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WHEN MARY WAS A LASSIE.
The maple trees are tinged with red.
The birch with golden yellow;
Hang apples, rich and mellow;
That looks so still and grassy,—
When Mary was a lassie.
You'd hardly think that patient face,
That looks so thin and faded,
That ever bonnet shaded;
That looks so still and grassy,
When Mary was a lassie.
But many a tender sorrow since,
And many'a patient care,
That used to be so fair.
Through the lane so still and grassy
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 weeping amid the gloom.
And as he slept, the drunkard dreamed
Of happy days gone by,
And heavenly, soft-blue eye.
Again he wandered near the spot
Where Mary used to dwell,
His darling loved so well,
That blossomed in the dell.
Again he at the altar stood
And kissed his blushing bride,
His bosom swell with pride;
With Mary at his side.
The drunkard's wife is brooding o'er
The happy long ago—
Her body to and fro.
In the same channel flow.
But now upon the drunkard's brow
A look of horror dwells,
Each feature plainly tells,—
His dream of bliss dispels!
Upon him glares a monster now
With visage full of ire,
Replace the feathered choir,
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!"
As he were stricken dumb.
And now they point him to the brook,
Amid yon flames are struggling
And in their terror and despair,
He rushed to aid them, but at ono»
And then he sank upon his knees
But palsied was his tongue, and he
The drunkard writhed, and from his brow
Cold perspiration broke,
Curled up the flame and smoke,
The wretched man awoke.
He glared around with frenzied eyes,—
His wife and children three
In abject misery,
His waking agony.
A pause—a sigh—and reason's light
Again did on him beam,
"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
The ffood God's Holy Book:
A solemn vow he took.
"So help me God, I ne'er again
Will touch the poisoned bowl
And steeps in guilt the soul,
Affixed to Satan's scroll!
"Help me. O Lord! to keep this oath—
To shun each vic ious don
To make me sin again!"
And from his sobbing wife's white lips
And then on her wan visage beamed
A smile of joy once more,
She kissed him o'er and o'er,
Had never wept before.
He kept his oath, and from that time
No discord now—sweet peace was theirs,
And daily both gave thanks to God
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.