The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1878-10-17

Nv" PCThiilS inOO OOIftspUlOn un(l
now on its black wing wi ping the
blood Of soul. No lark, no robin,
no chatfinch, but vultures, vultures,
vultures
First of all I have TO say that the
sacred report about the magnifi
cence of these haunts Of inuuity is
apocryphal. I had been told OF
masterpieces of painting, marvellous
music, bewitching fountains, impe>
rial upholstery. Masterpieces
There was not II painting worth five
dollars, laying aside the frame
Great daubs Of COLOR, GROSS be-
tween a cromo and splash Of paint.
Music ? The HON eliest creatures
ever saw squawked discord, accom-
panied by pianos out OF tune. Up
holstery with two characteristics
red and cheap. Tinsel, gewgaws,
tawdriness, frippery seemingly
bought at second hand furniture
store and never paid for. Here
and there was a poor soul on which
was the crown of beauty, but moth,
ing comparable with the Christian
loneliness which you may any day
see on our great thoroughfares.
Young man, you arc a stark fool if
you go to places of dis patton to
hear music or SEQ fine uph 'lstery of
beautiful and gracious countenances.
However great the pretence, sin is
almost always poor,
RURAL VICTIMS.
[ have also, my fir ends, to report
that i'll my midnight exploration T
saw what amazed mo more than I
can tell, It will take pain to many
hearts SO far off I cannot comfort
them. In all of these haunts of
ini1uity I found young mon on
whose check was the ruddy color of
country health. They had heard
how gayly u boat swings on the edge
of the mnelstrom, and had yentured.
Oh, my God will few weeks do
such awful work young man ? I
such q young man when he
first confronted evil I saw him
immovable, as much as to say, II
an mightier than SIM" Then [ saw
him consulting with sin, Then I
saw him doubt and waver as the
shadow of sad reflection crossed his
thoughts and some holy memory
md sin had struggle, but sin
triumphed. [ SAW him surrender to
darkness and death-an OK to tho
slaughter. Oh, my soul is this
the end of all the good advice Has
this clustor from the country vine-
yard been thrown into the great
wine press, whore despair and
anguish and death trample, and the
vintage Is q vintage of blood God
pity the country lad, unsuspecting
and SO easily betrayed O young
man from the farmhouse among tho
hills, why are you so bent on killing
her who gaye you birth I see
something on your forehead and ON
your hands and on your feet, It is
red. What is it The blood of q
mothers broken heart. OF what
did she die ? the farmers will ask
as they tic their horses at the rail
fence on the funeral day. It was
neither intermittent fever, nor cons
gestion, nor old age. In the pom
derous book of Almighty God it will
be recorded for everylasting ages to
read, "You killed her,"
A DREAM NOT ALL A DREAM.
But [ was going to tell you Of an
incident of my exploration, AS Wa
passed out of one of those places
there passed me, going in, o face in
which there was sorrow only half
covered up by an assumed Joy. 1t
was woman's face and I could
read it like the page Of book.
O night, far away in q sort of
sol lnambulism or walking sleep, a
soul forsook her fathers house.
The night was dark and her feet
were cut on tho rocks. In her
sleep she wandered down fright>
full chasm, leaping from bowller to
bowlder until she reached the low.
est depths. Then she assembled the
other side of the chasm, until she
scaled the heights. No eye but the
sleepless eye Of God had watched
her going down on the one side or
coming up on the other. Tt was an
August night and storm was
gathering. A. loud clap of thunder
woke her from her somnambulism.
She tried to fly, but saw a deeper
ehasm before her. She bent over
the one and heard the sighings of
4I,o ,oor4 Gl,o lo~A ox,o,, Al>o 49,,