Chapter IV (4)

"O Alice, do not say that. Do not give me over in that hopeless way to ruin. Do not abandon me now."

"Donald," the voice was very low, and sweet, and--_strong_. "There was a time I thought to help you. I did my best and--failed. It is too late now. I am married. You who could not put aside your passion for the girl whose heart was yours, and whom you loved sincerely, could not, assuredly, put it by for the woman whose love, and life, and duty are pledged to another. Yet, you know I feel for you. You know what it is to be tempted, so alas! do I. Wait! stand back. There is this difference. You know what it is to _yield_; but I have that little mound back there"--she nodded toward the little flower-decked grave,--"the dead help me, the sleeper underneath is my strength. If _I_ were dead now, I would come to you, and help you. Do that which, living, I failed in doing. Come, now; let us go on and see yon moon rise over Dan. The others have gone long ago."

They passed out, and the little gate swung to its place. The dead at Beersheba were left alone again. Left to their tranquil slumbers. Tranquil? Aye, it is only the living who are eager and unhappy.

Down the shadowy road they passed, those two whose lives had met, and mingled, and parted again. Those two so necessary to each other, and who, despite the necessity, must touch hands and part.

'Tis said God makes for every human soul a counterpart, a soul-helper. If this be so, then is it true that every soul must find its counterpart, since God does not work by half, and knows no bungling in His work. That other self is _somewhere_,--on this earth, or else in some other sphere. The souls are separated, perhaps, by death, or even by some human agency. What of that? Soul will seek soul; will find its counterpart and perform its work, its own half share, though death and vast eternity should roll between.

They passed on, those two wishing for and needing each the other. Wishing until God heard, and made the wish a prayer, and answered it, in His own time and manner.

At the crossing of the roads where one turns off to Dan, the mountain preacher's little cabin stood before them. Nothing, and yet it had a bearing on their lives. On his, at all events.

Before the door, leaning upon the little low gate, an old man with white hair and beard was watching the gambols of two children playing with a large dog. The cabin, old and weatherworn, the man, the tumbledown appearance of things generally, formed a strange contrast with the magnificence of nature visible all around. To Donald, with his southern ideas of ease and elegance, there was something repulsive in the scene. But the woman was evidently more charitable.

"Good evening, parson," she called, "we are going over to Dan to watch the moon rise."

"Yes, yes," said the old man. "An' hadn't ye better leave the gun, sir? There's no use luggin' that to Dan. An' ye'll find it here 'ginst you come back."

"Why, we're going back another route," they told him; not dreaming what that route would be.

"You have a goodly country, parson," said Donald, "and so near heaven one ought to find peace here."

"It be not plentiful," said the old man. "An' man be born to trouble as the sparks go upward. But all be bretherin, by the grace o' God, an' bound alike for Canaan."

They passed on, bearing the old man's meaning in their hearts. All bound upon one common road for Canaan.

Oh, Israel! Israel! the wandering in the wilderness still goes on. The Promised Land still lies ahead, and wanderers in earth's wilderness still seek it, panting and dying with none to strike a rock in Horeb.

The Promised Land! what glimpses of that glorious country are vouchsafed, mere glimpses, from those rugged heights, such as were granted him, who, weary with his wanderings, sought Pisgah's top to die.

Sometimes, when the mists are lifted and the sun shines through the rifted clouds, what dreams, what visions, what communion with those whom the angels met upon the mountain. They thought upon it, those two, as they passed on to Dan.

To Dan, through the broad gate artistically set with palings of green and white. Under the sweet old cedars deep down into the heart of the woods, with the solemn mountains rising, grim and mysterious, in the twilight. Down the great bluff where the tinkle of falling water tells of the spring hidden in the dim wood's shadowy heart. The golden arrows of sunset are put out one by one by the shadow-hands of the twilight hidden in the haunted hemlocks. One star rises above the tree's and peeps down to find itself quivering in the dusky pool. A little bird flits by with an evening hymn fluttering in its throat.

They stopped at the foot of the bluff and seated themselves upon a fallen tree, the rifle resting, the stock upon the ground, the muzzle against the tree, between them.

Between them, the loaded rifle. She herself had placed it there. They had scarcely spoken, but words are weak; _feeling_ is strong--and silent. His heart was breaking; could words help _that_? It was she who spoke at last, nestling closer to him a moment, then quickly drawing back. Her hand had touched the iron muzzle of the gun--it was cold, and it reminded her. She drew her hands together and folded them, palm to palm, between her knees, and held them there, lest the sight of his agony drag them from duty and honor. She could not bear to look at him, she could only speak to him, with her eyes turned away toward the distant mountains.

"Donald," her voice was low and very steady, "there are so many mistakes made, dear, and my marriage was one of them. But, the blunder having been committed, I must abide by it. And who knows if, after all, it be a mistake? Who can understand, and who dares judge God's plans? But right cannot grow from wrong. We part. But I shall not leave you, Donald. Here in the heart of the woods--"

"Don't!" he lifted his face, white with agony. "Your suffering can but increase mine. Go back, dear, and forget. Our paths crossed too late, too late. Go back, and leave me to my lonely struggles. I shall miss you, oh, my beloved,--" the words choked him, "forget, forget--"

"Never!" again she moved toward him, and again drew back. The iron muzzle had touched her shoulder, warningly. She still held her hands fast clasped between her knees. Suddenly she loosed them; opened them, looked at them; so frail, so small, so delicately womanly as they were. He, too, saw them, the dear hands, and made a motion to clasp them, restrained himself, and groaned. She understood, and her whole soul responded. The old calm was gone; the wife forgotten. It was only the _woman_ that spoke as she slipped from her place beside him, to the ground at his feet; and extended the poor hands toward him.

"Donald, O Donald!" she sobbed. "Look at my hands. How frail they are, and weak, and white, and _clean_. Aye, they are clean, Donald. Take them in your own; hold them fast one moment, for they are worthy. But oh, my beloved, if they falter or go wrong, those little hands, who would pity their polluted owner? Not you, oh, not you. I know the sequel to such madness. _Help_ me to keep them clean. Help me--oh, help me!"

She lifted them pleadingly, the tears raining down her cheeks. She, the strong, the noble, appealing to him. In that moment she became a saint, a being to be worshipped afar off, like God.

"Help me!" She appealed to him, to his manhood which he had supposed dead so long the hollow corpse would scarcely hear the judgment trump.

Her body swayed to and fro with the terrible struggle. Aye, she knew what it was to be tempted. She who would have died for that poor drunkard's peace. But that little mound--that little child's grave on the hill--"Help me!" She reeled forward and he sprang to clasp her. The rifle slipped its place against the log; but it was _between_ them still; the iron muzzle pointed at her heart. There was a flash, a sharp report, and she fell, just missing the arms extended to receive her.

"O my God!" the cry broke from him, a wild shriek, torn from his inmost heart. "O my God! my God! I have killed her. Alice! oh, speak to me! _speak_ to me before my brain goes mad." He had dropped beside her, on his knees, and drawn the poor face to his bosom. She opened her eyes and nestled there, closer to his heart. There was no iron muzzle between them now. She smiled, and whispered, softly:--

"In the heart of the woods. O Love; O Love!"

And seeing that he understood, she laid her hand upon his bosom, gasped once, and the little hands were safe. They would never "go wrong" now, never. Even love, which tempts the strongest into sin, could never harm them now, those little dead hands.

"In the heart of the woods." It was there they buried her, beside that broken-hearted one whose life went with the tidings from old Shiloh, in the little mountain graveyard in the woods between Dan and Beersheba.

As for him, her murderer, they said, "the accident quite drove him mad." Perhaps it did; he thought so, often; only that he never called it by the name of accident.

"It was God's plan for helping me," he told himself during those slow hours of torture that followed. There were days and weeks when the very mention of the place would tear his very soul. Then the old craving returned. Drink; he could forget, drown it all if only he could return to the old way of forgetting. But something held him back. What was it? God? No, no. God did not care for such as he, he told himself. He was alone; alone forever now. One night there was a storm, the cedars were lashed and broken, and the windows rattled and shook with the fury of the wind. The rain beat against the roof in torrents. The night was wild, as he was. Oh, he, too, could tear, and howl, and shriek. Tear up the very earth, he thought, if only he let his demon loose.

He arose and threw on his clothes. He wanted whiskey; he was tired of the struggle, the madness, the despair. A mile beyond there was a still, an illicit concern, worked only at night. He meant to find it. His brain was giving way, indeed. Had already given way, he thought, as he listened to the wind calling him, the storm luring him on to destruction. The very lightning beckoned him to "come and be healed." Healed? Aye, he knew what it was that healed the agonies of mind which physics could not reach. He knew, he knew. He had been a fool to think he would forego this healing.

He laughed as he tore open the door and stepped out into the night. The cool rain struck upon his burning brow as he plunged forward into the arms of the darkness. He had gone but two steps when the fever that had mounted to his brain began to cool. And the wind--he paused. Was it speaking to him, that wild, midnight wind? "'In the heart of the woods. O Love, O Love!'"

There was a shimmery glister of lightning among the shadowy growth. Was it a figure, a form of a woman beckoning him, guiding him. He turned away from the midnight still, and followed that shimmery light, straight to the little graveyard in the woods, and fell across the little new mound there, and sobbed like a child that has rebelled and yielded. A soft presence breathed among the shadows; a soft presence that crept to his bosom when he opened his arms, his face still pressed against the soft, new sod. A strange, sweet peace came to him, such as he had never felt before, filling him with restful, chastened, and exquisite sadness. The storm passed by after awhile, and the rain fell softly--as the dew falls on flowers. And he arose and went home, with the chastened peace upon him, and the old passionate pain gone forever.

* * * * *

But as the summers drifted by, year after year, he returned. He became a familiar comer to the humble mountain folk, where summer twilight times they saw him leaning on the parson's little gate, conversing with the old man of the "Promised Land" toward which, as "brethren," they were travelling. Sometimes they talked of the blessed dead--the dear, dear dead who are permitted to return to give help to their loved ones.

Aye, he believes it, knows it, for the old temptation assails him no more forever. That is enough to know.

And in the heart of the woods in the dewy twilight, or at the solemn midnight, she comes to meet him, unseen but felt, and walks with him again along the way from Dan to Beersheba. He holds communion with her there, and is satisfied and strengthened.

God knows, God knows if it be true, she meets him there. But life is no longer agony and struggle with him. And often when he starts upon his lonely walks, he hears the wind passing through the ragged cedars with a low, tremulous soughing and bends his ear to listen. "In the heart of the woods, O Love, O Love."

And he understands at last how to those passed on is vouchsafed a power denied the human helper, and that she who would have been his guide and comforter now gave him better guardianship--a watchful and a holy spirit.

EDITORIAL NOTES.

PHARISAISM IN PUBLIC LIFE.

The poisonous and corrupting influence of Pharisaism is noticeable in every strata of society, as vicious and odious to-day as when the great Galilean, with the supreme contempt of a pure and genuine soul, denounced in such withering terms those who pretended to be what they were not. Evil and repulsive as hypocrisy must ever appear, it assumes colossal proportions as a moral crime, when it masquerades in the robes of official authority, for nothing so surely undermines all respect for law in the mind of the masses as exhibitions of insincerity, inconsistency, and Pharisaism by those invested with power. The people are not so slow witted as the few who take pride in their superior brilliancy imagine. They quickly detect insincerity or hypocrisy; but unfortunately, they frequently do not discriminate between the offender and the office in the nation or the communion which he disgraces. Pharisaism within the Church, far more than assaults from without, has destroyed the old-time influence of theology over the popular mind; while the same results are clearly manifest in our political fabric. In the latter sphere, hypocrisy is doubly odious, in that while undermining the confidence of the people in law, justice, and government, it places far greater power in the hands of pretentious individuals than would be tolerated were it not for their profession of superior virtue, and thus enables persons who are of small moral stature, or who through defective training and unfortunate environment are thoroughly narrow and bigoted, to wield despotic power, often bringing swift and severe punishment on those far less guilty in the eye of the moral law than themselves. Believing as I do that Pharisaism is to-day one of the greatest evils which menace the stability of our government and the continued advance of civilization along the highway of enlightened progress, I feel it an urgent duty to frankly and freely discuss some notable recent illustrations which to unprejudiced minds take on the cast of Pharisaism, and are symptomatic of a condition which presages the moral decline of a nation. For if history teaches one lesson more impressively than another, it is that in which she emphasizes the fact that when Pharisaism becomes enthroned in power, when hypocrisy mantles insincerity and depravity, the soul of a people goes out; and though the form or shadow of former greatness may remain for a time, like the oak which remains standing after the tap-root has been eaten out, vitality, growth, and life have vanished.

The first case which calls for attention is that of Joseph A. Britton, and it impressively illustrates the evils which will sooner or later come to any people who permit the Pharisaical element to arrogate authority, or who legalize the infringement of liberty by authorizing the establishment of a censorship of morals, especially when power is lodged in the hands of persons who have a penchant for delving in moral sewers, and are not hedged about with restrictions which make them legally responsible for wrong doing. Mr. Britton, it will be remembered, was long Mr. Comstock's closest counselor and most efficient aid. In the course of time, however, he withdrew from his former commander in order to establish an association somewhat similar to that presided over by Mr. Comstock. Such societies will naturally ever prove very alluring to men of a certain class, owing to the unwarranted power given to individuals, by which they are enabled to persecute those in no way guilty of crime, and who, after innocence is established, have no redress for the great expense and wrongs inflicted by the irresponsible censorship. The new organization was styled "The Society for the Enforcement of Criminal Law," and Mr. Britton has been from its inception its leading spirit. About a year ago, exercising a power, which, if permitted at all, should always be confined to a responsible judiciary, he caused the arrest of the president of the American News Company, for selling some of the works of Count Tolstoi and Balzac.[2]

[2] Commenting on this outrage, the New York _Herald_ said
editorially:--

"We have had too much of this meddling business--rummaging
the mails for the books of a conscientious writer like
Tolstoi, suppressing the poems of one of the gentlest and
noblest of writers, Whitman, and now taking a gentleman to
the Tombs for having on his shelves a copy of Balzac.
_American readers are not children, idiots, or slaves._ They
can govern their reading without the advice of Mr. Comstock,
Mr. Wanamaker, or this new supervisor of morals named
Britton--a kind of spawn from Comstock, we are informed, and
who begins his campaign for notoriety by an outrage upon Mr.
Farrelly."

The courts promptly dismissed the case, but Mr. Farrelly had no redress for the expense, the harassment, and lost time incident to this unjust arrest. Since then Mr. Britton has had much trouble with the courts and officers of law, who thoroughly distrust the man.[3] He, however, has been posing as a virtuous martyr, declaring that the police and judiciary are all subsidized: that it is impossible for him to suppress the crimes of gamblers, saloon keepers, and the proprietors of disorderly houses on account of the officers being in collusion with the offenders. It is proper to state also that counter-charges have been freely made in the daily press, and this gentleman who assumes the role of one peculiarly fitted to unearth and punish sinners, has been charged with using his office for blackmailing purposes. Of the truth or falsity of the charges I know nothing, but the latest revelation relating to Mr. Britton's career certainly gives color to some of the charges which have been made against him. It seems that while sincere and innocent persons who mistakenly support these mischievous organizations by freely giving hard earned dollars to such persons as the gentleman in question, vainly hoping that their contribution will aid in exterminating gambling, Mr. Britton has been recklessly _indulging in gambling himself_. For a time fortune favored him. He won, and drew the money, but later, luck deserted him and our pseudo-reformer lost quite heavily. [4]Being pressed for the amount of his gambling debts, aggregating $1,085, he gave a check which his creditor, Mr. Robt. G. Irving, alleges was returned as worthless. He then gave notes, the first two of which have come due but have not been paid; consequently his creditor now seeks redress in the courts. Mr. Britton, probably feeling that his usefulness as a censor of morals will be seriously impaired by this unfeeling revelation, displays considerable indignation while admitting his guilt. He says in the column of one of the New York dailies:--

"_I have one weakness. Even the very strongest minded men will
bet on horses. I do it. I admit it._ But why do they pick on me?
Nobody notices the corruption of officials, but when the Agent
for the Enforcement of Criminal Law bets on horse races and
defaults on his debts, everybody sets up a howl."

[3] In the New York _Morning Advertiser_ of September 10,
Mr. Britton thus denounces the judiciary of the empire
city:--

"The police are down on me, but I am not afraid of 'em. I
can prove that the police force is subsidized to wink at
crime. Nine tenths of the crime in New York is under police
protection. I can prove it, and I could begin with the
inspectors and captains. Oh, I'd strike high. I don't go
into the courts and prove it, because every judge in this
city, and I don't make a single exception, is subsidized."

[4] The _Morning Advertiser_ of Sept. 10, 1891, thus records
Mr. Britton's embarrassing position:--

Joseph A. Britton is agent of the New York Society for the
Enforcement of the Criminal Law. Agent Britton has become so
absorbed in the enforcement of the criminal law that he has,
it is said, forgotten that there is a civil law, and
defaulted on the payment of _betting debts_. His creditor,
in the sum of $1,085, is Robert G. Irving, a bookmaker, who
has tried to collect the debt since last fall, and failing
has resorted to the courts.

According to Irving, Agent Britton, upholder and advocate of
the majesty of the law, placed some bets with him, won, and
drew his winnings. Then Britton continued to bet, on credit,
and lost; but, _instead of settling in hard cash, gave a
check, which the bank stamped N. G. when presented. Finally,
Britton exchanged three notes for the worthless check_, but
the first two notes have fallen due, and have proved as
worthless as the check. So the case is on the court docket.

Agent Britton admits the debt, and its nature.

And this is a specimen of the men which a Christian people are supporting and encouraging, owing to their loud and pharisaical protestations of superior virtue. The words spoken by the great Nazarene teacher, and which ring down the corridor of the ages, apply to-day as aptly as when in old Judea he said, "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones and of all uncleanness. Even so ye outwardly appear righteous, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity."

Another instance of the evil of clothing Pharisaism with power was forcibly illustrated in the recent prosecution of the Rev. J. B. Caldwell, editor of _Christian Life_. This noteworthy case illustrates most painfully the fact that an innocent and noble-minded man, who has committed no crime, is liable to be arrested as a common felon and placed at great expense, though perfectly innocent, as was the case in this instance. Yet in spite of this great crime the wronged man has no redress, while the real criminals, they who caused the persecution of the innocent, are in no way amenable to the law. This case also emphasizes the danger flowing from Pharisaism, in its liability to persecute those who criticise it. The possibilities of evil from this source cannot be over-estimated, for it looks toward the suppression of free thought and an untrammeled press and the establishing of a moral, political, and religious despotism. Briefly stated, the facts in the case of the Chicago editor are as follows: In November of 1889, Mr. Caldwell published an earnest plea for Marital Purity, by Rev. C. E. Walker, a Congregational minister of good standing. The paper was not coarse or repulsive, but an earnest plea for one of the most vital and noble reforms imaginable. No notice was taken of this publication by either Mr. Comstock's agent in Chicago, by Mr. Comstock, or the postal authorities. Month after month passed, yet no notice was taken; at last more than six months after the publication of Rev. C. E. Walker's paper, the editor of _Christian Life_ criticised the action of the anti-vice society and the postal department in the case of Mr. Harman. After this, however, the publication of Mr. Walker's paper seemed to assume in the eyes of our censors of public morals criminal proportions, and Mr. Caldwell was arrested, one of the chief charges being the circulation of the paper on "_Marital Purity_," _published in November, 1889. He was arrested in October, 1890, almost a year after the publication of the paper objected to by the censors._ Now there are two points emphasized in this case which are worthy the serious consideration of thoughtful people. If the post-office inspector at Chicago, or Mr. Comstock, or if the postal department at Washington regarded this paper published in November, 1889, as obscene and believed it came within the limits of the law, why did these three argus-eyed censors of public morals wink at the offence for _eleven months_ and take no step against the editor, _until after he had condemned the post-office department and the anti-vice society_? If they were right in taking action, _almost a year after the offence_, were they not guilty of _culpable neglect_ in paying no attention to it for ten months, or until _after_ they had been criticised by Mr. Caldwell? From the _Christian Life_ I clip a few lines which are important as bearing upon this point:--

(1.) The Attorney-General at Washington advised, _after_ reading
the Harman criticism, to place the case in the hands of the
District Attorney. (2.) The case was known to the
Postmaster-General and to Mr. Comstock, and these men were
appealed to in vain to stop the prosecution. (3.) Mr. Comstock,
in a letter to the _Woman's Journal_, characterized the mailing
of _Christian Life_ as violation of the law, _and this before the
trial occurred_.

If Mr. Comstock, as his letter to the Woman's Journal indicates, regarded the mailing of _Christian Life_ a violation of the postal laws, why was no notice taken of it by him or his Chicago agent for almost a year? _Why this culpable dereliction of duty_ until _after_ the anti-vice society and the postal department had been criticised by Mr. Caldwell? It matters not, for the point I wish to emphasize, whether the persecution of Mr. Caldwell, was, as appearances would lead one to infer, a retaliatory stroke in punishment for presuming to criticise the postal department and anti-vice society, or whether the censorship was asleep for the space of ten months and only chanced to wake up after the editor pointed out the iniquity of their proceedings in a case where they had shown _uncalled-for vigilance_. The fact as shown forth indicates the power and possibilities for evil inherent in an enactment which _permits_ any censorship to wield such power without _attaching severe penalties in the event of its being unjustly wielded_, for sooner or later, unless these safeguards are present, evils of the gravest character will follow.

The other serious evil which this case most signally emphasizes, cannot be too frequently or strongly stated, and that is, the cruel wrong, the great injustice which a citizen of this republic may suffer, when perfectly innocent, while those who have persecuted him and are guilty of a serious offence before the moral law, escape unscathed. Thus, we find in this case, after many months of weary suspense, months of harassment and anxious thought, and after being put to an expense which to one in Mr. Caldwell's circumstances was very large, when his case came up for trial before one of the ablest judges in the city, it was promptly dismissed, the judge ruling that the defendant had not violated the law, as had been charged. He was allowed to go forth a free man, but he had no redress against those who had unjustly persecuted him. He was in no way recompensed for the _money which he had had to expend to establish his innocence_, or paid for the _great anxiety and harassment of soul he suffered_. The spectacle of an innocent man robbed by the process of law of his money and peace of mind, yet left with no redress, is humiliating to every person who loves justice. A nation may sometimes err on the side of mercy with safety, but no government _can afford to be guilty of a palpable injustice even to one of her humblest citizens_.

Still another illustration of Pharisaism comes to my mind, a case peculiarly deplorable, because the individual stands so high in the councils of our nation, as well as occupies so prominent a seat in the Christian synagogue. I refer to the case touched upon by Mr. Fawcett in his admirable essay on a "Gambler's Paradise." Probably thousands of persons who had applauded the Postmaster-General's persistent efforts to crush out lotteries, were amazed beyond measure on seeing in the metropolitan press, day after day, statements to the effect that the Postmaster-General had speculated heavily in Reading stock, and was losing vast sums. The press even went so far as to intimate that his credit was no longer good, and so general was the impression that telegrams from different portions of the country were received, inquiring if this high official had failed. To those who had fondly believed that the Postmaster-General was actuated _solely_ by a sincere desire to destroy gambling in his active crusade against the lotteries, these uncontradicted statements from Wall Street came as a rude awakening,--a most painful revelation; for evil as lotteries are, in common with everything that fosters a love for chance and the mania for gambling, it could not be truthfully urged that the lottery was nearly so pernicious in its influence, as that great maelstrom of moral death, that realm of professional gamblers,--Wall Street. The lottery took from one to ten dollars from thousands of pockets monthly, and was a positive evil, in that, while taking these small sums, it fostered the appetite for gambling. But Wall Street is ever sweeping away numbers of fortunes, incidentally driving many of its victims to the suicide's grave, some to State's prison, and in a hundred other ways is it poisoning life, and interfering with the happiness of thousands; more, its baleful influence touches most intimately tens of thousands, who in no way are responsible for its existence.

As has been justly observed by a recent thoughtful writer: "The lottery is legalized in only one State in the Union, but gambling in grain is legalized in every State. The lottery is a small evil indeed compared with the speculation shark, who gambles on the price of the very bread our wives and children eat, and puts our daily bread in pawn to squeeze an added cent out of the palm of poverty. No one has to buy a lottery ticket, and it is a man's own act if he takes the chances of that game, but bread for his little ones he has to buy and in doing so is at the mercy of the gambler."

Another phase of Wall Street speculation which makes it vicious above other methods of gambling, is seen in the fact that the kings of the street when they engage in a well matured deal, play with "loaded dice." There is no chance so far as they are concerned. When these highly respectable gamblers who are worth many millions quietly arrange a movement which will greatly increase their holdings they deliberately set to work to mislead the public. Coolly and with the deliberation of master minds they deceive the "street;" and as a result, ruin to many attends success to the few, while with every such movement lives go out in darkness, reputations are ruined, and families are reduced from affluence to penury. Even at the very time when we were informed by the daily press that the Postmaster-General, through the manipulation of the "little wizard," was losing enormous sums of money, more than one man was driven to suicide by the sudden turn in affairs and one or more banks were forced to the wall. How many happy homes were wrecked, and men of moderate fortunes were reduced to penury by this well-directed stroke of Mr. Gould, will of course never be known, and if the Postmaster-General had chanced to be on the side of the wizard in this gambling deal, would he not have been morally responsible for a share of the wreck and ruin wrought? Nay, more, was he not, as an active participant in this great game of chance, morally responsible to a certain degree? Is there any essential difference between gambling by spending ten dollars for a lottery ticket or ten thousand dollars in railroad stock, which you have been led to believe will be bulled to a fictitious value and which you hope to be able to unload on some one else at an enormous advance? In each instance it is purely a game of chance for all save those who are within the Wall Street ring, who control sufficient money and stocks to dictate the course of the game and to whom there is no risk. The Louisiana lottery is a positive evil, a cancerous sore on the body politic. But Wall Street is a far greater evil; it is a cancer whose roots have already fastened upon the vitals of our political, educational, and religious institutions; an evil which nothing can remedy, save a political revolution of the great earnest masses of our people. The pulpit is abashed in its presence because so many leading lights and pillars in each wealthy congregation are connected with the "street," which is the polite way of designating "gamblers" who delve in stock speculation. The press, with honorable and noble exceptions, wink at this great plague spot, while loudly crying for laws to correct comparatively harmless evils. The political parties depend too much upon the kings of the "Street" for the sinews of war in great campaigns, to lift a voice against it. The "Saloon" and the "Street," two colossal curses, cast their swart and portentous shadow over the palaces and hovels of a great nation, yet by virtue of their power, the Church and State, the clergy and the politicians, remain silent or temporize in their presence. The Republic needs to-day, as never before, true men in every official station,--men who are clean, conscientious, frank, and upright; men who, while strictly honorable and pure in life and action, are also broad-minded, tolerant, and large-brained; men unswayed by partisanship or bigotry; statesmen rather than politicians; and, above all, men that are in no wise tainted with Pharisaism.

CANCER SPOTS IN METROPOLITAN LIFE.

Some months ago I wrote of a phase of wretchedness in our great cities, which I designated "Uninvited Poverty." I confined myself to the examination of those who may be properly designated the helpless victims of adverse fate. There are other phases of misery, however, which result from sin, on the part of the immediate sufferers. In my former paper I spoke of suffering where the wretchedness sprang from sin at the head of the social fountain. But I now wish to notice especially misery, degradation, and moral eclipse, resulting directly from giant evils, which are tolerated in all our large cities, though known to every thoughtful person, from judge to artisan, from clergyman to sexton, from editor to reporter, from wealthy matron to the humble sewing woman. Every earnest thinker knows that there are evils feeding the furnaces of physical, mental, and moral destruction; that there are flourishing nurseries, common schools, and universities of crime, degradation, and death. Yet the great churches slumber on, their melodious chimes call the self-satisfied to cushioned seats where are heard expositions of ancient lore and legends of a vanished past, with incidental and general reference to the conditions of to-day, enabling the children of wealth, who vainly imagine they are the disciples of Jesus, to spend a comfortable hour and perchance contribute to carrying the Gospel to some nature-favored heathen land, never as yet cursed by rum and other evils which flourish with tropical luxuriance in all civilized countries, and which ever follow with blighting, corroding, and life-destroying influence in the wake of our boasted modern civilization. Two great evils confront every thoughtful American citizen to-day. One the _oppression of the poor and the unfortunate_; the other, _the omnipresent cancer spots in metropolitan life_, the infection of which is reaching the highest circles of Boulevard society and penetrating the cellars of the tenement houses. Recently a little work has been published which deals chiefly with what we may term the "cancer spots of social life" in one of America's great cities.[5] It is prepared by an earnest Christian gentleman, who has had a committee of conscientious men and women investigating the actual conditions in the social cellar of Chicago. The author states that his purpose is not to show that Chicago is an exception to the general rule in regard to poverty, crime, or degradation. He merely desires to indicate deplorable facts as they exist in this great city to show how dire destitution is working havoc with the children of men almost under the shadow of the palaces of those who profess to be Christians. He cites as an illustration of the extreme poverty in Chicago the fact that when the compulsory education law went into effect, the inspectors found in the squalid region, a great number of children so destitute, that they were absolutely unfit to attend school; decency forbidding that the sexes in _far more than semi-nude condition should mingle in the school-rooms_, and although a number of noble-hearted ladies banded together and decently clothed _three hundred of these almost naked boys and girls_, they were compelled to admit the humiliating fact that they had only reached the outskirts, while the great mass of poverty had not been touched. A faint idea of the extent of poverty in this one city may be gained from the following facts from the record of one of the city police stations.

[5] Chicago's Dark Places.

On one night last February, _one hundred and twenty-four_ destitute homeless men begged for shelter in the cells; of this number _sixty-eight were native born Americans_. The station was so crowded, that in _one cell, eight by nine and a half feet, fourteen men passed the night_, some standing a part of the night, while others lay packed like sardines. After a time, those on the floor exchanged places with the poor creatures who had been standing. The following incident related is as typical as it is pathetic: An old man, cold, homeless, destitute, not knowing where to lay his head, was seen to take a shovel and deliberately break a window in a store opposite a police station. He was immediately arrested. "What did you do that for?" demanded the officer. "'Cos I was hungry and cold and knew if you got me I could have food and shelter." He was taken care of _after_ he had broken the law. There is something radically wrong with social conditions which compel men who find every avenue from exposure and starvation closed, to become lawbreakers in order to live. Some months ago, one of the Chicago dailies instituted an inquiry to find out as nearly as possible the number of men out of work in that city; the returns gave a total of 40,000 adults who had nothing to do. In connection with this fact I quote from the author of "Chicago's Dark Places":--

At a meeting of the Trades Association a motion was made to the
effect that the Association request the mayor of the city and the
director of the World's Fair to issue a proclamation declaring
that the city was flooded with idle men, and warning the
unemployed of other cities and districts not to come here as
there was not work for them.

The following morning a reporter waited upon the mayor and asked
him what he would do if the resolution were presented to him. His
immediate reply was to the effect that he would gladly issue such
a proclamation, especially mentioning the fact that there were
20,000 unemployed men in the city already.

Now look at the two statements, and you see the awfulness of the
fact, no matter which estimate is accepted as correct. Suppose
you strike a balance between the two (although the Trades
Association inclines to believe the _Globe's_ figures are the
more accurate), and you have the appalling assurance that 30,000
unemployed men are wandering through the streets of this city
seeking work. Even granted that the mayor's conservative estimate
is most correct, the fearful fact still remains that our peace is
menaced by twenty thousand men who have not the necessary work to
earn their daily bread.

These facts most conclusively refute the statements too often
made that "men won't work," and "there's work enough if men are
only willing to do it." Such is not the truth. I can find you
many instances where good, steady workmen have offered to the
foremen of certain establishments $10, $25, and even the whole of
the first month's wages if they would find them employment.

One laboring man being interrogated by one of the commissioners who gathered the facts for the author of this work, replied to the question, "What can you say for those who won't work, who are commonly called the 'bums of society'?" in such a thoughtful and suggestive way that I give his words verbatim.

"Let me ask, What is a bum? As a rule, you will find him to be a
creature degraded by circumstances and evil conditions. Let me
illustrate. A man loses his job by sickness or some other
unavoidable cause. He seeks work, and I have shown you how
difficult it is to find it. He fails time and time again. Is
there any wonder that he grows discouraged, and that, picking up
his meals at the free lunch counter, sleeping in the wretched
lodging houses, associating with the filthy and degraded, he,
step by step, drifts further away from the habits of integrity
and industry that used to be a part of himself? He sinks lower
and lower until, overcome by circumstances, he is at the bottom
of the social ladder,--at once a menace and a disgrace to the
city. Instead of blaming and condemning him, poor fellow, we
should look at the circumstances that made him what he is, and
endeavor to remedy them."

It is not, however, with the uninvited poverty which flourishes in every great city of America that the work chiefly deals. It paints most thrillingly the darker and more terrible side of social conditions; where crime and debauchery mingle with poverty; where every breath of air is heavy with moral contagion. I have only space to notice briefly two of the great evils described,--the saloon and the disreputable concert halls, as these seem to me the greatest curses touched upon.

THE SALOON CURSE.

First in the list of crime-producing, soul-destroying evils of metropolitan life, rises the saloon, the deadly upas of the nineteenth century civilization, the black plague of moral life. In Chicago there are about 5,600 saloons. During the year ending March 1, 1891, observes the author of "Chicago's Dark Places," the expenditure for beer in Chicago alone was not less than forty million dollars ($40,000,000). He continues:--

"The population is about 1,200,000. This gives an average
expenditure _for beer alone_ of $33.25 for every man, woman, and
child in Chicago, and these results are gained after the most
conservative figuring. This would give over fifty-three gallons
of beer to be consumed by each man, woman, and child in the city.

"We are told that Germany is a great _beer_-drinking country, and
yet the official statistics for 1888 show that in Germany only
twenty-five gallons per capita were drunk. Our estimate for
Chicago shows more than double that per capita.

"Let us look now and see what this immense sum of $40,000,000
annually spent in beer might do for this city if wisely expended.
It would supply to 40,000 Chicago families an income of $1,000 a
year, or over $83 a month.

"Where would our Chicago poverty be, if $40,000 families were
each spending in legitimate trade $83 a month? Workmen would be
in demand, and business would so increase as to make Chicago in
ten years the leading city on this continent; or, take this money
and spend it directly in building beautiful new homes for the
workingmen of this city, and what should we see?

"Fourteen thousand commodious cottages built at a cost of $2,500
each, on lots which, bought in acreage in a suburban district,
could be deeded to the workingmen at $180 each, and these,
together with a check for another $180, given to each family to
help in furnishing the houses they owned. What an aggregation of
domestic happiness in home life, and all for the money spent in
beer for one year alone.

"Now, if Chicago's expenditure for _beer only_ amounts to
$40,000,000 we may safely say that for all kinds of intoxicating
beverages, including wines and distilled liquors, Chicago spent
last year upwards of eighty millions of dollars. Is there any
limit to the great good that could come to the city with this
amount expended in proper channels?"

Another well-taken point is the _lawlessness of the saloon power_. It is essentially a law-defying, crime-breeding, and disorder-producing element, a terrible arraignment, yet no one can question the truth of the last two charges, while its lawless character is seen in the facts set forth in this volume wherein it is shown, (1) that the Brewer's Association pays the costs of all the suits and defends all of its members, _whether they have violated the laws or not_. (2) The saloons are required to close on Sunday, yet a large number totally ignore the law, running every Sunday. (3) They are required not to sell to minors without a written order from parents or guardian, and yet there are thousands of saloons which pay no attention to this requirement. (4) They are forbidden to harbor women of bad repute, and yet we are informed that one saloon in Chicago keeps from twenty-five to forty harlots, while in hosts of other saloons special arrangements are made for the gratifying of all forms of nameless immorality which springs from lust fed and inflamed by rum.

The influence of the saloon on the young is one of the most serious phases of the many-sided evils of the liquor traffic. All persons who know anything about the effect of strong drink freely indulged in, know that like opium, it weakens when it does not destroy the moral nature; it wipes out the line of moral rectitude from mental discernment; it feeds the fires of animal passion as coal feeds a furnace; it drys up the soul and shrivels the higher impulses and nobler aspirations of its victims. Yet we are told that in a saloon under one of the newspaper offices in Chicago one night, _fourteen boys and girls from fourteen to seventeen years of age_ were seen to enter; and to show that this is an evil by no means confined to Chicago, facts gathered from other reliable sources are cited from which we find that nine hundred and eighty-three young men and boys were seen to enter nineteen saloons in Albany, Indiana, one evening _within one hour and a half_. On a certain evening in Milwaukee _four hundred sixty-eight persons were seen to enter a single saloon, most of whom were young men and boys_.