[On hearing the church-bells ring at sunrise on the 155th anniversary of the birth of Washington.]

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GOOD, great name!" So speak the bells

In deep, clear tones that come to me

With one of history's noblest spells,

And tune my heart to patriot's key.

"A good, great name!"

What millionaire

Has ever been remembered so?
What selfish life may ever share

The praise that makes these echoes flow?

"A good, great name!" It speaks to me
Of love to God and love to man;

Those unities in which agree

Both Now and Here, both There and Then.

"A good, great name!" The tuneful bells
Ring on and on in their delight,
While my glad heart with purpose swells
To serve my country with my might.

"A good, great name!" It is the goal
Of all this splendid world can give;
Its conquest well may nerve the soul
For man to die, for God to live.

"A good, great name!" O Washington!
We may not climb where thou hast stood,
Crowned with the people's loud, "Well done!"
A Pharos in time's rolling flood.

But to our measure's perfect height

Let each climb on toward generous fame.

So may the future's bells delight

To ring for us,


A good, great name!"

Or sweet and low, the human heart
Shall gently chime our holier fame;
Beyond the magic of man's art

It shall sing on, "A good, great name!"



[From address delivered on Bartholdi Day.]

'O-DAY we have been inaugurating the world-renowned


To-night we will unveil the grander statue of temperance enlightening the universe. As yonder bronze Colossus towers in stature and beauty over all other statues in the world of art, so shall our Temperance Goddess yet tower above every opposing, every rival, power in the world of moral and political reform. As from that colossal torch in the sky blaze forth the rays of electric fire that is to illume sea and land and to guide the storm-tossed mariner safe into our mighty harbor, so from the torch of temperance and prohibition, lifted on high before States and nations, shall stream forth the light of righteousness and salvation for souls and nations from the abyss of the ruin of rum.

As this sublime statue symbolizes the league of France with America by which the nationality and liberty of America were achieved a century ago, so the genius of temperance and prohibition to-day stands for a new league between all that is best of the old political parties of this country in order to rear upon new combinations a new organization for a nobler liberty than the old, a higher and holier freedom than the world ever saw before.

As this statue celebrates the victory

of American independence over the oppressive despotism of the Old World, so shall coming generations rear colossal and glorious monuments to symbolize the victory of the temperance cause over an oppression, a tyranny like which the world never saw another-the bloody and damning tyranny of the rum power.

As the erection of this glorious statue is to-day celebrated by assembled myriads, by banners and processions and acclamations, by rolling drums and echoing cheers and cannon thunders, so the time shall come when assembled nations, amid rejoicings that shall shake the globe, shall behold that old serpent, that devil and Satan of alcoholism, bound in the great chain of total abstinence and absolute legal prohibition and cast into the bottomless pit, whence the smoke of its torment shall ascend forever and ever.

As often, then, as we cross our great rivers of New York harbor, as often as we see that colossal form looming up, a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, let us make it for us a symbol of our holy cause, an emblem of the liberty that saves men from the rum demon and lights them on to sobriety on earth and salvation in heaven.



H. E. P.

WAS St. Patrick-good luck to the day he was born

Who banished the shnakes so arly wan mornin',
An' de'il a wan av the crayters came back
To Erin to crawl on his vile, crooked track;
An' niver a frog or a toad jumped a rod
Since that day on ould Ireland's emerald sod.

God blissed our St. Patrick who scattered the crayters,
But lift us the shamrocks an' finest petaters.

Sure if he was here now we'd sind in a petition
To banish the whiskey straight down to perdition.
For 'twas a mishtake to give rattleshnakes passes
An' lave us the sarpints that lurk in our glasses!



`HE saloon is an agent for the corruption of the morals of

who mediates between the saloon and the family carries the morals of the saloon into his family rather than the morals of the family into the saloon. Especially is this so if the patron be the father or the head of the family. As surely as a man carries the fumes of beer on his breath and breathes it into the face of his family, so surely does he carry the moral' atmosphere of the saloon with him back into his house.

The saloon is a direct attack upon our children. The deadly"Family Entrance" is the trap-door through which hundreds and thousands of children are led down into the death which the saloon-keeper has prepared for them. It is a misdemeanor for a saloon-keeper to sell liquor of any kind to a minor under the age of fourteen years, or to allow any child under fourteen years to enter his premises. Against this "minor clause" the saloon-keepers fought most desperately, and though they failed to defeat the law, they do not hesitate to defy it and break it whenever they can, without conscience and without fear. The saloon-keeper knows full well that his nefarious and damnable business would die out in a decade unless he can keep the ranks of his victims steadily recruited from the company of children in the neighborhood where his saloon is located. The saloon kills off its victims so fast that, unless new patrons can be raised up by corrupting the boys and the girls, the business would die out in ten years. Surely this is a question in morals that every father and

mother is bound to consider. Am I to sit silently by and see this combination of excise commissioners and saloonkeepers spin their deadly webs about the feet of my boy without doing what I can to circumvent his plans and, if possible, destroy his power?

The saloon breeds a moral pestilence in every neighborhood where it is located. One has only to pass slowly through the crowd of loafers who infest the saloon doors to have his ears assailed with coarse vulgarity, loathsome conversation, and beastly jokes, not to speak of shocking profanity.

The saloon is the instigator of most of the violence and the mother of nine-tenths of the crime of our cities, and yet the excise commissioners say they have nothing to do with the morals of this question. Violence and crime are at least a phase of morals that one would think these officers of the law ought to have something to do with. Every saloon is a hotbed of violence and murder. They are the human slaughterhouses of the country in more senses than one. And yet we have an increase of them at the rate of one hundred and five every four months in the year. Not to protest, not to act, is to acquiesce, and that is complicity with the evil.

The saloon power is threatening the utter destruction of the quiet of the Lord's day. It is flatly against the law and in violation of the solemn obligation of every man to whom a license is granted to sell any of his wares on the Lord's day. Nevertheless, this monster of incarnate lawlessness, in spite of law and in defiance of it, carries on its business day and night throughout every day in the year.

The saloon-keeper is a flagrant and defiant law-breaker. I have already said as much, but let me say it again. The saloon-keeper says: "If we may not sell liquor on the Sabbath with the consent of the law, we will do it in defiance of the law." Every such saloon-keeper is a deliberate and determined law-breaker and a criminal. Let the principle of the saloon-keeper prevail and we have a rebellion which in its effects will be more deadly than the one that cost the nation billions of treasure and more than a million lives to put down.

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