IN A MOUNTAIN FIRE. j>
A Thrilling Episode of California Life. ►
►
BY ADA E. FERRIS.
A mouutain Are at night—that was
the sight which Louise tlthain, a visi
tor from the prairie states to her
uncle's home in California, was regard
ing with awe and admiration.
"Let's ride up and take a nearer
view," said her cousin Phil. "You
will never see anything like this in
Illinois —nor very often here, for that
matter. There isn't a bit of danger.
Prince goes easy and isn't skittish,and
we'll just go up on one of the foot
hills where we can see it all. Get
your thickest cloak, though, for it's
chill v, and you don't want to freeze
on one side while you roast on the
other."
Nothing loath, Louise ran for her
wraps, and very soon they were gal
loping toward the blazing mountains.
How light it was! "It is like my pic
ture of 'The Last Days of Pompeii,' "
Louise panted, "only this isn't doing
auy harm."
A wagon came clattering toward
them, and Phil drew up suddenly as
he recognized the lady who drove.
"Good evening, Mrs. Hastiugs! Why,
you are not burned out, surely?"
Mrs. Hastings laughed hysterically.
"The house was all right when I left,
but I don't suppose I shall ever see it
agaiu. The sparks were falling in
showers, then. Mr. Hastings and his
brother insisted on my coming out
with the colts before the road was
blocked by the fire. They said they
could go over the eastern ridge by the
cattle-trail and out by Wilson's road, if
they were delayed too long. Our
pretty home—"
She choked, but almost instantly re
?overe:l herself, and asking hurriedly,
"Is your mother at home? I think
I'll drop in on her until the matter is
settled," she drove on.
"Po r Mrs. Hastiugs!" Louise
sighed.
A fire starting in one of these
gulches or cauyous rushes up it as
Haniei rush up a chimney, but the
steep rock walls on either side often
coutine it. Though the cleft just
westward of the Hastiugs place roared
like a fiery furnace, their ravine was
still dark and unharmed, Phil looked
up it longingly, but dare.l not take his
cousin in. Yet he was aching togo
to Mr. Hastings' assistance.
"Here's just the pla'e, Louise.
Come on,"he cried, turning up a cat-
tie path to the top of ft partially e
tached knoll to eastward. "You can
see it all from here ami yet be perfect
ly safe. If Priuce gets lestive,
throw your handkerchief over bis eyes.
Don't go any nearer. I'll be back
presently, but I want to run up to the
Hastingses. You don't mind,do you?"
Lcuise did mind, but would not say
so, knowing bow much tbe Hastingses
needed help, so a moment later she
was alone ou the stony knob. Almost
in the next moment, it seemed, sbe
found herself list2uiug to tbe dista it
barking of a dug. Louise loved dogs,
and recognized this at once as the
voice of a large one, frightened,angry
and appealing. It was up the canyon
eastward of the Hastings ravine. Mbe
had been up that trail once with Phil
and Mina.
There she had seen a small, rough
shanty, and two little toddlers playing
with a great dog, half-hound, half
bulldog, which Phil informed her was
the terror of the neighbors and the de
voted slave and guardian of the chil
dren. Was he now afraid of the lire?
He had reason. If it swept up Has
tings' canyon it could hardly tail to
take Wilson's also.
Then Louise felt her blood run
chilly. Only that morning she had
seen Wilson and his invalid wife drive
by on their way to town, 12 miles
away. Mr. aud Mrs. Wilson, but not
the children! Minuhaltold her that
when the Wilsons went to town they
let the children locked up iu the
h.mse. No wonder poor 80-e was
barking frantically! He scented dau
ger in tbe air, aud his beloved little
ones were uuable to escape!
"Phil! Phil!" Louise screamed, in
voluntarily, but Phil was far beyond
hearing, and alieady there was a dull
smolder of fire in the dead leaves be
side the road, where a spark had
fallen.
"Priuce, we've got to try it!" Lou
ise sobbed, springing back into the
saddle and turning him to the east
ward. "Phil said 'l)on't go nearer,'
but we can't stay here and let those
babies burn alive. I know they are
shrieking for help,aud nobody to hear
but poor, faithful, helpless Bose. Now
keep cool, Prince! We simply must
smash that door in aud get the chil
dren back here before this canyon is a
furnace, and that may be in less than
ten minutes. Quick, Prince, quick!
It's a race for life, now. Ply, boy,
fly!"
Prince snorted as if lie understood,
and plunged dowu a steep cattle path
to the narrow trail that woun.l up the
cauyon. Half a mile of this cave-like
gloom, the crooked trail so narrow
that her outstretched arms might touch
the branches ou either side, aud now,
indeed, Louise felt that she had rushed
into the jaws of death. A few mo
ments' delay would make return im
possible, and she knew no other way
on 1 .
Now the c.vnyon widened. She was
under the firelit sky again, with Bose
bounding toward he", barking implor
ingly. "Yes, Bose, yes, good doggie,
we'll save the babies, never fear," she
called, breathlessly, extending her
land toward him, for she understood
the dog's tone. One sniff assured
him that Louise was a friend, and he
ran before her barking loudly and
flung himself against the shanty door.
Louise sprang from her panting
horse. Sparks were flying in clouds
overhead, and the air was 111 led with
the muffled roar of lire. Hastiugs'
canyon was all ablaze. There wasn't
a moment to loose. She rattled the
rough door fiercely.
A frightened little face showed it
self at the window. "Please'm, we
can't open the door. We're locked in,
and papa and mamma haven't come
yet. Ain't it time?"
Louise looked desperately around
for an axe to force the door, She
could see clearly—it was too light, in
deed, with all that ruddy glow from
the smoke-clouds above. The great
dog was watching her suspiciously.
"Now dou'tbe angry,boy,"she coaxed,
a little nervously. "We've got to
open the door, you know, to get the
bubies out, or we shall all burn up to
gether."
Bose barked and again flung his
whole weight against the flimsy door
just as Louise found a light hatchet.
She attacked the door furiously. A
strong man would have made short
work of it, but the girl was neither
strong nor skilful, and though it shiv
ered and splintered it held fast for
what seemed a terribly long time. At
last as she and Bose together threw
themselves against it.it crashed in,and
the dog bounded across the room to
where a little girl about six years old
was trying to hush the screams of a
brother of three.
The shanty consisted of but one
room, with neither floor nor ceiling,
and the furniture was of the rudest
description. A few relics of better
days "back east" contrasted oddly
with the home-made stools aud bed
stead. Louise gave one glance at a
line, inlaid stanu and a handsome fam
ily Bible, but with that terrible half
mile of overarched wood road to trav
erse, it was impossible to think of
saving anything but the children.
She caught up the chubby youngster.
"Come," she said cheerily, "let's go
and meet mother."
But the child screamed and fought
her vigorously. While she strove to
soothe him, the little girl ran to the
door, but one look brought her back
to cluch Louise's dress.
"The mountain's all afire! We shall
be burned up!" screamed the little
girl, clinging tighter, while the boy
kicked aud pulled Louise's hair with
all his small might. Fairly desperate
now, Louise shook him into momen
tary quiet, and said,sharply: "Gracie,
be stijl! I'll save you both if you'll
be quiet and mind me. If you don't
I can't, and we shall all burn up to
gether!"
The little maid gulped down lier
cries, and even unclasped one small
baud. "I'll—be—good," she gas;-ed,
obediently. "Don't let me be burned
up."
But the spoiled baby only shrieked
aud kicked.
His little sister, trembling like a
leaf, made a piteous appeal. "Please
don't mind him. He don't know a-iy
better,he's so little. O Johnny! please
be sti 1, please! I'll give you my
dollie,anything—but if you don't keep
still—O Johnny, do listen to sister—
we shall be burned up!"
But Johnuy was deaf to argunieut, and
Louise had to carry him out,aud exert
all her strength to lift him ou the
horse. "Hold on tight," she said;
but before she could lift Gracie also,
the perverse little fellow rolled shriek
ing to the ground. Louise had to
spring and catch the bridle or Prince
would have beeu off.
Master Johnny scurried back into
the house and under the bed iu spite
of his sister's frantic appeals, for be
had never been re piired to obey her
or anybody else. Gracie ran after
him, sobbing and tugging frantically
to get him out. Louise had to tie
Prince before she dared follow, sick
at heart with fear. The spoiled baby's
wilfulness might cost all their lives.
By main force she dragged him from
his retreat, enveloped hiin in blankets
aud bore him out, but on the door
step she paused.
A barrel of water stood under the
nearest tree. Into this Louise hast
ily plunged belding and pieces of car
pet, then, scrambling on an old box,
with the help of the broom she spread
them na well as possible over the flim
sy roof.
Suddenly she sprang down. "The
pool below the falls under the big bay
tree! We may be safe there, and there
isn't a moment to lose. Come,.Johnny,
we're going to the falls."
Once more she jerked the child from
under the bed and carried him out.
Now the air was cloSe, and the canyon
walls echoed to the crackling of the
flames. Fortunately it was not far to
the little poo', for it took all the girl's
strength to lead the terrified horse and
the struggling boy.
"B'ack man under falls bogy
man!" Johnny screamed, pulling back
with all his might, and Gracie added,
trembling, "Mamma says there is a
b'ack man there that eats little chil
dren; but you won't let him eat us.
will you? '
"If there ever was a black mau
there," said Louise, with composure,
"of course he's not there now—he's
run away from the fire."
The "falls'' were a mere dribble of
water down an a'inost perpendicular
rock; the pool.was not over three feet
deep, and green slime lay along its
edges, but it was water, and it lay in
a hollow, with rock walls on tkre*
aides, while over it spread the green
luxuriance of a great bay tree. Louise
drew a long breath of thankfulness
when she reached the stream.
"Here.Gracio, hold this youngster
a moment. Now, Priuce.come and be
tied to this tree. Poor old horsie,you
are nearly scared to death with all
this heat and rushing and roaring and
crackling vouud you. But you are
safe here. Rocks and water can't
burn, nor this green stuff,either. Oh,
yon little scamp!"
She was just in time to catch Johnny
as he broke away from Gracie. This
time she t >re a strip from his apron,
tied the restless ankles together, and
set him down beside the pool, scream
ing, but unable to make more trou
ble.
"There, now! Don't cry, Gracie; I
didn't hurt him, and we are safe here.
Step close under the tree. Look at
Bose lying in the pool. He knows
how to make himself comfortable."
The canyon was now a sea of iire.
Great flame-! Feemed to reach and
eclipse the pale stars overhea:!. The
heat was intense, and the showers ol
sparks hissed in the water and scorched
the ferns. Louise could see the thick
foliage of the green bay shrivelling in
the hot wind.
"But rocks and water can't burn,"
she repeated,desperately. "And this
heat can't last long."
She dipped Graeie's wrap and her
own into the pool, but Johuny held
his so tightly and screamed so loud
that she had to let that go.
A frightened rabbit flashed past
them up the cauyon, and a st;a';e
glided away among the rocks. Louise
■wondered if they would escape. She
dashed water over Prince's saddle and
back, over herself and the children.
The heat was terrible. It seemed im
possible to live except by lying flat.
She tried to forco Prince down, but he
was too terrified to understand or
obey, and she had to drop down her
self.
The flames seemed to slioot up both
sides of the canyon now, netting a
fiery bower against the sky. The
rain of sparks made little Gracie,look
ing into the mirror of the pool, scream
in terror. "The water's afire, tool"
she cried.
Louise tried to reassure her,but shi3
found herself glaucing up apprehen
sively at the shrivelling leaves of the
bay tree. They would soou cease to
bo any protection. "Lie flat,Gracie,"
she said, and once more dashed water
over the children and horse.
But scarcely a minute passed before
Gracie exclaimed, "The fire's going out,
ami our house isu't burned. It's just
going to, though!"'
Louise sat up. The dry grass and
leaves had burned out, the canyon
was comparatively dark,and the shanty
was but just smoldering into a blaze,
'lhe wet blaukets and rugs had pro
tected its roof, the great clump of
< alias and vines, its sides; but these
had been dried o'lt completely, and
the last shower of sparks ha 1 accumu
lated. In nn instant Louise was
speeding toward it. There was a lit
tle water in the barrel. A few min
utes' work with her saturated cloak
surticed to beat out the tire.
"It's lie ter tlinn 110 shelter," Lou
ise remarked, grimly, as she dropped
on tli3 do u step, utterly exhausted.
"And their bedding isn't all burned
up, though I wouldn't give much for ;
the things on the roof, and I don't
think 1 shall wear this cloak lo church
ngain. I wish I was safe at home in
bed; but thank God the children are
snfe!"
There came a patter of small feel
and a shrill, wrathful voice. Johnny 1
had succeeded in freeing himself, and
returned in great indignatiou. "I'll
tell my mamma ou you," be declared, i
loudly, "i'ou b'oke door in, and you
dwag me oft'and you tie me up in de j
tire. I'll tell my mamma!"
"You're welcome," Louise said, i
dryly.
"You b'oke windows and burn
house. I'll tell my mamma," Johnny
reiterated angrily.
Very cautiously Louise removed the
blinding oo it from her hors 's head.
She patted and soothed him, and was
aliout to climb wearily into the saddle
when there came a flare of torches aud
lanterns o\er the western ridge. She
heard a woman sobbing wildly and
declaring she must and would goon
to her poor children, while meu
seemed to be dissuading her.
Then Louise heard Phil's voice, full
of distress. "She would have been
perfectly safe where I left her, and
Prince wouldn't run away. Whatever
possessed her togo wandering oil?
Beu, won't you go aud see if she has
gone home? I can't face them if she
isn't there."
"Oh, Phil!" the girl called, "I'm
here all right. Is that Mrs. Wilson
crying? Tell her the children are a'l
right aud the house is standing. Bose
Down, sir! Don't you kuow yout
friends?'' for the had bristled ano
growled angrily at Phil's headlong
rush down the hill.
"Why iu the world didn't you stay
where J left you? Hastings though!
sure you hal tried to follow me and
been caught iu the lire. Next time 1
won't bring you out."
"i'ou needn't. I never want to see
a mountain tiro again. All the same,
I'm glad I came thi-t time. You are,
too, aren't you, Boso? You didu' 1
hear him calling for help, did you,
Phil? His barking brought me, auc
if Johnny had been half as sensible af
his dog 1 could ha\e hal the childrei
out before the tire caught us. Don' l
be a igrv, Phil. I couldn't stay then
aud let them burn up without trying
to save I lieui."
"Who's sai 1 anything angry? Only 1
didn't kuow you set up for a heroine.'
"It wasn't he-oic," Louise an
swered, simply. "It was the onlj
thing to do."
But somehow she never could make
the Wilsons agree with her, or PhiL
either.—Youth's Companion.
DR. TALMAGES SEBMON.
SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE Br THE NOTED
DIVINE
Subject* The Fin* of Trtice—lnterests of
Capital and Labor Are Identical, and
When They Cease to Antagonize Kacli
Other Strife Will Cease.
[Copyright, Louis Klopsch, 1839.]
WASHINGTON, D. C.—la this discourse Dr.
Talmage suggests how the everlasting war
Letween capital and labor may be brought
to a happy end. The text Is I Corinthians
XII., 21, "The eye cannot say unto the
hand, I have no need of thee."
Fifty thousand workmen In Chicago
ceasing work in one day; Brooklyn stunned
by the attempt to halt its railroad cars;
Cleveland In the throes of a labor agltu
tlon, nnd restlessness among toilers all
over the land have caused an epidemic of
ltrlkei, and, somewhat to better things, I
apply the Puullne thought of my text,
i ion have seen an elaborate piece of i ma
chinery, with a thousand wheels and a
thousand bands nnd a thousand pulleys all
controlled by one great waterwheel, the
machinery so adjusted that when you jar
one part of it you jar all parts cf it. Well,
human society Is a great piece of mechan
ism controlled by one great and ever re
volving force—the wheel of Ood'B provi
dence. You harm one part of the machin
ery of soolety, and you harm ull parts. All
profession? interdependent. All trades in
terdependent. All classes of people Inter
dependent. Capital and lsbor interde
pendent. No such thing as Independence.
Dives cannot kick Lazarus without hurt
ing his own foot. They who threw Shad
raoh Into the furnace got their own bodies
scorched. Or, to come back to the figure
of the text, what a si range thing It would
be If the eye should say: I oversee the en
tire physical meahanism. I despise the
other members of the body; if there is any
thing 1 am disgusted with, it Is with those
miserable, low lived hands. Or, what If
tho hand should say: I am the boss work
man of the whole physical economy; I have
no respect for the other members of the
body. If there Is anything I despise, It Is
the eye seated under the dome of the fore
head doing nothing but look.
I come In, and I wave the flag of truce
between these two contestants, and I Buy,
"The eye cannot say to tho hand, 'I have
no need of thee.' "
That brings me to the first suggestion,
and that Is, that lubor and capital are to
be brought to a better understanding by a
complete canvass of the whole subjoot.
They will be brought to peace when they
find that they are identical In their lnter
oets. When one goes down, they both go
down. When one rises, they both rise.
There will be an equilibrium after awhile.
There never has boen an exception to the
rule. That willed is good for ono class of
society eventually will be good for all
classes of society, and that which Is bud
tor one class of society will eventually and
In lime be bad for all. Eveiy speech that
labor makes ugulnst capital postpones the
day of permnnont adjustment. Every
speech that capital makes against labor
postpones the day of permaueut adjust
ment. When capital maligns labor, It Is
the eye cursing tho hand. When labor
maligns capital, It is hand cursing the eye.
As far as 1 have observed, the vast major
ity of capitalists are successful laborers.
If the capitalists would ilraw their
glevo, you would see the broken finger
null, the scar of an old blister, the
stiffened finger joint. The great pub
lishers of the country for tho most part
were bookbinders, or typesetters, on small
pay. The great carriage manufacturers
for tho most part sand-papered wagon
bodies In wheelwright shops. While, on
the other hand, In all our iarga manufac
turing establishments you will find tnoti on
wages who once employed a hundred or
five hundred bunds. Thedistunce between
capital and labor is not a great gulf over
which is swung a Niagara suspension
bridge; it Is only nstep, und the capitalists
ar« crossing over to become laborers, and
the laborers are crossing over to become
capitalists. Would God they might shake
hands while they cross. On tho other
hand- laborers uro the highest style of cupl-
talists. Where are their Investments? In
banks? No! Iu the railroads? No! Their
nerve, their muscle, their bone, their me
chanical skill, their physical health are
magnlllcent capital! Ho who has two eyes,
two ears, two feet, two hunds, ten lingers,
has machinery that puts into nothingness
carpet aud screw and cotton factory, and
all tho other lmplemeuts on the planet.
The capitalists wero laborers, the laborers
were capitalists. The sooner we under
stand that the bettor.
Again, there is to come relief to the la
boring classes of this country through co
operative associations. lam not at this
moment speaking of trades unions, but of
that plan by which laborers put their sur
plus together and become their own cap
italists. Instead of being dependent upon
the beck of this capitalist or that capital
ist, they manage their own affairs. Iu
England and Wales there are 818 00-opera
iive associations. They have 340,000 mem
bers; they have a capital of ©18,000,000, or
what corresponds to our dollars and they
do a business annually of *('.3,000,000.
Thomas Brassey, one of the foremost men
In the British Parliament, on the subject
says: "Co-operation Is the one and the only
relief for tho laboring populations. This
is the path," be savs, "by which they are
to come up from tho hand to the mouth
style of living, to reap the rewards and the
honors of our advanced civilization." Lord
Derby and John Stuart Mill, who gave half
their lives to the study of the labor ques
tion, believed in co-operative institutions.
"But," says some one, "haven't those In
stitutions sometimes been a failure?" Yes.
Every great movement has been a fatlure
at some time. Application of the steam
power a failure, electro telegraphy a fail
ure, raliror.dlng a failure, but now the
chief successes of the world.
"But," says some one, "why talk of sur
plus being put by laborers Into co-opera
tive associations when tho vast multitude
of toilers of this country ure struggling for
their dally bread and have no surplus?" I
reply, put Into my baud the money spent
by the laboring classes of America for rum
and tobncco. and I will establish co-opera
tive associations in all parts of this land,
some of them mightier than any financial
Institutions of the country. We spend In
this country over 9100,000,000 every year
for tobacco. We spend over $ 1,500,000,000
directly or Indirectly for rum. The labor
ing classes spend their share of this money.
Now, suppose the laboring man who has
been expending bis money In those direc
tions should just udd up how much he has
expended during these past few years, and
then suppose that that money was put into
a co-operative association, nnd then sup
pose he should have all his friends in toll,
who had made the snme kind cf expendi
ture, do the same thing, and that should
be added up and put into a co-operative
association. And then take all that money
expended for overdress and overstyie aud
overliving ou the part of toiliug people In
order thut they may appear as well as per
sons who have more Income—gather that
a'l up and vou could have co-operative as
sociations all over this land.
I am not saying anything now about
trades unions. You want to know what I
think of trades unions. I think they are
most beneficial in some directions, and
they have a specific object, and in this day,
when there are vast monopolies—a thou
sand monopolies concentrating the wealth
of tho people into the possession of a few
men—unless the laboring men of this eoun
try and all countries band together they
will go under. There Is a lawful use of a
trade union. If It means sympathy In time
of sickness, If It means finding work for
people when they are out of work, If it
means the Improvement ot the financial,
tu» moral or the religious condition of the
laboring classes, that is all right. Do not
artists band together in an art union? Do
not singers band together in Handel and
Hadyn societies? Do no', newspaper men
banj together In presi clubs? Do not
ministers of religion bund together in con
ferences nnd associations? There Is not in
nil the land a city where clergymen do not
come together, many of them once a week,
to talk over affaire. For these reasons you
should not blame labor guilds. When they
are doing their legitimate work, they are
most admirable, but when they come
around with drum and life and flag from
their sci\£ hidings, from tbekr factories,
then they are nihilistic, then they are com
muntstlo, then they nre barbaric, then they
are a curse. If a man wants to stop work
let him stop work, but he cannot stop me
from work.
but now suppose that all the laboring
classes banded together for ben nil yen t pur
poses in co-operative {association, under
whatever nam# they put their means to
gether. Suppose they take the money that
they waste in rum nnd tobacco and use it
for the elevation of their families, for the
education of their children, fortholr moral,
intellectual and religious improvement,
what a dlffeient state of things we wouJd
have in this country and they would huve
in Qreat Britain!
Do you not realize the fact that men
work better without stlmuluut? You say,
"Will you deny the laboring men this help
which they got from strong drink, borne
down as they are with muov anxieties and
exhausting work?" I would denv them
nothing that is good for them. I would
deny them strong drink. it I bad the power,
because it is damaging to tbem. My father
said: "I became a temperance man in
early life because I found that in the
hurvest Hold, while I was naturally weaker
than the other men, I could hold out longer
than any of them. They took stimulant
and I took none."
Evorybody knows they cannot enduro
great fattgue—men who iudulgo in stimu
lants. All our young men understand
that. When they are preparing for tie re
gatta, or tho bull club, or the athletlo
wrestling, they abstain from strong drink.
Now, suppose all this money that is
wasted were gut hered together and put in
to Qo-oporutlve Institutions. Oh. we
would huve a very different state of things
from what we have now.
I remark agalu, the laboring classes of
this country are to find great relief when
they learn, all of them learn, forecast and
providence. Vast numbers of them put
down their Income und they put down
their expenses, nnd if the Income meets
the expenses that is all that is necessary,
I know laboring men who nre In a perfect
fidget until they have spent their last dol
lar. They fly around everywhere until
they get It spent. A case came under my
observation where nl [young man iwas
receiving S7OO u yoar and earned it
by very hard work. The marriage day
came. The bride had received SSOO u9 nil
inheritance from her grandfather. She
put tho £SOO in wedding e piipment. Then
the twain hired two rooms on the third
story. Then this uinn, who had most nr
iluous employment, just as much as he
could possibly endure, got evening em
ployment so ho could earn a few dollars
more and by this extru evening employ
ment nlrnost extinguished his eyesight.
Why did he t ike this extra evening em
ployment? Wus it to lay by something for
a rainy day? Nol Was It to get a life in
surance so that If he should die his w fo
would not bo a pauper? No! It was for
the ono purpose of gottiug his wife a floO
sealskin saoque. lam just giving you a
fact I know. The sister of this woman, al
though shois a very poor girl, was not to
be eclipsed, and so sho went to work day
and night and toiled and tolled and toiled
almost Into the grave until she got a 4*150
sealskin sacque! Well, the news went
abroad all through the street. Most of the
people on that street were laboring, hard
working people, und thoy were not to be
outshone In this way, and they all went to
work In the same direction and practically
said, though not literally: "Though the
heavens fall, we must have a sealskin
sacque!"
A clergyman In lowa told me that his
church and tho entire neighborhood had
been ruined by the faot that the people
mortgaged their farms In order togo down
to tho Philadelphia Contenniul In 1876.
First, one family would go, then another
family, and finally it was not respectable
not togo to the Centennial at Philadel
phia, and they mortguged their farms. The
church and the neighborhood ruined In
that way. Now, between such fools und
pauperism there is only a very short step.
In time of ponce procure for war. In time
of prosperity prepare for adversity. Yet
how many there aro who drive on tho
verge of the precipice, and at tho lenst
touch of uccldent or sickness over they go.
A.h, my friends, it is not right, it is not
honest! He that provldeth not for his own,
and especially those of his own household,
is worse thun an infidel. A man has no
right to livo in luxury and have all com
forts and all brightness around him, tak
ing his family with lilin at that rate—
everything bright and beautiful and lux
urious until he stumbles against a tomb
stone and fulls In, and they all goto the
Foorhouse. That Is not common honesty.
urn no advocate of skinflint saving. I
atihor It. But I plead for Christian provi
dence.
Home of the older persons remember
very well Abranam Van Nest, of New York,
one of its Christian merchants. He WHS
often called mean because be calculated
so closely. Wby did he calculate closely?
'L'but he might have the more to Rive.
There was not a Bible society or a tract
society or a reformatory Institution in the
city of New York but he had his hand in sup
porting It. He denied himself many luxu
ries that he might give to others the neces
sities. He lias been many years reaping
his reward In heaven, but X shall never
forget the day when I, a green country
lad, came to his house and spent the even
ing., and at the close of the evening, as I
was departing, he accompanied rae to the
door, accompanied me to the steps, came
down off the steps and said: "Here, Do
Witt, Is S4O forboiks. Don't say any
thing about It " It is mean or it is mng
nillcent to savo, according as you suve for
u good or bad object.
I know there are many people who have
much to say against savings banks and
life Insurances, X have to tell you that the
vast majority of the homesteads in this
country have been the result of such insti
tutions, and I have to tell you also that
the vast majority of homesteads of the fu
ture for the laboring classes will be the re
sult of such institutions. It will be a great
day for the working classes of England
and the United States when the working
man can buy a barrel of flour instead of
flour by the small sack; when ho can buy
a barrel of sugar instead of sugar bv the
pound; when ho can pay cash for coats
and hats and shoes r ither than pay an ad
ditional amount for the reason that he bus
to get it a'! charged.
I know a gentleman very well who has
over 1000 hands In his employ. I said to
him some years ago when there was groat
trouble in the labor market. "How are you
getting on with your men?" "Oh," hes.itd,
"I have no troublel" "Why," I said, "ftuvo
not you had any strikes?" "Oh, no!" ho
said. "I never had any trouble." "What
plan do you pursue?" lie said: "I will tell
you. All my men know every year just
how matters stand. Every little while I
call them together and say: 'Now, boys,
last year I made so much. This year I
made less. Ho you see I cannot pay you as
much as I did last year. Now, I wunt to
know what you thlr?- T ought to have as
a percentage out of tills establishment
and what wages I ought to give you. You
know I put all my energy in this busiuess,
put all my fortune in it und risked every
thing. What do you really think I ought
to have and you ought to have?' By the
time we come out of that consultation wo
are unanimous. There has never been an
exception. When wo prosper we will pros
per together. When we suffer, we all suffer
together, and my men would die for me."
Now, let kit employers bo frank with their
employes. Take them into your confi
dence. Let them know just how matters
stand. There is an inmense amount of
common sense In the world. It Is always
safe to appeal to It.
A TEMPERANCE COLUMN.
THE DRINK EVIL MADE MANIFEST
IN MANY WAYS.
The Case of lteuben Wrl(lit—Dnneprn in
the Uee of Alcohol Which Proftimi
Atwater Failed to Ktupliaslze—False
and Injudicious to Call It Food.
Now, Reuben was a friend of mine.
And stauncher could not be,
A man of heart—of muscle—mind,
A manlier man one scarce could find
Nor sure could wish to see.
Hit farm was like n garden plat,
Tilled with such watchful care;
Hl* barns were tilled from bay to roof
His granaries held more than enough,
Aud large his store and share.
Ills good wife, all a wife could be, his chl)
dren fair and bright,
His home was like an Eden spot, aud liappj
truly seemed the lot
Jf reighbor Heuben Wright.
fhe tempter came—l know not who—
A foe in friend's disguise?
A drink perhaps for old times' sake?
An idle thought a thirst to slake?
A fiend in paradise?
A know hot now who tempted him,
Or what, cr why, or where;
It may ha\e been a thoughtless draug'j,
For joke or friendship Idly quaffed,
Or cruel, hellish snare.
dul 'twas a drink—one drink too muchl
O, for the gift to tell
(n time the ruin of one drink!
O, for the sight to see the brink
Above u drunkard's hell!
One drink, and yet another one—
The flood gates open wide,
And hope and love, and good and truth,
Brave manhood's aims, the dreams of
youth,
Drift out upon the tide.
fo-day we burled Reuben Wright,
The once true, faithful friend;
K wreck of life—a bllghed name—
K memory shrouded with a shame—
And this the drunkard's eudl
Tis only just a common case,
This one of Reuben Wright—
Ro common that we pass it by,
Some with a tear, some laughingly—
Forgotten in a night.
Twas but a drink—one thoughtless drink.
O, for the gift to tell
In time the ruin of one drink
0, for the sight to see the brink
That bounds a drunkard's hell.
—S. B. McManus, in Ram's Horn.
Alcohol Not a Food.
The recent experiments of Professor At
water are of great interest to physiologists
and chemists since they throw much light
apou one of the doubtful questions of
physiological chemistry or pharmachol
ogy, that of the metabolism of alcohol in
the body, writes H. F. Hewes, M. D.,to
the New York Times.
It Is a mistake, however, to think, as
some people apparently do, that the re
sult of these experiments should change
the teaching In the schools in regard to the
use of alcohol from a hygienic point of
view. The schools teach that the use of
alcoholic liquors as a beverage is not justi
fiable under the laws of hygiene. The re
sults of Professor At water's experiments do
not contradict this teaching.
These experiments merely show that the
body can derive some energy from alcohol.
This does not in itself entitle alcohol to be
placed among the food substances in the
hygienic sense of the term, which is the
sense in which the schools and the people
In general use the term food. If it did,
tuch a violent poison as muscarine, the ac
tive principal of the poisonous plants of
the mushroom family, would have to bo
classed with the foods, since It also is oxi
dised in the body with liberation of its con
tained energy.
To class a substance among the foods we
must know that the sum total effects of its
use are beneficial to the body. Muscarine
Is not a food because Its poisonous ellects
offset the benefit of the energy which it
liberates. Alcohol has poisonous effects,
as Professor Atwater himself admits. The
question as to whether it can be considered
as food depends upon whether its beneficial
effects are greater than its poisonous ef
fects. Professor Atwater's experiments do
uot prove this. Until this is proved tho bur
den of the proof is against those who
would include alcohol in the list of food
substances. For scientific experiment so
far, experiments upon large bodies of men
in the ordinary conditions and vicissitudes
of life, in the armies, and in exploring ex
peditious where labor and exposure have
to be endured, Indicate that when tho reg
ular "moderation" quantity of alcohol is
taken the harmful effects offset the benefi
cial ones, and that the drinker Is made less
lit rather than more fit to work.
And stronger still Is the reason against
speaking as Professor Atwater does of al
cohol as food in the same sense as sugar.
For people generally will Interpret this to
mean that it is a food equally to be recom
mended with sugar ana hygienic loods.
And this, as Professor Atwater will agree.
Is an entirely false idea and one calculated
to do much hurra. For whllo we get our
energy from sugar without risk of poison
ing, to get energy from alcohol we run
great risk of poisoning, nnd to get any
amount such as would be necessary to sup
port life in ordinary conditions, wo must
take enough alcohol to poison ourselves
seriously. (By poisoning is meant some
harmful effect "upon the functions of the
bodv).
The above dangers in the use of alcohol,
nlso the possibility of the formation ol the
alcohol habit, make its use as a beverage
unjustifiable even if there were no other
arguments against it.
It i9 unfortunate that the alcohol ques
tion has been brought up on this technical
ground. The question of the hygienic
status of the use of alcohol does not de
pend upon the technical question of the
definitions of a food and of a poison. The
controversy upon this point has produced
statements upon both sides which have
given rise in th'e public mind to great mis
conception of the truth.
Both sides in this technical controversy
will agree in regard to the main question,
that children should be taught to look up
on alcoholic liquors as dangerous sub
stances. to be avoided from considerations
of health and general welfare.
Aud in the present light of our experi
ence and of scientific investigation, the
school books must continue to exclude al
cohol from the list of substances desirable
as fuods, and to teach the avoidance of this
substance as a good hygienic rule.
Lecture In a Nutshell.
"I figured out years ago," said a pros
perous furmer, "that with very moderate
drinking, I'd drink an acre of good land
every year. Ho I quit." Here is a temper
ance lecture doue up iu a small parcel con
venient for handling.
The Crtiiade In llrlef.
If the saloon exists iu your city, it is too
close to your home.
Iu Germany drink l«ads to IGOO cnses of
suicide a year, and supplies the Insure asy
lums with 3000 victims.
No nation of burbarians in nil the annals
of time ever had a law or custom as in
iquitous as the llq»or revenue system of
the United States.
A drunken debauch and nn overturred
lamp caused a conflagration in Dawson,
the Klondike capital, destroying millions
of dollars'worth of property. This is the
second time within a few weeks that •
drunken frolic has luld i i ashes this city.