$ Miss Canary's Legacy. ; BVP. L BACON. i The wind was blowing In high and From the sea. It always sounded with :hat peculiar wall when it came sweep ing over the foam-touched waves as they lashed up against the beach. It was very strong tonight, and there was i dash of sleet with It. Miss Canary Had drawn her striped shawl closer about her shoulders and stirred the fire into a brighter glow. She was a thin, angular woman, of W or more. Her face was hard with many lines of care. She had not taken life easily; though, Jiving alone in the little cottage, her simple, uneventful life had had seemingly few grievances. Ml.ss Canary tended her flowers, kept lier hocse in order, and owed no one. What cause hud she then to worry? Ton'ght she held In her baud a let ta/, and more than once settled her spectacles to re-read it. Joel Canary, her only brother, was at the point of Seath. How she had loved him! It seemed, tonight, that she ccTuld see him so plainly—a little lad, when she was already a woman grown, running to her for everything, his suuny curia tossing brightly over his white fore head; could see again his laughing »yes. She had loved him with all the strength of her heart. But she had not forgiven him for loving and marrying as he had done. She had opposed it from the beginning. A pink and white doll face, that was all! It had been a grim satisfaction, when the news came that the foolish little woman had run away from home to Join some opera com pany, deserting child and husband. That was what the story had been. She had not cared to Investigate It fur th'.r. It was nearly five years ago, and she had not forgiven Joel. He had but met his deserts, she had said stern ly. Now he was dying. He had not prospered, the letter said, and there was nothing to leave, "nothing save the little lad-Joel." And the writer begged in her brother's name, that she, his only sister and kinswoman, would care for the child. She, Eliza Canary, who had no dealings with clfildren, who dreaded their approach as some unknown species of untamed animal! She had suddenly the care and re sponsibility of one thrust upon her! Her untasted tea stood on the little round table. Mousey, the big Maltese, rubbed herself against her mistress' ilress, vainly desiring notice. Miss Canary had Indeed forgotten that she had 110 tea, and that Mousey's saucer af milk had not been poured. She sighed heavily and folded up the let ter. "It's got to be, I s'pose," she said. Much living alone had given Miss Can ary the habit of talking to herself. "I s'pose I know my duty; the Lord's nlways made it plain enough for me, whatever folks may say 'bout not knowing what the Almighty wants 'em to do. That's Just shiftin' the respon sibility, I'm thinking. Jofel's child! I I almost wish I'd seem him afore he went; but I told him I'd never speak lo him again if he married that girl, an' I never broke my word yet, an' never intend to—but oh, I wish to mercy the child hadn't never come! How ever I'm to keer for It, I don't know. There'll be dirt over every thing—my carpets an' clean floors; an' noise like the Fourth of July all the year round. An' he'll bs certain to tease Mousey." This last was evoked by thefactthat Mousey had put up her paw and was gently patting Miss Canary's lap. The old woman rose mechanically, and, with hands that trembled a little, poured the milk. The wind outside blew the curtains at the windows. It sounded like a voice of distress afar off. "I never knowed the wind to blow that way and bring anybody luck," said MLss Canary; "an' it sure has brought my share of trouble," she ad ded with a groan. For the next few days Miss Canary held herself and home in readiness for her new charge. She had repaired a little white bed In a small but spot lessly clean room. She carefully laid pieces of drugget by its sides for the bare feet. She baked an overwhelm ing number of pies, and even made doughnuts. She had not made any for so long that they were rather a failure. "But boys' stoinicks can stan' most anything," she said, "an' Joel used to love 'em so." When finally the boy arrived, having come In charge of a comparative stran ger traveling in the same direction, Miss Canary was not prepared for him. She was In the back yard hanging out her modest array of washing, when the vehicle stopped, and a tiny—such a tiny—little figure was lifted out, and then the driver whipped up his horse and was off, leaving what looked like a bundle of rags at the gate. Miss Canary's hands were wet, she wiped them hastily upon her apron as •he hurried forward. Two grave blue eyes—Joel's had been blue—met hers. But what a baby! Surely she need not fear dirty carpet and general de struetlveness from such a child ns tills. She gathered the little bundle of clothes, as she called It, Uito her arm* and carried It swiftly lu from the keen east wind. The child was Indeed very small for lor his n«e of nearly six years. As he Mt eating thick slices of bread und butter and drinking rich, sweet milk, tl*' like of which Unit never before been his share, Miss Carney looked at liiin In a sort of stupefied amazement. To speak to him, to vsp«ct a reasou able reply, did not occur to her. He continued to cut bread and butter as bis requirements seeuied to call tor it, and with great satisfaction she watched the nioutlil'uls disappear. When Joel had finished he got down from the tall chair very gravely, and came to her, folding his little hands together. "I link I'll say my prayers now, Aunty 'Liza." "Mercy, child!" gasped Miss Canary, completely overcome by this familiari ty and the startling announcement. "Who told you to call me that?" "Papa; he tol' me how you loved little boys, an' how you were goln' to buy me a rock'n' horse an' a sailboat, an' a canary bird an' white mice; an' now, Aunty 'Liza, I'll say my prayers." "Hut it Isn't time; it's not night yet." "Oh, that's uoftln," responded Joel, cheerfully. "Papa always let me say 'em in the daytime—God'll hear." Miss Canary was mute while the little face burled itself in her apron, and a smothered voice gabbled over,— "Now I lay me," and added, "P'ease b'ess mamma, papa. Aunty 'Liza, an' little Joe." Then the tightly closed lips relaxed and Joel sprang to his feet. "Now let's play horse, Aunty •Liza!" So the days went on, and Miss Ca nary's charge thrived and grew like the pink and white hollyhocks planted against the kitchen wall. But things did not go exactly as she had expected. For Instance, the very first night Joel had flatly refused to occupy the little white bed arranged with so much care. "I alius slept with papa," he pleaded; and Miss Eliza found nothing to do but let him crawl into bed with her, where he slept soundly and his head resting constantly against her arm. She found herself counting over her scanty hoard, to see what might be spared for a rocking horse. She would compromise upon that; the sailboat would keep her in endless terror, and how could she insult Mousey by instal ling white mice and a bird in her do main? Joel was very happy. As the spring advanced he spent hours down on the beach collecting treasures hitherto un known to him. Miss Canary was si lent when he showered jellyfish and "fiddlers" on her parlor floor. Nay, she even permitted the buildingof a "pond" for his "farn'ly," as Joel called them, in the corner of her sitting room—a pond formed of a dish pan surrounded by bits of stick, rocks, and sand. She used to pause every now and then in her baking or cleaning, togo to the front window and look for him on the beach. "I have to do my duty by the child," she said, apologetically. So time passed on.and Joel had been an inmate of the little cottage nearly two years. It was a day bright with the May sunshine, and Miss Canary had set herself to work at cleaning the cellar. "The brighter the day the bet ter to see the cobweds," she said, as she tied up her head and drew on a pair of cotton gloves. Joel was playing. He had put pre pared glue on Mousey and his own hair was sticky with it. Miss Canary did not know that. Suddenly she heard his voice calling her name excitedly. What was the matter? She scrambled up the steps, not waiting to remove her gloves. She hastened to the front of the house and flung open the door, drawing back in horrified amazement. Just outside, bending over the child, the long plumes of her hat mingling with his curls, was the slender, almost girlish figure of a young woman. The rich silk of her gown glistened In the sunlight; there were bright colors in her hat, and the soft hair under it shone like gold. Joel's arms were round her neck, and he turned, saying with an air of pride,— "Aunty 'Liza, this is my mamma; I'se been 'spect'n' her so long, oh. ever so long, 'cause papa said she'd come." Joel's mother unfastened his arms, but still clasping the child, turmd her pretty, half-defiant face to Miss Ca nary. "You are surprised to see me," she said, looking gravely at the other's be wildered face. "I have known my child was with you. I owe you a great deal. I was with my husband when he died, but I could not take Joel then. I came up from Boston this morning to get him. You will no doubt feel glad to be relieved of Idm; you are un used to children; Joel must be a trial to you." Miss Carney was still silent. She felt as though a sudden paralysis had seized her. She tried to speak, but the words choked her. She put out her hands vis though to ward off a blow. "My position has not justified my taking the child before." continued Joel's wife. "Now I have nil assured one which will enable me to amply care for him. Oh. my baby, my baby!" she cried, smothering lilin with kisses, "how 1 have hungered for you!" Miss Canary's grim face did not re lax. "Then why did you desert him?" trembled on her lips. Words of pas sionate reproach, of hate, of anger, arose within her. Still she stood si lent. the wind blowing the skirt of her flliusy dress and the straggling locks of her gray hair. With It all came her steru sense of Justice. Tills Will tile boy's mother, who had the right to hltu; how dare she ipiestlon It? Hut »h« uiade one last desperate effort. "Joel," Bho said, and her voice trembled nud shook, "would you rather go with this lady, or stay with me tin' —an' all your things?" She clung to the last inducement as to a straw of hope. The child looked at lior with his grave, questioning eyes, and, not loos ening his hold on his mother, put out a hand to her. "I loves you an' my fam'ly very much. Aunty 'Liza; but you see, this Is my mamma—my truly mamma; I couldn't help goin with her." Mrs. Canary showered kisses upon him, and Miss Eliza turned away with a sickening sense of defeat and misery at her heart. "I'll go pack up his things," she said. The waves were rolling inward, and the wind was blowing high and from the sen. The air was full of its wail, as she stood and watched them as they went. She went about like one upon whom some heavy blow had fallen. The people missed her from the church. They missed her active figure in the village, and on the sands. She per formed her duties mechanically. It j seemed to her she had grown so old. | How empty the bed seemed! How doubly empty the room! The "pond" was undisturbed. A jellyfish sprawled on the floor beside it. Miss Canary did not remove it. To herself she dealt her words sternly. "It's retribution. I wouldn't forgive Joel; I vowed I never would an' now the Lord's punishing me." At the end of the third month, the moon, looking down, one night might have smiled to see Miss Canary step ping cautiously out of her front door. She was not wont to venture out at night, and felt a certain sense of awe and looked around half fearfully. She locked the door and put the key in the little worn satchel she carried. Every window blind was drawn at front and back. Without doubt. Miss Canary was going away, but there was only the sea and the wind to know It. It was quite early the next morning that she found herself in Boston and at the door of the house to which, nt'tei much inquiry, she had been directed A neat maid admitted her, and wltl" shaking limbs and trembling lips slit sat stiffly on the high carved chair it the hall. She was conscious that slit was squeezing a jellyfish or two, which she had putin her pocket, but she felt incapable of moving. There was the soft rustle of a woman's skirts, and then a graceful figure in a pretty morning gown leisurely towards her. "The servant told me," she began— then stopping short, "why—why If it ■ isn't Miss Canary—Sister'Liza, 1 mean ! —why how do you do'/" She held out both hands, but Miss : Canary rose up solemnly. "Waiter minute," she said. "I want to tidl you something. I didn't forgive Joel fur m:trry'n yju; 1 sa d I wouldn't, an' I didn't, an' so the Lord pun , ished me by lettin' me have Joel's child, an' then, when I mos' depended on it, taking him away. Joel's dead, an' I j can't tell him. but mebby his sperit 'ill know of it, if you forgive me, an' lim ine live here—jus' as—as er housekeep er—or somethiu", My salt riz bread is 1 good, an' jus' lemme—lemitte see the j child." She broke down sobbing, her withered hands covering li r face. "Joel, Joel," called his mother softly. There was a patter of little feet, a sound upon the stairs, a glad cry, and a curly head rested upon Miss Canary's breast; her tears fell upon It. "It wasn't altogether as you thought." Mrs. Canary said, as she poured hot, fragrant coffee for .Miss Eliza, while Joel smoothed and patted his flabby and i flattened fish. "1 didn't desert Joel—" her eyes filled with tears—"we couldn't ! make ends meet, and I—l had talent and could sing: he was willing I should i go, and when he died, we both wanted you to have the ediild until I could take liiui. I didn't mention that when I wrote, b.'cause—well, because we were not friends then, and felt you would not understand. And now 1 have a place assured me In a large church her,', i and I do not have to be away from | home. Joel, tell Aunty 'Liza she's | never togo away any more—except in the summer, when we'll all goto her 1 home and spend it there on the beach, with all the jellies and the nettles—and - what else?" 1 "An' my fam'ly," said Joel.—Good Housekeeping. The l!lr«l«' Morning Toilet. There i-s no pri ttier siiot in Greater New York on a summer morning than i the cent r id" I'nion S.p a:e ( ark, v*here i the fountain plays and pond lilies float In the cool waters. The little circular 1 lake is borde red with a bed of brightly i blooming flowers nud the water's sur face is nearly covered with pink and white lilies and their smooth, round leaves. Hut this Is not all. On almost every one of those green leaves is perched a sparrow. The birds fly down from the trees, alight on their fairy boats, tilt their ! little heads daintily and lean over and take a drink. Then they cotis'der | whether they want a plunge or simply a sprinkle. If the former. Into tin* water they go, flopping vigorously In their gigantic bathtub. If they feel they do not need an all-over bath, they liiui a Illy pod which sinks Jut b lot.' the water's surface t:ud perform tliel* ablutions there. Then, shaking th • bright drops from their dainty little shirtwaists, they lly to the grass which Is warmed by the morning sun, and here flutter and lounge about until dry uud ready for breakfast. It Is a pretty sight right Iu tin* hot. < oil!des 1 lie d. »t.' If : 111 e ty. Illlcl Wt!| wortll going II few blocks out of one-a way to see'. Y<ik Mall and 1- , press. DR. TALMAGE'S SERMON. SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BYTH£ NOTED DIVINE. (nl'lfrt! An T"xi 1 o From Howe - Perlli Tlmt Iteset the Young Man Seeking Fortune I 1 ). C. Dr. Till mage staid in London to occupy the famous Wesley pulpit in the City Road cl apcl, where he preachpd several times before, nhvays receiving hearty welcome. Thence he went to Ireland, preaching in Belfat and Dublin. The discourse he has sent this week describes the behavior of a young man away from home and suggests practical lessons for penile of every age end class. The text is Daniel i. . r >. "And the king appointed them a daily provision of the king's meat and of the wine which he drank, so nourishing them three years, that at the end thereof they might stand before the king." Mv text opens the door of a college in Babylon and introduces you to a young student seventeen years of age. Daniel by name. Tie not surprised if in the college you find many hilarities. Put a hundred young men together and they are sure to have a good time. There is no harm in Hint. God does not write out the trees, and the grass, and the blossoms, in dull prose. The old robin does not sit moping in the nest because of the chimings and the lively adventures of the fledgelings that have just begun to fly. Do not come into nn orchard looking for winter apples on a May morning. But Daniel of our text is far from being tray. What oppressive thoughts must have come over him as he remembered that he was a captive in a strange land! The music that came into his study win dow was not the song of Zion. but the sound of lute, sackbut and dulcimer in the worship of the heathen god. More over, he had no hope of ever getting back home asra'i and meeting those who had missed him long and missed him bitterly, wondering if he were still alive and find ing many a luxury tasteless because they did not know but Daniel might be lacking bread. When you and I were in school or col lege and the vacation approached, we were full of bright anticipation, and we could not studv the last night. The lexi con and the philosophical apparatus were transparent, so we could see right through them into the meadows and the orchards. Not so with poor Daniel. He did not know that he should ever escape from cap tivity, or, escaping, he did not know but when he got home the loved ones would be dead and he would go. wandering and weeping, among the sepulchers of his fa thers. Besides that, the king tried to make him forget his home and forget his country and for that purpose actually changed his name. The king wanted him to be a prodigy in personal appearance, and so he ordered meat and wine sent from his own table to Daniel, but Daniel refuses all this and puts himself upon the humblest diet, the poorest of all herbs, called pulse, and plain water. His attend ants cry out against this and tell him he will perish under such a di;t. "No," he says; "you try us for ten days, and if at the end of that time we are not full cheeked and robust as any it will be sur prising." Ten days pass along, and the students come up for examination, and all declare that none are so ruddy and robust ns Dani.d and his fellow captives. The days of industrious pupilage and the years pass by, and the day of graduation has eome, and Daniel gets his diploma, signed bv the king and reading as follows: "In all matters of wisdom and understanding that the king inquired of them he found them ten times better than all the ma gicians and astrologers that were in all his realm." And so Daniel took the first honor, and here the story ends, for Daniel, the student, hereafter will be Daniel, the prime minister. The next thought suggested to ine by this subject is that young men may be carried into captivity by their enemies. There is a captivity more galling than the one in which Daniel was transported. It is the captivity of evil habit. Men do not go into that wittingly. Slyly and imper ceptibly are the chains forged upon them, and one day they wake up to tinil them selves away down in Babylon. Cyrus after ward consented that some of his captives should return, and 50,000 of them accepted the opportunity. But tell me what evil habit ever consented to let a mango. Ten plagues made Pharaoh consent to the de parture of God's people, but tell me what Pharaoh cf evil habit ever cheerfully con sented to let any of its victims go. Men talk of evil habits as though they were li.ht and trivial, but they are scorpion whips that tear the flesh: they are spikes more bloody than the path of a Brahman; they are the sepulchers in which millions re burned alive. The young are in more iv:t:l because they are unsuspecting. The lior.s are asleep in their soul, and their power is not suspected. The time when a ship's company makes mutiny is when the watchman is off his guard. When a spider meets a flv, it does not say, "Go down with me to the place where I murder insects." No; it says, "Come and take a bright morning walk with me on this sus pension bridge of elittering gossamer." Oh, there is a difference between the, sparkle of a serpent's eye and the crush of its slimy folds! There is a difference be tween the bear's paw toying with a kid and the crackling of the bones in the ter rible hug. Bike's peak looks beautiful in the distance, but ask Ihe starved travelers by the roadside what they think of Pike's peak. Are there those around whom sus picions companions are gathering? Do their jests and (heir entertainments make the hours go blithely by when you are with them? Have you taken a sip from their cup of sin or gone with them in one path of unrighteousness? Turn back. From Babylon they came, and to Baby lon they would carry you. If so many plague stricken men would like to enter vour companionship before any one is al lowed to pass into the intimacy of your heart put on them severest quarantine. My subject also impresses me with the fact that early impressions are almost in effaceable. Daniel had a religious bring ing up. From the good meaning of his name 1 know he had pious parentage. Hut as soon as he comes into the possession of the king his name is changed, all his sur roundings are changed, and now, >ou say, win begin tile demoralization of Ins char acter. Before his name was Daniel, which means "Coil my judge;" now his name is to be Beltesliazzar. which means "the treasurer of the god Hel." Now you ex pect to see him overthrown amid all these changed circumstances. Oh, no! Daniel started right, and he keeps on right. When 1 find what Daniel is in Jerusalem I am not surprised to fiiid what he is IU Baby -1 wish I could write upon nil parents' hearts the fact that early impressions are well nigh ineffaceable. When 1 see Jo seph, a pious lad, in the house of his fa ther, Jacob, I am not surprised to see htm acting so nobly dowu iu Kgypi. When I find Samuel, a pious laj. in the house of his mother, Hannah. 1 am not surprised that he give» a terrible smiting to idolatry as soon as he comes l» man hood. David planned the temple at Jeru salem and gathered the material* for its building, but Soljuiotl, the ton, came and put up the structure, and that goes on in nil ages. The lather plans the character of the child and its destiny for time and eternity, then the son completes the struc ture. You might w. II put down a founda tion ten feet by five and expect to rear on it a great cathedral us to put elo.ui « r.o »clr«t ruaivi lei iu • child ■ no.il mid yet rear upon it something extensively grand and extensively useful. T.et me my to those Christian parent who are doing their best in the educatiot of their children: Take good henrt. Your sons th's morning may be far awav from you and in a distant city, but Cod, to whom you dedicated them, will look after them. The Cod of Daniel will take care of them far away in Babylon. "Train up a chiM in the way he should eo. and when he is old he will not depart from it." He may wander away for awhile and fall into sin and break your heart, but before he is done with his life, yon. having commend ed him to Cod. lie will come back again, for I put the emphasis in the right place and on the word "old" when I renent that passage and say. "Train up a child in the wav lie should go, and when he is old he will not denart from it." Are you fond of pictures? Here is one drawn by Solomon: "Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath conten tions? Who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? They that ta/rv long at the wine, they that goto seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it moveth itself aright in the cup. At the last it biteth like a sernent and stingeth like an adder." "Do you know what you are doing?" said a mother who had broken into a res taurant. the door locked against her, her son inside. She came tip to the counter and saw the man of the restaurant min gling the intoxicating cup for her own son. She said to the man behind the counter. "Do you know what von are doincr?" "No," said lie; "I don't." Says she, "You are fattening graveyards." I was told at Des Moines of a train of cars going through a very stormy nirrht over one of the western prairies. The young man who was present told us the storv. In the night there was a little child in the sleeping enr fretful and worrying and crying hour after hour. A man on the opposite side of the car lost his patience and said. "Either make that child shut up or take it to its mother!" Then another man on the opposite side of the sleeping car. a man with a broken heart, pushed bark the curtain and looked out and said. "Young man, that child's mother is dead in the baggage car. and the little thing is wailing for her." Then the man who had committed the affront rose and offered his services for the night and took care of the child until the morning, and all the pas sengers in the car were broken down with emotion. Oh. if the cry of one child could arouse so many sympathies, what ought to be the effect of the ten thousand voiced shriek of orphanage and widowhood from the ine briate's grave! Cod save this country from the perils of strong drink. My subiect also impresses me with the beauty of youthful character remaining incorrupt away from home. If Daniel had plunged into every wickedness of the city of Babylon the old folks at home would never have heard of it. If he had gone through all the rounds of iniquity, it would have east no shadow on his early home. There were no telegraphs, there were no railroads. But Daniel knew that Cod's eye was on him. Tnat was enough. There are young men pot so good away from home as at home. Frederick tending his father's sheep among the hills or thrashing rye in the barn is different perhaps from Frederick on the Stock Exchange. Instead of the retiring disposition there is bold effrontery. In stead of an obliging spirit there is perhaps oppressive selfishness. Instead of open handed charity there is tight fisted stinginess. Instead of reason able houss there is midnight revel. I speak to many voung men on this matter—you who may have left your father's house and others who, though still under the par ental roof, are looking forward to the time when you will go forth to conflict, alone in this world, with its temptations and its sorrows, and when you will build up your own character. Oh, that the Cod of Daniel might be with you in Babylon! I think the most thrilling passage of a young man's life is when he leaves home to make his fortune. The novelty and the romance of the thing may keep him from any keen sorrow, but the old people who have seen the destruction of so many who have started with high hope cannot help but be anxious. As long as he was in his father's house his waywardness was kindly eluded.and although sometimes he thought the restraint rather bitter and rather se vere in his calmer moments, he acklowl edged it was salutary and righteous. Through the influence of metropolitan friends the father has obtained a situation for his son in the city. The comrades of the young man come the night before his departure to bid farewell to the adven turer. The morning of his going away he walks around the place to take a last look at things, perhaps comes upon some ob ject that starts a tear, some old familiar place, but no one sees the tear. The trunk is Put upon the wagon, the young man is off for the city. He is set down amid excitements and amid associates vjdio are not overcarcful about their words and thoughts and actions. Morning conies. No family altar. Sabbath comes. No rural quiet. The sanctuary comes, but all the faces are strange, and no one cares whether he comes to church or does not come. On his way from the store he sees a placard announcing a rare and a vicious amusement. He has no greeting at the door cif the boarding house. He has no appetite for the food. No one cares whether he eats or does not eat. Rather he would not eat. It is cheaper. After the tea he goes into the parlor, takes up a book, finds it dull, no sister to look over it with him. does upstairs to his room in the third story, finds it cold and unin viting, and in despair he rushes out, caring for nothinir but to get something to make him stop thinking. He is caught in the first whirl of sin. He has started out on the dark sea where the gleam of the joy is the flashing of the pit and the laughter is the creaking of the gate of the lost. Oh. how many graves there are in the country churchyard which, if they could speak, would tell of young men who went o(V with high hopes and came back blasted and crushed to disgrace the sepuleher of their fathers. And yet this exodus must goon. As from distant hills the jivers are poured down through tunnels to slake the thirst of our great cities, so from distant coun try places the streams of incorrupt popu lation must pour down to purify our great cities. To-morrow morning on all the thoroughfares, in every steamboat and in every rail car will be young men going forth to seek their fortunes in our great tow.ns. O Lord Cod of Daniel, help them to be as faithful in Babylon as they wore at Jerusalem! Forget not, () my young friend, in the great seaports the moral and religious principles inculcated by parental solicitude, and if today seated in the house of God you feel the advantage ol early Christian culture forget not those to whom you are most indebted and pray <!od that as old age comes upon them and the shadow of death the hope of heaven may beam through the darkness. God for bid that any of us through our misconduct should bring disgrace upon a father's name or prove recreant to the love of a mother. I'lie dramatist r ide no exaggeration when he exclaimed, "How sharper than a ser pent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!" Oh, that God would help you as Parents and as young people to take to heart the lessons of this important subject, and if wo shall learn that there is danger of bring carried into captivity ami that early impress lis are almost ineffaceable and that there is something beautiful in t'hristian sobriety and that there is great attractiveness in piety away from home, then it will be to you and to me a matter of everlasting congratulation that we con sidered how Daniel India* cd when he be came a college student at Hub) lon. Casnihahsm is w.i the dtchus in the N«W IWllidcs. THE OREAT DESTROYER. SOME STARTLING FACTS ABOUT THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE. Alcoholic Tlrrctllty— History of a Family of Eight Children, Whose Father Wiu a Hard Drinker— Every Member Hut One a Degenerate—An Awful Warning. I can possibly better illustrate what the term nervous diathesis means by detailing the history of a neurotic family. Its father was a man of vigorous personality, strong of brain and in excellent bodily health. From early manhood, in order to more easily accomplish his work, he had indulged excessively in alcoholic stimu lants, yet never to the extent of intoxica tion. The mother was a gentlewoman of delicate, nervous organization, and re fined mental temperament, worrying over trifles, excitable, and, at times, suffering from the milder forms of hysteria. A fam ily of eight children "was born to them. Iu childhood high and frequent fevers with out adequate cause were observed. Their dentition was frequently complicated by convulsions, and at the age of two years epilepsy developed in one of the children. Another child, delicately molded, and ex tremely precocious, could read at the age of three, and displayed considerable ability as a musician. She was sent to school when six, and was soon regarded as an in fant phenomenon, advancing rapidly iu her studies. She failed to develop physi cally, and early suffered from astigma tism. At the age of twelve, owing possibly to a slight fright, she became choreic, im proved, relapsed at the end of three months, and finally recovered except for slight habit spasms. A third child, ap parently normal and giving but little evi dence of any unusual nervous or physical disturbance, yet developed a megrim at the age of sixteen. Another daughter had always shown a certain weakness of body, a poor appetite, digestive disturbances and constipation. Like the mother she was nervous, and at times morbid. An un happy marriage and too frequent bearing of children resulted in a permanent melan cholia. The oldest boy was fairly bright, but proved decidedly unruly in the school, and refused a university education. He worked faithfully and untiringly, and rose to the head of a large business establish ment, manifesting no bodily or mental pe culiarity. The second son was excellently endowed. .At an early age he exhibited marvelous activity, rapidly passing through the various grades of the common schools, and entered the university when barely sixteen. His university course was most brilliant. He was the honor man of his •lass, was an excellent debater, and led in religious work. What was given him to do he did well, but his mentality was one of doubt, and he could not decide upon his life work. He went to Harvard for a post-graduate course, then to Germany. While there he found brain concentration impossible, worried much over trivial af fairs, and became very despondent. There soon developed serious stomach derange ments. and tie suffered greatly with intes tinal dyspepsia. He returned to his home depressed, overwhelmed with morbid fears, incapable of prolonged mental efforts, and remains a confirmed neurasthenic. An other son, with very much the same his tory. studied law, rose rapidly in his pro fession, and, except for occasional dipso maniac outbreaks, is fairly successful. The fourth son was not bright, took but little interest in his studies, shirked when pos sible, left school at an early age. con sorted with evil companions, and seemed unable to comprehend his moral delin quencies, wandered from place to place, gambling and dissipating and finally be came a confirmed criminal. In this family group only one became insane. The reason for this development the family could not possibly conceive, honestly denying in sane heredity, yet every member of the family, except one, presented either physi cal or mental stigmata of degeneration.— Dr. Robertson, in Occidental Medical Times. Drink Habit Among Women. Some surprising statements were mnde at the late State Convention of the Con necticut Catholic Total Abstinence Union by the Rev. Walter Shanley, the Presi dent of the organization, in his annual address to the assembled guests of the State societies. The priest talked on the projects of temperance in the State, and said that he regretted to say that while habitual intemperance among men was decreasing alcoholism among women was becoming more common. He said in part: "Considerable comment has been lr.ade lately concerning the drink habit among society women and the danger of this growing custom among the women. Ac cording to competent authority, drinking is decreasing among men. but increasing among women, and among women of the wealthier classes. It is to be regretted that women who are leaders in society imitate the drinking customs of English society, and that the old American ideas of respectability in this matter are fast disappearing. It is to be hoped that Catholic women will not be brought to adopt this dangerous drink fashion. Mince Flea Under a lEan. Mrs. Cornelia B. Forbes, President of the Hartford Branch of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union, has made the discovery that the required fee of fiftv cents is not the stumbling block that bars the way of new recruits to that organ ization, but homely and provincial cider. On account of this subtle and "dangerous" beverage, the society has relegated mince pies to the black list, and the New Eng land housewife who considers cider the es sential element to the success of her pies refuses on this account to join the ranks of the white riliboners. Such was the re port made at a reeent meeting in Hartford by those who have been striving to in crease the membership. Salvation For the Slave of Drink. \\ hat is the price of freedom for the slave of drink? Self-denial! Is this hard? Oh. husband! Oh, brother! take in hand that glass of liquor, hold it before your eyes and see therein the tea' - s of n loving wife, dear children, and blasphemies, woes and miseries of which it has been the cause, then tell me how you can deal it out to others, or take it yourself. Oh! think of the souls damned through the means of it, who will rise up on judgment day against the drunkard and the vender of drink, and then with all the horror of which your soul is capable dash away ilie fatal cup forever from your lips. A Town Without Saloons. The Great Northern Railroad has won its tight to prevent the incorporation of the town of ilillyard, near Spokane. The contest was rather pecn'iar in some par ticulars. Ilillyard is a town established and owned bv the company. In order to secure entry for the saloons an attempt to incorporate the town was made, but has failed, and the railroad will continue to run the town without saloons. The Crusade In Brief. At Bayonne. X. J, f twenty saloons were refused renewal of license and closed The Church Temperance Society of the Protestant hpiscopal Church is operating til teen ice-water fouiituius. 1 lie trend iu the direction of temper ance is so marked in the South that the daily newspaper* are beginning to take notice of it aud discuss it editorially. lh.ukiug on the |xilice force is not to be allowed in San Francisco. U. K Smith was lined tlUl) for Iwiiig drunk on duly 4, ami barely escaped dismissal from the (wet
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers