The cold iron seemed to cool the rashness cf his brain, aud the mir age of hope lured them on a day far ther. After the second day the Missouri an's talk began to grow less, his raving subsided iu a weak, incoherent bab bling; at last it ceased altogether, and he lay staring wide-eyed into the re lentless sky. As they had done every thing else,they did this silently,stoic ally. A shallow bed was scooped out and the canvas taken oft' the wagon for a winding sheet. When the broken circle closed in around the open grave, the boss cleared his throat and said: "Boys, before we go any farther.some one must make a prayer, sabeV" They sabed, but although every mau's soul might be consumed with a voiceless cry to some power above himself for the repose of the departed soul and release from a like fate, they were all dumb when confronted by the thought of taking the name of God reverently. Instinctively they turned to "East-Side." "It's your lead, 'East-Side," they said. And "East-Side," groping blindly backward toward the memo ries of his youth, tried to recall some thing of religions import. Slowly through his desiccated brain percola'ed a line from a church hymn, "From Greenland's Icy Mountains," but al though the thought was pleasant in this burning desert, the words were not to the point—besides, that was all he knew of it. He shook his head sorrowfully. "In the beginning,"— he thought he had struck the right lead there "ln the beginning, God created " But he was stuck aud c nld go no fnrther. "Lead up, 'East-Side!' " they urged. Then the light broke. The backward groping had brought him dowu to the days of his childhood, to the words his grandfather had been wont to say, as with boived heads the family, U> tho third and fourth generation, was gathered around his table on Thanks giving day. Sj, under the burning sun, whose only shadow was cast by the flocks o" carriou Hrils that circled above the reinnaut of the outfit, they stood over the grave of their dead companion, waiting for a like fate, or death by tliei* own hauds, lo be to'u by coyotes perhaps before the breath was out of their bodies, the six paunt men with bowed, uncovered heads, while "East-Side" prouounced in sol emn tones: "Oh, Lord, for what we are about to receive make us devoutly thankful. Arneu." A prayer wns a prayor to "East- Side." Anything that began with "Lord" in reverent terms aud ended with "amen" was a prayer. His grandfather had been a godly man,and he had said it, therefore it was appro priate on this occasion. Tbe effect was the same upon the others, for the words smacked of the phraseology <>l the wandering exhorters they had heard. After the passing of the Missonrian there <vas even less to do; the men weie iDO'e taciturn with each other, but theie was noticeably less profnnity among them, possibly because they harbored their strength more jealous ly and the exertion was unnecessary, or because their mouths were too dry to articnlate manv words. It.was now six weeks since they had set out ncross the "sink," expecting to get the cattle oil'their hands and have a little "time" in the city before starting bach to the camp, but the wild-eyed,sorry-looking things seemed unpromising enough now even for a glue factory As "East-Side" lay on the ground lookiu? up through the holes in his hat—they stood upright and walked no more than was absolutely necessary, for that re |uired an expenditure ol strength—lazily wat'hing the flocks oi birds that swooped aud poised in the air above him, he discovered, oi thought lie did, that they cast a shadow against the sky—a tiny gray shadow that lie watched for the utter lack ol anything else to watch. When the birds flew lower, the shadow seemed to grow larger, but when tiuallv they flew away there was still the shadow, larger and darker. With a wild whoop he sprang to his feet, forgetting tbo value of harboring his strength as he grasj ed the import of that shadow. It was a cloud! Every mau sprang ui> at that tiny speck and went to wo k with white face and unsteady hands. The speck grew larger, and the men worke 1 harder; eveiy hole or trough that led to the basin win cleared for action so that not one precious drop might be lost. Their words were few but kindly as they scraved away, with one eye on the ground and tho other on the cloud slowly but unmistakably growing larger and coming their way. During the night those sun-scorched dreamers dreamed of moist winds,and rain clouds fo egathering over the moon, then of raindrops pattering gently until they made a soaking downpour. But they had often dreamed that—dreamed it when their parched tongues hung out of their mouths and cra-ked for dryness. By this time they had grown wary; even in their sleep they were on tueir guard aud not to be beguiled into believing. When at lust in the early morning the lain did come, with the first pat tering drops every man forgot every thing in the world but the all-consum i*>T oasdon to slake his burning thirst; until their hats had caught eaiuigli to drain, they sucked their shirt sleeves. Then, because his own need for that last charge was no longer imperative, the outfit boss drew a bead on the likeliest animal in the herd,and they feasted royally, joyously, uproar iously on steak aud wate \ And in tbe exuberance of their glee no one no ticed that for convenience they bud chosen the mound that covere.l the Missourian for their table. After the feast every man lay down in his trench, which was now filled with water.and soaked,soaked through to the marrow, rousing himself only to drain his hat, then falling back and soaking more. And when, after 24 hours of soaking they got up out of their trenches, each wnter-logged man was a firm believer in tht efficacy of prayer.—San Francisco Argonaut. Tlift New Uiwlect. "Anything new, Scratchard?" in quired the publisher, as he toyed with his diamond studded seal. "Yes," said the author, eagerly, as he drew a bulky wad of mauuscript fro n a much soiled newspaper. "I've got a:i original story he e that is sim ply geat." "What's great about it?" "The dialect. It's all Hoer." The publisher slightly s:arted. "That seems like a good thing," he said "Let's hear a little of it." The author moistened his lip?, un folded the manusciipt, aud begau: " 'The bronzed young Uitlander paused beside the spruit, which was now little more than a dusty sluit. Ho had come through the kiautz.aud over the nek, aud along the poort, and past the kopje,and straight across the level veldt, and he was tired. Raising bis bottle of dop to his lips he was disap pointed #<> find it was empty. He filled the flask at the fontein, in the kloof, c!ose to the drift, and, moistening a little biltong, ate eagerly. "I wish I had some mealies," he muttered, "but I can't expect it until I reach the next kraal. Even then I doubt the wiedom of showing myself. I feel pretty sure that the zarps weie pat ou my track as soon as tho voorlooper recoguized me." ' " The great publisher waved his haud. "Splendid!" he cried. 'That's just what we've beeu lookiug for. We'll have it ou the bookstands in ten days. Can you till a sequel with some more of the same rot?" And the happy author said he thought he coil d. —Cleveland Plain Dealer. DR. TALMAGE'S SERMON. SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED DIVINE. Subject: Drama l>l»cn»»e<l—lt Cannot Be Suppressed—Christianity Hhonlil Con trol anil Keforin l'nhllu Ainu.einent— The Cliurch Should Goto the Theater. [Copyright IHUU.) Warhisqtos, D. C.—At a time when the irhole country is lu controversy us never ■ lefore concerning the theater and some plays are being arrested by the police and others ate being patronized by Christian people this sermon of Dr. Talmuge Is of mueh interest. The text la I Corinthians ril., 31, "They that use this world us not abusing it." My reason for preaching this discourse Is that I have baeu kindly invited by two of the leading newspapers of thin country to Inspect and report on two of the popular pluys of the day—to go some weeks ago to Chicago and see the drama "Quo Vadls" and criticise it with respect to its moral ef fect and togo to New York i.nd see the drama "Beu-Hur" aud write my opinion of it for public use. Instead of doing that I propose in a sermon to discuss what we shall do with the dramatic element which God has implanted in many of our natures —not in tenor 100 or 1000, but lu the vast mnjorlty of.the human rnce. Some people speak of the drama as though it were something built up outside of ourselves by the Congreves and the Goldsmiths and llie Bhakespeares aud the Sheriduus of literature and that then we attune our tastes to correspond with human Inven tions. Not at all. The drama is an echo From the feeling which God has Implanted lu our immortal souls. It Is seen first lu the domestic circle among the children three or four years of age playing with their dolls and their cradles aud their carts, seen ten years after in tun playhouses of wood, ten yeurs after in the parlor charades, after that in the elaborate impersonations In the academies of music. Thespls and jEscby lus and Sophocles and Euripides merely dramatized wbat was lu tho Greek heart; Terence and Plautus and Seueca merely dramatized what was in the Roman heart; Cougreve and Farqu liar merely dramatized what was in the English neart; Racine, Coruellle and AlSerl only dramatized what was in the French mid Italian lienrt; Shakespeare only dramatized what was in the great world's heart. The dlthyrambio and classic drama, the sentimental drama, the romantiu drama, wore morely echoes of the human soul. I do not speak of the drama on the poetic shelf or of the drama lu the playhouse, but I speak of tho dramatic element lu your soul and mine. We make men responsible for It. They are not responsible. They are responsible for the perversion of It, but not for the original impiuntation. God did that work, and I suppose He knew what He was about when Ho mado us. We are nearly all moved by the spectacular. When on Thanksgiving Day wo decorate our churches with the cotton and the rice and the apples and the wheat and the rye and the oats, our grutitude to God is stirred; when on Easter morning we see written in letters of (lowers tho inscription, "Ho Is itlsen," our emotions are stirred. Every parent likes togo to the school exhibition, with its recitations aud its dialogues and its droll costumes. The torchlight pro cession of the political cnmpnlgn is merely the dramatization of principles Involved. No intelligent man can look in auy secular or religious direction without finding this dramatic element revealing, unrolling, demonstrating itself. What shall wo do with it? Shall we suppress it? You can as easily suppress its Creator. You may direct It, you may educate it, you may purify It, you may harness it to multl-poteut useful ness, and that it is your duty to do, just us we cultivate taste for the heautilul and sublime. t Now, I have to tell you not only that God has implauted this dramatic element lu our nutures, but I have to tell you lu the Scriptures He cultivates it, Heappeals to it, Ho develops it. Ido not care whero you open the Bible, your eye will fall upon u drama. Here It is in the book of Judges, tho 11 r tree, the vine, tho olive tree, the bramble—they ull make speeches. Then at the close of the scene there Is n corona tion, and tho bramble is proclaimed king, flint is a political drama. Here it is lu tho book of Job. Enter Ellphuz, Blldad, Zopbnr, Ellhti and Job. The opening act of the drama, all darkness; the closing act of the drama, all sunshine. Mugnill cent drama is the book of Job. Here ft Is In Solomon's Song—the region, an oriental region: Vineyards, pomegra nates, mountain of myrrli, flock of sheep, garden of spieos, a wooing, a bride, a bride groom, dialogue after dialogue—intense, gorgeous, all suggestive drama Is the book of Solomon's Song. Here It Is In the book of Luke: Costly mansion in the night. All the windows bright with illuminutlon. The floor u-quake with the dance. Returned son In cosily garments which do not very well fit hlui perhaps, for thoy were not made for him, but he must swiftly leave off his old garb and prepare for this extem porized levee. Pouting son at the back door, too mnd togo in, because they aro making such a fuss. Tears of sympathy running down tho old man's cheek at the story of his son's wandering and suffering and tears of joy at bis return. When you heard Murdock recite "The Prodigal Son" In one of hie readings, you did not know whether to sob or shout. Revivals of re ligion have started just under the reading ot that soul revolutionizing drama of"The Prodigal Son." Here It is In the book of Revelation crystalline sea, pearly gate, opaline river, amethystine capstoue, showering coronets, one vial poured out incardlnatlng the wa ters, cavalrymen ot heaven galloping on white horses, nations In doxology, hallelu iahs to the right of them, halleluiahs to the loft of them. As the Bible opens with the drama or the first paradise, so it closes with the drama of the second paradise. Mind you. when I say drama I do not mean myth or fable, for my theology is of the oldest type—soo years old, thousauds of years old, as old us the Bible. When I speak of the drama ut the beginning and close of the, Bible, I do not mean an allegory, but I mean the truth so stated that in grouping and in «turtllug effect it is a God given, world resounding, heaven echoing drama. Now, if God Im planted this dramatic element lu our na tures, aud If He bus cultivated and devel oped it in the Scriptures, I demand that you recognize It. Because the drama has again and ngain been degraded and employed for destruc tive purposes Is nothing against the drama any more than music ought to be accursed because It has beeu takeu again and again Into the saturnallan wassails of 4000 years. Will you refuse to enthrone music on tho church organ because the art has been trampled again and again under the feet of the lascivious dance? It Is nothing against painting and sculp ture that in Corinth and Herculanetim tbey were demonstrative ot vulgarity and turpitude. The dreadful museum ut Pompeii sbnll throw no discredit on Pow ers's "Greek Slave" or Church's "Heart of the Andes" or Rubens's "De scent From the Cross" or Angelo's "Last Judgment." Tho very fact that again and Hgain the drama has been drugged through tbe sewers ot iniquity is the reason why we should snatch it up and start it out on u grand and a holy and a magnificent mission. Let me say at this point in my sermon that the drama will never be lifted to its rightful sphere by those people who have not sense enough to distinguish be tween the drama aud the playhouse. The drama is no more the theatre than a hymn book Is a church. I nm not speaking in regard to the theatre at all. The drama is a literary expression of that feeling which God Implanted In the human soul. Neither will the drama ever be lifted to Its proper sphere by wholesale denunciation of all dramatists. If you have not known men and women connected with the drama whe are pure lu heart und pure lu speech untl pure In life, it 1b becuuse you huve not bad very Wide acquaintance. Wholesule denunciation of all dramatists will never elevate the drama. Yonder stand u church and a theatre on opposite sides ot the street. The ohurob shouts oyet to the theutre, "You are all scoundrels!" The theatre shouts back, "You are ull hypo crites!" And tbey both falsify. Dropping nil Indiscriminate jeremiads ugnlnst dra matists and realizing that the drama is not necessarily connected with this institution or with that, I want to show you bow the dramatic element In our natures may be harnessed to the chariot of civilization and Christianity. Fifty essuys about the sorrows of the poor could uot affect mo as u littlo drama of accident and suffering I saw ono t-lip pery morning In tlio streets of Philadel phia. Just ahead ot mo was a lad, wretch ed lu apparel, his limb amputated nt the knee; from the pallor of the boy's cheek, tbe amputation not long before. He had a package of broken food under his arm food he bud begged, I suppose, nt the doors. As be passed ou over the slippery pavement, cautiously anil carefully, I steadied him until his crutch slipped and he fell. I helped him up us well as I could, gathered up the fragmeuts ot the package us well as I could, put them under one arm and tbe crutch under the other arm, but when I saw the blood run down his pale cheek I burst into tenrs. Fifty essays about the sufferings of tlie poor could not touch one like tbut little drama of accident und suffering. Oh, we wunt in all our different depart ments ot usefulness more of tho dramatic olement and less of tho didactlj. The tendency lu this day is to drono religion, to whlno religion, to cant religion, to moan religion, to croak religion, to sepulcharlze religlou, when we ought to present It In animated and spectacular manner. What we waut, ministers and laymon, is to get our sermons and our oxhortutlous und cur prayers out ot the old rut. The old hackneyed religious phrases that come snoring down through the centuries will never arrest tho masses. What we want to-day, you In your sphere, and I in my sphere. Is to freshen up. People do not want in their sermons the sham flowers bought at the millinery shop, but the japonlcas wet with the morning dew, not the heavy hones ot extinct megatherium of past ages, but the living reindeer caught last Augnst at the ediro of Sehroon Lake. Wo want to drive out tho drowsy und the prosaic und tbe tedious und tho humdrum and introduce tho brightness and the vivacity und the holy sarcasm and the sane tiflod wit and the epigrammatic power and the blood red earnestness aud the lire of re ligious zeal, and I do not know of any way of doing it us well as through the dramatic. Uut now let us turn Lo the drama as au amusement and entertainment. Rev. Dr. Bellows, or New York, manv years ago in a very brilllaut but much criti cised sermon took the positlou that the thnatcr might be renovated and made aux iliary to the church. Manv Christian peo ple aro oT tho same opinion. I do not agree with them. I have no idea that suc cess Is In that direction. What I havo said heretofore ou tills subject, as far as I can remember, is my sentiment now. But to day I take u step lu advance of my formor theory. Christianity is going to take full possession of tills world and control its maxims, Its laws, its literature, its science and its amusements. Shut out from the realm of Chrlstlaulty auythiug aud you give It up to sld and death. If Christianity is mighty enough to mauage everything but tho amusements of tho world, theu It is a very defective Chris tianity. Is it cnpable of keeping account of the tears of tho world aud Incompetent to rnnko record of Its smiles? Is It good to follow tbe funeral, but dumb at the world's play? Can ft control all the other elements of our nature but tbe dramatic element? My Idea of Christianity Is that It cun aud will conquer everything. Now, what wo want Is to hasten that time. How will It he done? By the church going over to tho theater? It wilt not gc. By the theater coming to tho church? It will not come. What we want Is a reformed amusement association in every city and town of tbo United States. Once an nounced aud explained aud Illustrated, the Christian and philanthropic capitalist will eome forward to establish It, and there will be public spirited men everywhere who will do tills work for tho dramatic element of our natures. Wo neod a now institu tion to meet and recognize and develop aud defend the dramatic element of our nature. It needs to be distinct from ev erything that is or has been. I would huve this reformed amusement association having in charge this now in stitution ot tbe spoctacular tuke possession of some hall or ucademy. It might take a smaller building at the start, but It would soon need tho largest hall, aud evon that would not hold tho people, for he who opens before tho dramntlc element in human nature au opportunity of gratifica tion without compromise und without danger does the mightiest thing of tills century, and the tides of such an institu tion would rlso as the Atlantic rises ut Liverpool docks. There are tens of thousands of Christian homes where the sons und daughters aro held back from drumutlcentortulnmont tor reasons which some ot you would say are good rensons and others would say aro poor reasons, but still held back. But on the establishment of such an lustltiitlon they would feel tbe arrest of their anxieties and would say ou the establishment ot this new Institution, which I have called tho spectacular, "Thank, God, this Is whut we have nil beeu waiting for." Now, as I believe that I make suggestion ot au institution which wiser tueu will develop, I want to give some characteris tics of this new Institution, this spectacu lar, If It Is to be a grand social and niorul success. Iu the first place, Its entertain ments must be compressed within nn hour and three-quartets. What kills sermons, prayers and lectures uinl entertainment-* of all sorts Is prolixity. At a reasonable hour every night every curtain of public entertainment ought to drop, every church service ought to cease, the Instruments Oi orchestras ought to be unstrung. On tho platform of this new Institution there will be a drama which bofore render ing has beeu read, expurgated, abbreviated and passed upon by a board ot trustees connected with this reformed amusement association. Iftherebelna drama a seu tence suggesting evil. It will bo stricken out. It there be iu a Shakospearean play a word with two meanings—a good meaning and a bad meaning—unother word will be substituted, an houest word looking ouly way. The caterers to public taste will hav't to iearn that Shakespearean nastiness is nc better than Congreveun nastiness. You say, "Who will dare to change by expurga tion or abbreviation a Slinkespenreur play?" I dare. Tbe board of trustees ol this reformed amusement association will dare. It Is no depreciation ot a drama, the abbreviation of it.l would like to hoiii thirty or forty pages ot Milton's "Paradlst Lost" read at one time, but I should be very sorry to hear the whole book read at oue sitting. Abbreviation is not deprecla tlou. Ou the platform of this new Institution this spectacular, under the care ot tho very best men aud women ia the community, there shall be uothlng witnessed that would be unfit for a parlor. Auy attitude, any look, any word that would offend you seated at your own flreslde, in your family circle, will be prohibited from that plat form. By what law of common sense or ol morality does that which Is not fit to b« seen or heard by live people become fit tc be seen or heard by 1500 people? On tlu pla' form of tbut spectacular all the scenes of the drama will b > as chaste us was evet a lecture by Edward Everett or a sermon by F. W. Robertson. On that platforrr there shall be no caroueer, no Inebriate, nc cyprian, no foe of good morals, masculine or feminine. London's Crystal Palace Is to have a nen glass roof. THE GREAT DESTROYER. SOME STARTLINC FACTS ABOUT THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE. The Man Who Tipped and Tippled—Great llurtn Is Done by the Moderate l)riuk ers—They Set the Worit Kxamplen— Influences That Drag Men Down, He tipped the mnn who took his hat, The man who took his cane, Tho chambermaid, the bell-boy and The porter on the train. He tipped his hat to all the girls, And tipped to all the meu; lie tipped the beam at two fifteen, Till tlppln' made him thin. lie gave a friend a "dead-sure tip," Aud when that lost the race, Hl* friend let fly another tip Which found a stopping place. And then lie took to tippling, Was tipsy night and day; He tippled right and left until His money pussed away. And now he drives an ash-cart, Aud when he makes u trip, He empties out the load so as To give the cart a tip. —W. B. Duulevy, in the Criterion. Sermon to Moderate Drinkers. The understanding that the Rev. Dr. Charles Herr, pastor of the First Presby terian Church In Emory street, Jersey City, would make some allusion in a recent ser mon to the Jersey City Club's oafe attracted n large attendance to the church. He hud charged the cafe with being largely re sponsible for the death of William J. Mc- Ilroy. The charge was made while Dr. Herr was conducting Mr. Mcllroy's funerui, in the presence of a number of club rae-u --bers. Prominent members of the club de nounced Dr. lierr's statements as un founded and In exceedingly bad taste, aud It was expected that Dr. Herr would make some reply. He made no direct attack on the club or cafe, but preached a temper ance sermon, In which he condemned the practice of moderate drinking. "When it was believed," said he, "that alcohol was food, that when taken In rea sonable quantities it aided digestion and did good, temperance might properly be understood as the use of It in moderation. Now that scientific investigation has shown that alcohol is a drug like strychnine and has the same effect, temperance cau only menn total abstinence. Inasmuch as physi cians and scientists agree in doclurlug that alcohol Is Injurious to the human system, except It be lu minute medicinal doses und tor specific purposes, there Is no alterna tive for a Christian man. He must accept as u rule of his life the duty of absolute ab stinence from it. The church appeuls oil the grouud that the body is the, temple of the Holy Ghost. Whatever Is Injurious to the body Impairs the mental activity. In jures the physical strength and Is n sin. "Who are they that sustain the line l grocery, the gilded saloon, the sumptuous cafe? Not the poor or tho humble or those addicted to Inebriation, but the respecta bility, wealtt, social position of our country. Without them the traffic would lose what It has gained. This is the degree in which Christians, by the mod erate use of nlcoholic stimulants, contri bute an Impediment in the way of temper ance reform, an obstacle In the path of heroic, self-sacrificing workers for the res cue of the lost. The church appeals on the grouud that the moderate drinking cus toms of society are the Influences tlint drag men down. It isu't the Inebriate, the maudlin drunkard who Induces anybody to use liquor. The sight of ills grovelling body and idiotic conduct alarms und dis gusts. It Is the moderate use of alcohol as a beverage under conditions or respecta bility that constitutes the temptation so ' powerful with young men aud brings for ward ever fresh streams of manhood to plunge over the Niagara of vice."—New j York Sun. 1 Liquor Drinking a Cause of Poverty. Liquor drinking as u cause of poverty Wus the subject discussed by the Rev. Mad ison C. Peters at the special services held in the Ninth Regiment Armory, New York. City, recently. Dr. Peters said that the temperance question, not as a moral, so cial or religious problem, but as a money question, would at some time become the burning question of the day. He quoted statistics to show that the money spent for liquor exceeded the amount necessary for the maintenance of the National Gov ernment more thnn three times. All the proposed labor legislation would not Im prove the condition of the laboring classes us long as they expeudeil wages lu sup porting the two hundred and thirty-five tliousuud saloonkeepers of the country. Open mills und open mints would not do as much in abolishing poverty as closed sn loous. It had been stated by the late Jo seph Medill, who had closely studied the question, that had the money spent by the laboring classes during the last ten years for drink been expended for railroad stock the wage-earners of the oouutry would own every mile of railroad lu the laud, while if it had been invested in buildings every working mau would now be the own er of his own house. A Great Writer's Warning. The heartrending cry of Charles Lamb, one of the most brlillunt writers of his day, should ring In every young man's ears as a warning against the first glass of any In toxicant. He wrote: "The waters bavo gone over me, but out 3f the blnok depths, could I be heard, I would cry out to all those who have uotset a foot lu the perilous flood. Could the youth to whom the flavor of tho 'lrst wine Is as delicious as the openlug scenes of life, or the entering upon some newly discov ered paradise, look into my desolation and be made to understand what u dreary thing It is when he shall feel himself going down a precipice with opeu eyes and pas sive will—to see all godliness emptied out of him, and yet not be able to forget the time It was otherwise—to hear about the piteous spectacle of liis own ruin; could he see my feverish eye, feverish with last last night's drinking, und feverish iooklni; for to-night's repetition of the folly; could he but feel tho body oT death out of which I cry hourly with feebler outcry to bo de livered, It were enough to make him dasli the sparkling beverage to tho earth, lu all the pride of Its mantling temptation." Cat-o'-Xlne Tails For Drunkards. South Carolina having abolished thesn loon und substituted the dispensary, she now proposes to establish hospitals foi druukards, where thirst will be treated a; u disease. If aloug with bromides and tontos the oat-o'-nine tails should be pre sorlbed for inebriates who neglect or abuse their wives and children, (he Innovatlot would work wonderful cures. The one danger of dealing with druukenness as e disease is that It may be forgotteu thai drunkenness Is also u vice.—Philadelphia North Amerleun. The Crusade In Brief. South Carolina has ordered Its illegal "beer dispensaries" closed. Taking a drop nnd taking a tumble arc not synonymous, but one may lead to the other. For several years forty-seven per cent, of the prison committals in Ireland aou slsted of druukards. There are 2750 juvenile temperance so sieties in the primary schools of Belgium, more than half of all these schools In the country containing such societies. "From my native town soventeen men went to Manila; one came home a corpse and sixteen came home drunkurds," Thl% I* the statement of an Illinois man. w
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers