THE DESTROYER.-H. M. SCUDDER. Intemperance creates in man an ungovernable appetite. Men who have fallen have told us it is not a desire, not an appetite, not a passion; these ordinary words fail to express the thing. It is more like a raging storm that pervades the entire being; it is a madness that paralyzes the brain, it is a corrosion that gnaws the stomach, it is a storm-fire that courses through the veins; it transgresses every boundary, it fiercely casts aside every barrier, it regards no motive, it silences reason, it stifles conscience, it tramples upon prudence, it overleaps everything that you choose to put in its way, and eternal life and the claims of God are as feathers, which it blows out of its path. What does it do to man's body? It diseases it; it crazes his brain, it blasts his nerves, it consumes his liver, it destroys his stomach, it inflames his heart, it sends a fiery flood of conflagration through all the tissues; it so saps the recuperative energies of man's body, that oftentimes a little scratch upon a drunkard's skin is a greater injury than a bayonet-thrust through and through the body of a temperate man. It not only does this, but the ruin that it brings into the nervous system often culminates in delirium tremens. Have you ever seen a man under its influence? Have you heard him mutter, and jabber, and leer, and rave like an idiot? Have you heard him moan, cry, shriek, curse, and rave, as he tried to skulk under the bedclothes? Have you looked into his eyes, and seen the horrors of the damned there? Have you witnessed these things? Have you seen the scowl on his face, so that the whole atmosphere was filled with tempest? Have you seen him heave on his bed, as though his body was undulating upon the rolling waves like a fire? If you have, then you know what it does to the body. It enthralls the will. A man's will ought to be king. The will of the drunkard is an abject slave. The noblest and the mightiest men have been unable to break off the chain when it is once riveted. I verily believe there have been no such wails of despair out of hell itself as have gone up from the lips and heart of the drunkard who knew he never could be recovered. What does it do to the heart? If a man is made in the image of God's intellect, a woman is made in the image of God's heart. A tender woman is tenderest to her child. Is there anything that can unmother a woman, that can pluck the maternal heart out of her, and put in its place something that is powerful and fiendish? Is there any other agent on earth, or even in the world of the damned, that can so transform a mother's heart into something for which thought itself cannot find similitude? Satan himself cannot do it; but rum can. It wrecks character. It is a double shipwreck ; the drunkard not only loses his own respect, but he loses the respect of everybody else. His own character, with its real worthiness and with its reputation, is gone, and his worthiness in the estimation of other people is gone, too-both of them, slain, are buried in one grave; and the grave-digger and the murderer, who are they? Rum. It wipes out the likeness of God from the soul, and makes a man a mixture of the brute and the demon, evolving the stupidity of the one and the philosophy of the other; and the Bible tells us that no drunkard shall ever inherit the kingdom of God. PETER LONGPOCKET. Despised by the world and unblest with a wife, Must be handsome and young, must be modest and trim, Must be saving and close, must not travel the streets any, Giving never to beggar or heathen a penny. But Peter was doomed to a fate not uncommon, One day as he stood at his two-story casement, To observe what might cause either mirth or amazement, And onward she tripped, so fantastic and airy: If a wife wouldn't eat much, I think I might marry! We shall have what will warrant an evening's amusement, And his heart sat to work with its bumping once more. The ladies and gentlemen sat down to the table. Step up to the head, and take that arm chair." Miss Fannie step round to the opposite side." Yes, madam," with diffidence Fannie replied. Peter drew great respect, for quite near the top he sat, Miss Fannie," says Peter, "what would you prefer?" "Oh, la!" exclaimed cousin, “you need not help her;" What! not help Miss Fannie?" cried he with surprise, "I scarce ever eat, sir," Miss Fannie replies; "Dear me! now that's strange." "But," says cousin, "'tis true, And indeed I don't wonder it seems strange to you, She was always so delicate, modest and mild. And for a twelve month or so, or I think some such matter, She heard him, then blushed, and shed tears, and then married. The wedding passed over as most weddings do, They had excellent fare, though the guests were but few, The third morning came, he was sitting at home, Dreaming of transport and rapture to come; When in tones somewhat shrill, was heard the good lady, When a sight struck him stiff in the midst of the floor; Were the objects that caused such excessive surprise; If you can eat that one, I'm able for this." Is it possible, madam, you can eat all that meat? 'Eat all that and more too, if I had it, beside." "That and more if I had it. Oh! gluttony, sure, In a week such a woman would make a man poor." The shock so completely disordered his head, That he fell in a fit and was carried to bed; The doctors were called his complaints to allay, "That and more if I had it." was all he could say; "That and more if I had it," was still on his tongue; "That and more if I had it," re-echoed and rung; And then quite exhausted, he gave up the ghost, And in another hour he was as still as a post. But who shall describe the fond widow's distress? All my property is yours, (oft he 'd said it before,) And I wish, for your sake, it was twice as much more;" 'Tis a sad thing to lose a kind husband; O, dear! A ROYAL PRINCESS.-CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone. Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend? As I am a lofty princess, so my father is A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtleties Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances. |