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WHEN MARY WAS A LASSIE.

The maple trees are tinged with red.

The birch with golden yellow;
And high above the orchard wall

Hang apples, rich and mellow;
And that's the way through yonder lane

That looks so still and grassy,—
The way I took one Sunday eve,

When Mary was a lassie.

You'd hardly think that patient face,

That looks so thin and faded,
Was once the very sweetest one

That ever bonnet shaded;
But when I went through yonder lane,

That looks so still and grassy,
Those eyes were bright, those cheeks were fiur,—

When Mary was a lassie.

But many a tender sorrow since,

And many'a patient care,
Have made those furrows 01. the face

That used to be so fair.
Four times to yonder churchyard,

Through the lane so still and grassy
We've born and laid away our dead,—

Since Mary w'as a lassie.

And so you see I've grown to love

The wrinkles more than roses; Earth's winter (lowers are sweeter for

Than all spring's dewy posies: They'll carry us through yonder lane

That looks so still and "grassy,— Adown the lane I used to go

When Mary was a lassie.

THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM.—Francis S. Smith.

The drunkard lay on his bed of straw

In a poverty-stricken room,—
And near him his wife and children three
Sat shivering in their misery

And weeping amid the gloom.

And as he slept, the drunkard dreamed

Of happy days gone by,
When he wooed and won a maiden fair,
With rosy cheeks and golden hair,

And heavenly, soft-blue eye.

Again he wandered near the spot

Where Mary used to dwell,
And heard the warbling of the birds

His darling loved so well,
And caught the fragrance of the flowers

That blossomed in the dell.

Again he at the altar stood

And kissed his blushing bride,
And gazing on her beauty, felt

His bosom swell with pride;
And thought no prince could rival him,

With Mary at his side.

The drunkard's wife is brooding o'er

The happy long ago—
In mute despair she sighs and rocks

Her body to and fro.
He dreams—she thinks—yet both their thoughts

In the same channel flow.

But now upon the drunkard's brow

A look of horror dwells,
And of his fearful agony

Each feature plainly tells,—
Some hideous scene which wakes despair,

His dream of bliss dispels!

Upon him glares a monster now

With visage full of ire,
And yelling fiends with ribald songs

Replace the feathered choir,
And the pure water of the spring

Is turned to liquid fire.

And as the red flames leap and roar

Around the brooklet's brink, The fiends a flaming goblet raise

And urge the wretch to drink, While overhead the stars fade out

And all is black as ink.

"Drink, comrade, drink !" the demons cry.

"Come to our banquet—come! This is the fitting draught for those

Who sell their souls for rum!"
No word the drunkard sneaks, but stares

As he were stricken dumb.

And now they point him to the brook,
And cry, "See, drunkard, see!

Amid yon flames are struggling
Your wife and children three,

And in their terror and despair,
They call for help on thee!"

He rushed to aid them, but at ono»
The demons blocked his way,

And then he sank upon his knees
In agony, to pray;

But palsied was his tongue, and he
Could no petition say.

The drunkard writhed, and from his brow

Cold perspiration broke,
As round the forms of those he loved

Curled up the flame and smoke,
And shrieking in his agony,

The wretched man awoke.

He glared around with frenzied eyes,—

His wife and children three
Sat shivering in their tattered rags

In abject misery,
And wept outright to look upon

His waking agony.

A pause—a sigh—and reason's light

Again did on him beam,
And springing to his feet, he cried,

"Thank God, 'twas but a dream, And I, perhaps, may yet regain

My fellow-man's esteem!"

Then reaching forth his trembling hand,

He from the table took
A mother's gift when he was wed—

The ffood God's Holy Book:
And while his loved ones knelt around,

A solemn vow he took.

"So help me God, I ne'er again

Will touch the poisoned bowl
Which ruins health and character,

And steeps in guilt the soul,
And swells the fearful list of names

Affixed to Satan's scroll!

"Help me. O Lord! to keep this oath—

To shun each vic ious don
Wherein I'd feel the tempter's power

To make me sin again!"

And from his sobbing wife's white lips
Arose a loud "Amen!"

And then on her wan visage beamed

A smile of joy once more,
And clinging to her husband's neck,

She kissed him o'er and o'er,
And wept such happy tears as she

Had never wept before.

He kept his oath, and from that time
Their home did heaven seem;

No discord now—sweet peace was theirs,
And love their only theme.

And daily both gave thanks to God
Who sent the Drunkard's Dream.

A JUDGE'S TEMPERANCE LECTURE.

At Morris, Grundy county, Illinois, throe saloon keepers—one woman and two men—wen- arrested and Indicted for selling liquor to minors. As usual in such cases, tho liquor sellers were lavish of their funds in aid of their unfortunate coworkers, and eminent counsel was employed in defense of these destroyers ol the bodies and souls of tho young and rising generation. But the proof of their guilt was so fully demonstrated that the jury were compelled to pronounce them guilty. Hon. J. N. Ueading, the presidmg Judge, In pronouncing tho sentence of the court, used tho following language:

The jury having found you guilty of soiling intoxicating liquors to a minor, it remains for the court to pronounce tinsentence of the law. The penalty of this offense, fixed by the Legislature, indicates that it considered the crime to be of a serious character. By the law yon may sell to men and to women if they will buy. You have given your bond and paid for your license to sell to them, and no one has the right to molest you in your leg:'I business. No matter what the consequences may be, no matter what poverty and destitution are produced by selling according to law, you have paid your money for this prh ilege, and you are licensed to pursue your calling. No mat'er what families are distracted and rendered miserable, no matter what wives are treated , with violence, what children starve, or mourn over the degradation of a parent, your business is legalized and no one may interfere with you in it. No matter what mother may agonize over the loss of a son or sister blush for the shame of a brother, you have the rij;ht to disregard them nil and 1>ursue your legal calling; you are Uceiwd. You can fit up

your lawful place of business in the most enticing and captivating form; you can furnish it with the most elegant and costly equipments for your lawful trade; you may fill it with the allurements to amusements; you may use all your arts to induce visitors; you may skillfully arrange and expose to view your choice wines and most captivating beverages ; you may then induce thirst by all contrivances to produce a raging appetite for drink; and then you may supply that appetite to the full—because it is lawful; you have a license. You may allow boys, almost children, to frequent your saloon: they may witness the apparent satisfaction with which their seniors quaff the sparkling glass; you may be schooling and training them for the period of twenty-one, when they too can participate, for all this is lawful. You may hold the cup to their very lips: but you must not let them drink—that is unlawful. But, while you have all these privileges for the money which you pay, this poor privilege of selling to children is denied you. Here parents have the right to say, " Leave my son to me until the law gives you the right to destroy him! Do not anticipate that terrible moment when I can assert for him no further rights of protection! That will be soon enough for me, for his mother, for his sisters, for his friends, and for the community, to see him take his road to death. Give him to us in his childhood, at least! Let us have a few years of his young life, in which we may enjoy his innocence, to repay us in some degree for the care and love we have lavished upon him!" This is something you, who now stand a prisoner at the bar, have not paid for; this is not embraced in your license. You have your "bond" to use in its full extent; but in thus taking your " pound of flesh," you draw the blood, and that which is nearest the heart. The law in its wisdom does not permit this, and you must obey the law. By the verdict of the jury, you have been found guilty of transgressing the law. Its extreme penalty is thirty days' imprisonment in the county jail, and $100 fine; its lowest, ten days' imprisonment and $20 fine.

For this offense, the court sentences yon to ten days' imprisonment in the county jail, and that you pay a fine of $75 and the costs, and that you stand committed until th« fine and costs of this prosecution are paid.

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