No Fiction
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Stay, Drunkard, stay, touch not the bowl,


Lift not the poison up


There's deep damnatiOn for thy SOUL


Within that sparkling .-Washington;an


Mother! p exclaimed young girl, after
sitting some time apparently enga ged in deep
thought, Mother, do you think brother James
will ever be such man as Mr.. Roberts was,
when he died?'


why, my dear, do you ask such ques-
ton as that p


Because, have heard you say, that when
he was young man, he was as promising as
any one you knew, and that Mrs Roberts had
fine house and fine furniture; and am sure
[ can remember when Harriet and James went
to school, they were the best dressed children
there. How did it happen, mother, that such
change came over their family?'


a change, indeed ? replied the mother,
and have often promised to tell you some
thing of their history; will now fulfil my
promise, and we'll may you fear for your bro
ther James, when such one as Charles Ro-
berts was twenty years ago, has filled drum
dard's grave. But to commence my story =


Son beautiful evening in October, of 1920,
the mansion of Judge Burton was brilliantly
Illuminated, and all the youth and beauty of
the town were there assembled to celebrate
the nuptials of Charles Roberts and Mary Bur
ton There was all the splendid paraphernalia
of bridal party; the orange flowers that
wreathed the brow of the youthful bride and
her gay companions; the bridal tokens dis
pensed; the snowy loaf; the whispered wishes
of future happiness all told they were about
losing one they valued not lightly. All! little
would you think the bride of that evening was
the heart broken widow of to-day. Not only
rich and accomplished, but an acknowledged
beauty, it was not surprising that there were
many aspirants for her hand; among whom
she chose one acknowledged to be her equal