THE SONG OF THE WORLD.
There's a song that the hammer is staging, There'* a song that the sails are singing,
A ringing and wholesome song, A humming and catching song,
Of the day's bread won, Of the prow that braves
Of the day's work done, The ravening waves,
Of a mold well cast Of storms outsailed.
In the fiery blast— And of ports safe bailed—
And never one blow gone wrong. And never the helm gone wrong.
There's p song that the engines are dinging, There's a song that the world is singing,
A deep and echoing song, A resonant, splendid song,
Of the whirring wheel Of its wort, work, work,
And the burnished steel, With never a shirk,
From the lightest spring Of its battles won,
To the mightiest swing— Of its laborß done—
And never a stroke gone wrong. And of Right that masters Wrong!
—lsabel Bowlban Pinley, in St. Nicholas.
j Maggie—Who Was Blind. J
j BT BERTHA SEAVE J
Maggie was 30, and Mercy was 5. ;
Maggie had a down-town business— I
a fairly paying business, too—to I
which she attended every day, a busi- j
ness with a movable office and no j
rent to pay.
Maggie was blind, certainly blind.
There was really no mistake and no
pretending about it
Everyone who passed her believed
it. For there were truly holes where |
the eyes ought to be, and the :
lids were pinched close together— |
closer than fringed gentians ever tried ,
to be—they looked as if they never j
would come open, even if you took
both hands to make them do it.
Mamma Maggie might have been 13
instead of 30, she was so tiny.
Mercy was made sweet every morn
ing aud dropped in at the free kin
dergarten as Maggie and the Irish
neighbor passed on the way to the
office.
Maggie carried a big book and Mr.
McMooney,the Irish neighbor, carried
a low little black chair, and gallantly
held Maggie's arm and guided her
over crossings and through the busy
throngs.
The chair was placed on a Bunny j
corner, if the day was clear, and there |
Maggie and the Lord kept office all
the day. The Lord appealed to the
hearts of the people while Maggie
made her voice strong aud clear as
she read from the big book, which had
raised letters.
A little worn tin cup always set on
the edgo of the page.
It was a noisy place. Every mo
ment the cable cars ran past and the
elevated trains roared overhead. I
Numberless heavy truck wheels and |
hundreds of iron-shod feet kept grind- j
ing and crunching on the iron rails i
and on the cobble stones, and scores j
of leather-shod feet passed where
Mother Maggie sat. The scuff
scuifle of these feet close by was
more acute to her sensitive ears than
all the other noises. For she knew j
that they were human feet and above
them throbbed human hearts. So
she read high and loud, telling with
her twiigue what words her fingers ,
had traced on the pages on the big :
book.
The book was large because the let- :
ters were raised and very large. It j
took only a few words to cover quite j
a spa?e on the thick white pages.
Mrs. Maggie read about the pretty I
flowers and the greeu fields and the I
woods. Those who stopped to listen j
thought it an old, worn theme, but a
wonderfully curious way of reading j
about it, nevertheless, and in pity !
dropped their pennies into the cup j
and passed on.
It hcd been not always thus with ;
Maggie Once there had been a hus
band. John was born blind, but
Maggie was so by accident. John
was we>l educated and held a position
is teaiher in the asylum. But he
lied. And so came about the mov
ible oflce and the little old tin cup.
The cup was never full. Deary me!
—Maggie knew better than to let it
jet fuT. She considered it best al
ways 1o present an empty cup.
Pennies mostly fell in, and nickels,
aud rarely a silver bit.
They all vanished into the big
pocket that hung in the folds of Mag
gie's rusty black skirt, and was hidden
vith the big old-fashioned cape that
-otected Maggie from the weather.
* * « * * *
~wcy kept house alone when the
was dismissed.
her eyes were all right—
as bi Sjt and clear and brown as eyes
could » That is why she was named
i i C 7i en slle came. She appreci
li T e y o «. to °. an d helped her
mothertto e whatever was to be seen.
When she aloue sbe duste(l th
T' Z 6 aU talked and waited and
talked throng hourß an(l hom . B
When she t ood at tbe w j ndow G f
the one little . of a room
she lived, the p le and the teams
away down in vh Btreet Beemed BO
far off that she pla.,j th were onl
make-believe. It wa W , J if in fanc >
that the horses sl.ppe lan(1 fe „ aml
were lashed by their dr tLe uewß .
boys scurried and sque. d (fol . tbejr
shouts were not very loutF the time
they reached her winded „ m1 tl , fi
carriages flashed in the sun „ ml „ nr
ried beautiful ladies. Her vln d ow _
gazing invariably came aftt, B ij e
dusted the furniture. The w n ,^ ow
sill was paintless and also speck QSS
because as she gazed and thought
talked she rubbed and scrubbed
with a tiny wet rag. When the win
dow sill was quite clean—and we
might say quite worn out-for the
day, Mercy set up her clothes-pin
dolls and made them go a-calling. She
talked for both of them, and had them
drag their dawdy calico trails over
the window-sill pavement with a
swish of style and pride.
Mercy never went down into the
halls to play with the other children
of the house, nor yet into the street.
"Mum Maggie" forbade it.
"These children," she had taid,
"are not very niea—and then ttrre if
to be the tetter." Mercy must watch
and listen for the postman to call
their names. Everything depended
upon that letter. Mum Maggie could
give up the movable office when the
letter had come. It had been ex
pected for two years—ever since Papa
John died. It was going to give Mum
Maggie the first place that was vacant
among the teachers at the school for
the blind where Papa John had
taught.
And so when the postman stood at
the street door and whistled, Mercy
ran to the stairway and listened.
Everyone on all the floors did, too,
and the rickety old banisters fairly
bristled with raggedy heads when he
called out the names of the fortunate
ones. Thus far he had not called
"Kimber," and Mercy often pursed
her lips and told her clothes-pin dolls
that he never would.
A parade was ever a great trial to
Mer>.-y. She grew so excited and so
eager to be in it or near it that while
it was passing she had to stand on
the very tip-toe of one foot. One
hand held the other foot while another
hand held fast to the window sill, and
the little solemn face was pressed
against a square of glass. Many a
time she thought of rushing down the
stairs. But she staved. "Mum Mag
gie" must be obeyed. Mum was little,
but she was mighty. She just had to
be obeyed.
"I'll go with you to down town
when I'm 6," she used to say; '"that'll
make me big 'nongh, won't C years?"
"Dear, dear," laughed Maggie.
"How could I ever get through the
crowds and crossings with only a baby
of 6 to see for me."
The crowds were thicker than usual
one day—it was the day of the grand
parade. The president was passing
through the city on his way home to
Washington, and the people were out
to welcome him. The noises roared,
and the feet tramped and scuffed. The
little tin cup was emptied often, al
though Mrs. Maggie did not quite un
derstand. She had not heard of the
great parade. She read on and on;
then she listened and waited. At last
the notes of a bugle reached her, then
the drum beats and the tramp, tramp
of feet. She ceased reading. A faint
shout came to her. The people were
cheering, and she heard the magic
name of the president as the sounds
became clearer.
A sudden fright possessed Maggie.
Evidently the parade was marching
toward her office and she knew that
the sidewalks would be jammed with
people, and she but a tiny, helpless
woman at the mercy of the throng.
Onward marched the feet. First
came the shoutingboys andafew men,
then men, women aud children.
Mamma Maggie had hardly a chance
to catch her breath before she was in
the midxt of the rush, and actually
carriel along, inch bv inch, on the
smooth pavement as she sat in the low
little c'lair.
"The Lord is with me,'' she
thought, as she folded ber trembling
lingers over the big closed book. "He
will not suffer my feet to be moved.
She thought it in an agony; then
she resolved to say it. She made her
voice loud and high—hei- strong street
voice she used, and at the clear words
a big man turned and looked down.
"You seem to be moving, though,
chair and all," he said. "Here,boys,
lend a hand. Lift her up."
Many strong hands laid hold of the
chair.
"What shall we do with her?" they
asked. "There's no place to set her
down."
"Carry her along, then," was the
lusty answer.
And so, almost at the head of the
crowd, sat "Mum Maggie," marching
to the measured tread of feet with the
band playing and the president him
self following in his carriage. And
the people shouted, and the horses
champed and pranced and the presi
dent did the honors.
"They are going south, and very
soon, at this rate, I shall be home,"
thought Maggie. "I never expected
to go home in such state. Please set
me down at Feck's place," she called
to the big man on her left.
"Live there?" he asked. "What
number?"
".Seventeen," she answered,in great
relief.
"All right. Boys.tnrn off at Peck's
place, No. 17." The big man lin
gered when the others had hastened
back to the main street. "Seventeen,
Peck's place"—he pondered— "Peck's
place." Then be took from his vest
locket a little »i>ft covered book and
tinned its leaves. "Here 'tis," he
sai) t "Peck's place. Do you know
ft Mis. Maggie Kiuiber living at this
place l "
is my name," fluttered Mother
Maggie.
"No! is it? Well, well!" There
was a pause. Wonder and surprise
kept both the big man and the little
woman silent.
"Why did you never—what are you
—well!" The big man seemed to be
tinable to express himself. It was the
little woman who straightened him.
"Who are yon?" she asked.
"Why, yon know, I'm one of the
board. I'm president of the board for
the home for the blind. Why did you
not reply to the letter of the secre
tary?"
Maggie gasped and fell back against
the wall of the passageway. "I never
—got the letter—l never had any let
ter," she said. "Was there a vacan
cy?" ,
"Yes,there was a vacancy." Tbebig
man actually trembled as he realized
what it meant to this helpless little
woman. He longed to say something
comforting, but there was nothing to
say.
"I don't know who is to blame," he
was saying, when the sound of the
carrier's whistle nearly drowned his
words, and in a moment the postman
was at the door.
"Here!" demanded the big man.
"Do you know about a letter directed
to Mrs. Maggie Kimber?"
The postman dropped his whistle at
the sudden attack. "Why, yes, I do.
And I delivered it, too. I remembered
iit because it was a uew name. I had
never had any mail for that party be
fore. Let me see; it must have been
three weeks ago."
"Oh," groaned Maggie. "Was it in
the morning?"
The postman thought a moment
"Yes, it was, I believe— yes. "
"And no one was here to watch foi
it and someone in the house has kept
it!"
The little black chair fell over or
its face in the midst of the three.
The big man looked the postman
over fiercely. "That's a great way
to do business," he said, sternly.
"What was Ito do? The woman
who took it said her name was Kim
ber, and I gave her the letter."
j "The vixen!" said the big man.
j "Oh, oh! don't sav that. Perhaps
| there is another Kimber here. But,
j tell me, is the vacancy filled?" cried
I Maggie.
I The big man was looking up at the
; banisters where the bristling heads
| listened for the postman to call.
"No wonder," he muttered. "A
rough-looking lot—no wonder."
"What's the damage?" said the*
postman. "I'll do what I can to make
good my mistake. - '
| "1 suppose it's filled by this time,
j It's in the hands of the committee.
| I'll find out aud let you know. I'll
come myself and tell yon. Now,which
one of those heads did it? Which took
the letter?"
"She isn't there —this sort of people
1 never stays long in a place. The
woman has gone away by this time."
The postman called out two names,
and the big man departed.
Maggie climbed the stairs. The old
chair bumped noisily along as she
slowly journeyed upward.
Mercy heard her and flew to meet
! her.
"I didn't go, mum—l wanted to,
j but I didn't. 1 stayed to watch for the
letter. I fought I'd put it in the
] bread furkin if it coined,but it didn't.
! Nothing tome but the p'rade,'' sh'-
said.
Two days afterward the big man
stopped at the movable office.
"It's all right," he said to Maggie.
. "They had found a teacher, but she
j has resigned. She is going to be
married."
He called a cab and put the little
! blind woman in it and rode away,
leaving the little black chair alone on
the pavement. The movable office was
deserted. The next time the big man
; passed the place a bootblack had
moved in. But tho bootblack nevei
knew what the low chair knew, noi
how it and the grand parade had
helped to usher in good times foi
Mum Maggie and for little Mercy.—
, Chicago ltecord.
REPAIRINC C ARRIACES.
A Trade That In Heine Somewhat At
feeteil by the Automobile.
i The horse has been displaced to a
limited extent in tho city by the auto
mobile. The latter has not yet be
come popular in the country, though
it may do so eventually. Already in
I New York and other large places it
has been found that the character oi
| the repairs called for are different
from those formerly needed. There
j is less work for the blacksmith aud
; more for the machinist. However,
j the chief factor in the new situation
is not self-propulsion, but the rubber
I tire. A writer in The Hub says:
j "People engaged in the making and
1 repairing of carriages were prone to
j laugh and sneer at the writer when
; told that vibration of the parts of a
! vehicle passing over stone pavements
: was the agent that produced the many
! fractures of wheeled vehicles in the
\ many parts of wood and iron. The
i writer also said that not until soft
pavements or soft tires came into use
would there be any change. The
buffer cushioned axle produced a little
■ diversion in favor of reducing noise
its main object The rubber tire,
solid, semi-solid or pneumatic, to
gether with the Boft pavement, have
! hit the economical nail on the head in
this town. If the tires are put on
; properly there is no tolling how long
the vehicle will go without repairs.
"The rubber tire does not shut ofl
vibratio.i entirely. It reduces it to a
! minimum; in the end the result is the
same. In consequence of this the
i great number of carriage makers who
j depend solely o;i repairs of carriages
1 for a living began to complain. Where
there was formerly work for three
| fire i and thirty hands, there is today
! not enough for one fire to do, while
[ six men make up a full complement
! for the plant. One of the pet phrases
1 is, 'The man who invented rubber
| tires ought to be hamstrung.' And
: there are many others too positive to
I mention, but nevertheless the passing
! of the small carriage repair shop is not
! hidden very deep in the future."
[FOR FARM AND GARDEN.!
A Brown Whitewash.
It may seem as much of a misnomer
to speak of a brown whitewash as of a
white blackberry, but the United
States uses a wash that gives a brown
ish white, not so glaring to look upon
when new as a lime wash, and it is
claimed to be more durable and to re
sist water much better. Take three
parts of good hydraulic cement, not
necessarily the highest priced, and
one part of clean, fine sand, and mix
well with cold water. Wet the sur
face to be covered, whether wood,
stone or brick, and then apply the
wash before the surface dries, which
will make it adhere better. Keep
well stirred while using.
Straw as a Horse Feed.
Some straw can always be fed to
horses, the amount varying with the
work and the purpose for which the
animal is used. Idle horses, having
ample time for masticating and di
gesting their feed, can subsist almost
wholly on good, bright straw; hard
worked animals and those required to
move rapidly can make use of only a
little—the feeder must judge from the
conditions how much to supply. It is
a notable fact that many horses are
fed costly hay for roughage when
cheaper straw or fodder would prove
equally satisfactory. In relative value
for horse feediag, the straw ranks in
the following order: Oat, barley, wheat,
rye—the last named being of slight
utility.
Potatoes and Kye.
Potatoes do excellently well upon
land where a crop of green rye has
been plowed in, Ufeing usually very
free from scab, fair and smooth.
Early potatoes can be taken off in
time to sow rye, which will make
growth enough to furnish a good fall
pasture or a spring pasture for cattle
or sheep, aud then it may be plowed
under in season to plant potatoes
again or some other later crop. We
do not like the idea of growing two
crops of potatoes on the same land for
two years in succession, but there are
many other crops which would follow
well after the rye was plowed in, and
nearly all crops can be taken oft' in
time to sow rye after them, which
will be large enough to plow under in
the spring. But do not trust to the
rye alone as a fertilizer, but use it as
an addition to the other fertilizer ap
plied.
Itape as a Food Crop.
We have not yet seen a single un
favorable statement about rape from
any who have tested it as food for
sheep, hogs or poultry, aud that is
more than we can say for any of the
new forage crops, as vetch, sorghum,
brome grass, katlir corn or any of the
rest While some praise them very
highly, others find some fault, or have
failed to induce them to grow well
upon their soil. But rape seems to
grow auywhere that cabbages or tur
nips will grow, and to do nearly as
well, whether sown in the shade of an
orchard as out in the open field, and
very nearly as well upon a light soil
Recently mauured as on the most fer
tile fields of the prairie. We hope
our readers will try it this year if they
have anything to feed it to. It may
not prove as good fodder as the corn
crop, but it is worthy of trial.—Ameri
can Cultivator.
One Way to Plant Peas.
"Vith the wheel hoe furrows were
ma,le 3 1-2 feet apart and five or six
inches deep by plowing twice in the
same furrow. The peas were then
:lrilled in by hand, using one quart of
see l to 150 feet of row, and covered
by reversing the plows to turn in,
running through each furrow and
covering the peas two to three inches
deep, and walking on the rows be
hind the plow to firm and compact the
soil over the seed. The rows were
made 3 1-2 feet apart that early sweet
corn could be planted between every
other two rows of peas, leaving a clear
space between each two rows to facil
itate picking.
After covering, a shallow trench
was left about three inches deep and
eight inches wide. As the peas grew
this was gradually filled level by cul
tivation. Cultivation was begun as
Boon as the peas were up, by going
through the rows with a cultivator aud
following the cultivator with the rakes
at the first cultivation and subsequent
ly once a week thereafter. The crop
was cultivated three times a week,
until the peas were in full bloom,
keeping the soil constantly stirred to
a sufficient depth, smooth and free
from weeds.—C. P. Byington, in New
England Homestead.
Clearing Fields of Stones.
In the first place, when clearing a
field of stones, pick up all on top be
fore plowing the field, and when break
ing sod have a man with i pickax fol
low the plow and pick up all that are
in sight. If a subsoil plow is used, it
would be a good plan to pick after
that, too. Throw the stones in small
piles and it will be easier to haul them
off later.
Our method has been to never plow
down any stones if we could possibly
find time to haul them off, and by
taking one field at a time, cleaning
that as much as possible by picking
before plowing and after harrowing,
once or twice, the farm will soon be
clear of all stones. The boulders we
dispose of in various ways. One is to
3ig out a hole at one side of them so
ieep that they will sink out of the
way for the plow, throwing the dirt
back over them again. Another is to
twitch them out of their hole with the
team and haul them away, burying
them in the covered drains or using
them in stone walls.
On our farm we have found that all
boalders stand deepest on the south
west side and shallowest on the oppo
site side. We dig the soil away on
the deepest side enough to get a chain
on it and place the team facing the
northeast, and out comes the rock
when the team starts,unless the chain
slips. One day last November with
the aid of one horse I took out and
hauled away a boulder that must have
weighed half a ton or more, but I
used my brains more than my hands,
and horse, for neither of us is un
usually strong.—V. T. Lundvall, iD
American Agriculturist.
Preparing for the Honey Harvest,
In getting a colony of bees' ready
for the honey harvest, one should
know what plants will furnish pollen
and nectar in abundance, and wher
they usually are ready for the bees tc
work upon. It usually takes workei
bees about 37 days from the egg unti
they are ready to fly out to gather
honey, though they will go out at ar
earlier age sometimes if the colony it
weak and the stores low. This it
like the sending of children out t<
earn their living when very young; i<
may seem necessary under some cir
cumstances, but it is neither well foi
the children nor profitable to the
parents in the end, if they can sustair
life in any other way.
Then the time to begin to feed the
bees to stimulate brood raising is
best placed at 37 days before the
blooming of the flowers, or a little
more, that there may be plenty o:
bees togo at work when the bouey ie
ready for them. If the season is de
layed beyond the expected time, kee|
up the feeding, and if the combs get
well filled with brood stores, put on £
super with frames of empty comb, 01
full sheets of foundation, aud let the
qneen go up there to start more brood.
If one can get a double hive in this
way well filled with brood, he may ex
pect not only a strong swarm from it,
but more thau one or two crates ol
sections or frames above it well filled
tfith honey. It is in this way and by
feeding when the honey flow slackens,
and by good care at all times, that
some are able to get 100 pounds oi
honey or more from each colony.
In this way the eight-frame hive
can be made practically a 16-frame
hive, with bees enough in it, and it
will not send out but one swarm or
should not be allowed to do so. U
more increase is desired allow them to
send out a second swarm, which they
are likely to do if the colony is strong
and queen cells are not destroyed,
then hive the new swarm in the uppei
box with the brood and comb thai
may be there, and have the lowei
hive on the old stand with supers tc
build comb in.—Boston Cultivator.
Food Injuring: the Butter.
In the spring and summer cows
will often wander into low fields and
swamps and eat weeds and wild plants
that affect the taste of the butter.
There is sometimes a strong odor to
it and again a decidedly bitter taste.
This is first noticeable in the milk
and cream, and the process of churn
ing does not eliminate the trouble.
The only sure way to prevent such
odors and disagreeable taste in the
butter in summer is to root out all
weeds and noxious plants from the
pasture. If the latter is in a run
down condition where weeds thrive
and grass dies, it will be pretty hard
to make the food of the cows good
enough to produce excellent milk and
cream. It will pay better in such
cases to rent more and better pasture
fields, and sow the old one with new
seed aud fertilize it well. Most tainted
and bitter summer butter comes from
farms where the cows are pastured on
worn out grass fields.
In the winter time, however, the
dairymen caunot remedy matters so
easily. The trouble comes from the
food, but the latter is in the form of
hay, which cannot well be separated
so that the weeds can be taken out.
Where weeds of a disagreeable odor
have been harvested with the hay the
cows will often produce inferior and
bitter batter all winter. In purchas
ing hay for winter feed the dairymen
rnns quite n risk in buying weeds that
will do more harm than the food will
do good.
But it is not always the weeds that
taint butter. One may be as careful
and particular as possible in harvest
ing the hay crop, and yet find him
self making butter with a decidedly
bitter flavor. The cause of this is
sometimes quite difficult to ascertain.
In my own experience I have found
that a large diet of clover hay invari
ably affects the butter injuriously.
No matter how ehoice the clover hay
may be, it will cause the butter to
have a bitter taste if fed in any large
amount continuously through the
winter. If fed in small quantities
with other hay and feed anl with
plenty of pumpkins and roots, there
will be no appreciable injury done to
the butter. But clover hay is not a
good diet for milk cows. It has really
little usefulness for the dairyman. It
would pay him better if it was all
turned nnder the soil to enrich it.
Next to this the feeding of damaged
grain is the most fruitful cause of
bad body in winter. Some farmers
buy up damaged grain because it is
cheap, but they cannot afford to feed
it to dairy cows. In nine cases out of
ten it will so injure the butter that it
will prove very costly in the end.—
E. P. Smith, in Farm, Field and Fire
side.
The New Stainpbnok*.
Inhabitants and summer visitors o!
fog-bound and moisture-saturated
seashore resorts in summer time will
appreciate the paraffine leaves of the
postoffice department's new stamp
books. The accommodating post
mistress will no longer feel moved to
provide her patrons with oiled paper
wrappers at her own expense.
THE GREAT DESTROYER}.
SOME STARTLING FACTS ABOUt
THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE.
The Drone* Sell limn—A Powerful Am
•wer to the Charge That Temperance
Advocate* Exaggerate—lt la Itnpo**lblq
to Speak Too Strongly on the Subject^
What are our liquor-sellers?
The drones ol the community; they feed
On the Mechanic's labor, the starved hind
For them compels the stubborn glebe tq
yield >
Its unshared harvest; and your squalid
form
Drafts out In labor a protracted death
To glut their grandeur.
—Shelley,
Exaggeration and the Saloon.
Professor W. 0. Atwater, of Wesleyan
University, whose experiments are said to
have developed the fact that alcohol is n
food and not a poison, has been beard fronj
again. This time he says,"The great ob
stacle in the way of temperance reform iq
the habit of exaggeration." Now that la
refreshing! It has uot been~thougbt hither-*
to that the evils of the saloon could be ex-{
aggerated. The same authority adds,
"Alcohol supplies fuel to the body." And
is that nil? We had supposed that it ap
plied fuel to the soul, and that the fuel It
supplies to the body would ultimately con
sume it with the soul in hell. That is al
cohol's reputation in this community. (
But Dr. Atwater, who, by the way, is a3
sincere RS he is probably capable, buQ
whose honest opinions are being made
ceediugly profitable to the Amerioan sa
loon, says thefrinnds of temperance hinder
their cause by "tho habit of exaggeration."
It would be no more difficult to exaggerate
the flendisliness of the devil or the horrors
of hell than to speak too vigorously against;
the evils of intemperance. Amid the mel
ancholy ruins of desolated homes and
hearts, and surrounded by the wreckage ot
lives which but for intoxicating liquors
would have been strong and pujre, there is.
no danger that our too-feeble language
will make it possible for us to exaggerate,'
Instead of exaggeratingjtbe awful crimes
that lla within and without the saloon's
green baize door which swings both ways
into despair, all the temperance reformers
in the world put together can not tell half
the terrible truth. Before we can get be
yond the ample borders of the facts about
the drink vice to where exaggeration
might begin it would bo necessary to know
all the hidden secrets of sorrowing homes
and lives, all the records kept in heaven,
and all the life-stories of the hopeless
dwellers in bell; and, possessing this knowl
edge, he would recite It must speak con
tinuously for a hundred generations before
he could tell enough of the black history
even to be tempted to exaggerate. We
have not been exaggerating the poison side
of Satan's favorite beverages—we, perhaps,
did not know until Dr. Atwater told us
that alcohol was a food or a fuel, but we
did Know that it very promptly makes a
man's body food for worms and his soul
fuel for the eternal burning. Have we not
seen it blight a million lives In their bloom,
and other millions before their birth? Have
we not seen it prostitute womanhood to
brutishness and manhood to worse than
beastliness? Please do not accuse us then 1
of exaggerating what transforms Eden Into
bedlam, angels iuto demons, heaven into
hell. We reseut auy accusation that we
could, if we would," exaggerate the want
and wretchedness which strew rags and
bleeding hearts and mangled lives along
the whole foul track of this death-dealing,!
disease-breeding, iilth-producing, mortal
ity-destroying, reason-dethroning serpent
of the saloon.
Haunted by no fear that we might ever
be able to tell more than the truth, we
stand aghast In the presence of the legal
ized saloon and wish it wero possible to
tell the American voter even, half of the
truth about rum and the ruin it is licensed
to bring iuto our land. Surely, surely even
balf the truth would be enough to shut up
these food shops of the devil, those coal
yards of bell.
, Oh, yes, alcohol is a food and a fuel!—
Cumberland Presbyterian.
Dmnkemieß* at Manila.
A personal letter recently received from
ftrmy headquarters In Manila was duly
signed by an offieer who does not particu
larly request that his name be kept pri
vate, but so many soldiers have beep made
to suffer for the truth which thev have
spoken thiit wo will for the present with
hold his name, He says:
"I have always been an admirer of the
Barn's Horn, and I trust that you will con
tinue to ilgbt against every form of sin,"
and especially against the legalized liquor
traffic, whose Iniquity I never fully appre
ciated until coming to the Philippines. The
infamous business thrives here under the
enegetic manipulation of Amorican saloon
keepers to an alarming extent. No reports
that I have read in the home papers have
exaggerated the conditions. I never saw
so much drunkenness elsewhere."—Karn's
horn.
World'* Temperance Congress.
A notable gathering of this year will be
the world's temperance congress, which
meets in London next Juue. More than
twenty temperance societies, representing
religious, scientilic and independent bodies
In different countries of the world, will give
accounts of their work and its results dur
ing the century.
The Continental societies are chiefly com
posed of clergymen and medical men, and
their work will be presented mostly from
tho moral and sociological sides. The
'trictly scientific societies are English and
American, one studying alcohol aud its ef
fects, the other the disease of Inebriety aud
it! causes.
The Bishop of London will preside at the
meetings, and Bobert Bae, a pioneer in fbe
temperance cause, will arrange the pro
gramme.
An Unholy Bond.
Liquor selling is universally acknowl
edged a curse, but not a felony. The sa
lcon victim is a social outcast, but the sa
iooa keeper and the brewer and distiller
are the companions of politicians aud
piiuces. And yet civilization is progress
ing, though with dragging steps, for
hanging to her arm la the rum-seller. He
claims her company and protection. They
are united by bonds of self-interest. Tbey
married for money, and though civiliza
tion has nothing but loathing contempt
for ber life companion, there seems as yet
no arm brave enougU nor strong enough
to break the unholy bond which unites
them.
A Lecture In Itself.
A young lady zealous in temperance
work asked a certain butcher to donate
one dollar toward meeting the expanses of
a temperance lectture that she was en
deavoring to securfc. She did not expect
to get it, and was therefore somewhat
surprised when he promptly handed her a
greenback,saying, "ifes I will give you a
dollar. I can well ufford to, for I have
sold more meat in this town since It went
'no license' than I used to in a whole week
when we bad saloons." Wus not this a leo
ture for "no license?"
The Crnaade in Brief.
Not one drop of intoxicating liquor is
Allowed to be sold at any of the military
camps of Canuda.
The sale of liquor has been almost wholly
abolished during the six months trial ot
prohibition in Lowell, Mass. Under license
100,000 barrels used to be shipped into the
City annually.
Dr. Edward Abbott SRys: "I see more
saloons within Ave minutes' walk of one of
the great railway Stations In Boston, and
more drunken 'natives' in a single week
between Boston and Cambridge than I saw
during a ten months' journey of 40,000
miles by load and sea around the world." ,