The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1882-07-27


ever. Oh, what discontents, what zeal.
ousies, what uncomfortable hate has
sprung mp among those who depended
upon their literary success. How often
have writer's plunged pens into the hearts
of their rivals, pens sharper than cine.
tiers, striking deeper chan bayonets.
Voltaire hated Rosseau, Charles Lamb
could not endure Coleridge. Wallar
warred against Cowley. The hatred of
Plato and Xenopllon is as immortal as
their works. Corneille had an utter con.
tempt for Racine. Have you ever been
in Westminster Abbey? In the Poets'
Corner i'll Westminster Abbey slean
Drayton, the poet, and little way off
Goldie, who said the former was not a
poet. There sleep Dryden, and little
way tf poor Shadwell, who pursued him
with fiend's fury. There is Pope, and
little way Off is John Dennis, his impla.
cable enemy. They never before came
80 near together without quarrelinr.
Byron had all that genius could give n
man. and that sympathy with nature
could give man, and that literary an.
plause. could give man; and yet he
died of wretehedness.
come to learn one more lesson from
my subject, and that is that there is
NO COMFORT IN THE LIFE OF yo.
LUpTuARY.
| dare not draw aside the curtain that
hides the excesses into which, Eoionon's
dissoluteness plunged him. Though he
waved sceptEs ever others there arose
In his own soul q tyrant that mastered
him. With mandate that mono dare
disobey he laid the whole land under
tribute to his iniquity. Delilah shcared
tho locks of that Samson. From that
princely seraglio there went forth a ruin
GUS blight on the whole nations chastity:
but after awhile rcmorse with feet Of
fire leapcd upon his soul and with body
exhausted and loathsome aud dropping
apart with putrefaction, he staggers out
from the hell of his own iniquity to give
warming to others. Oh, how many have
ventu7ed out on that wild sea of seneu-
ality, driven by fierce winds OF passion,
hurled against the rocks, swallowed in
tho whirl of hell's mad storm that was
the last of them. No that was not the
last Of them. Everlastingly ruined, with
their passions unsubdued and burning
on the soul fiercer than unuuencbahIe
fire, they shall writhe in n torture tbat
shall make tho cheek Of derknes. rs!.
aud utter a blaaphemy that shall shock
devils damned. Oh, how many young
mon have gone on that path of sin be.
cause it seemed blooming with tropical
splcndor and the sky was bright and tho
air was balm, and from the castles that
stood on the shore of glittering seas
there came ringing up laughter as merry
as the waves that dashed on the crags
beneath. BY some internal spell their
eye was blinded and their ear was stopp.
ed, or they would have heard the clank
OF chains and the howl of woe, and
across their vision would have come
spECTERs OF THE DEAD,
with shrouds gathered up about faces
blistcred with pnin and eyes staring fr5m
their sockets in agony. But they saw il
not, they heard it not, until from the
slippery places the long, lean, skeleton
hands of despair reached up and snatched
them down, destroyed without despairl
Has this snrcerer cast its eye on you?
q, young man, have you been once and
again to the places where the pure never
got Have you lolled your back upon
mothers prayer and sisters II j. and
while speak does your copscier begin
10 toll dismally the burial of your purity
and honor? Put back now or never!
Put back The shadow that falls upon
your sun is from no passing cloud, but
from q night deep, starless, eternal.
Gods eye watcheth thy footsteps. A
little further on and no tears can wash
out thy sin and no prayer will bring q
pardon. Put back now or never l teay
off the garlands which hide this deaths
head and hold before you the reeking
skull of sinful pleasure. Nations have
gone down under this sin. Exhumed
cities, on broken pillars and on temple
walls, have preserved in infamous scufp.
ture the memery &C scenes before which
the antiquarian turns mis- head and aska
II there be God where so long has slept
his vengeance. The world still trembles
under the weight of this behemoth of
iniguity and from the myriad graves in
which 1t holds the SCARED carcasses of
the slain lifts up its hands, crying:
How long, o Lord, how long?" From
Christian circles, from the very affairs of
God the ranks of ruin are made up.
They march on with scorched feet over
a pathway of fire, the ground trembling
with earthquake and the air hot with the
breath of woe and sulphurous with the
fleet lightnings of Gods wrath. Scor-
pions strike out at every step, and the
worm that never dies lifts its awful crest
with horrid folds to crush the debauched.
oh. there is no peace in the life Of q
voluptuary. Solomon, answer: "None!
Mono" But my friends, if there is no
complete satisfaction in worldly Offices, in
worldly wealth, in worldly learning, in
sinfu. Indulgence, where is there any?
has God turned us out on a desert to
die? All, no; look at this fair ono that
comes Immortal garlauds on her
brow The song oF heaven bursting
from her lips! "Her ways are ways Of
picasantness and all her paths are peace"
In Christ is peace. In Christ is pardon.
In Christ is everlasting joy and nowhere
else.
ABOUT LovE.-Mr. Factandfancy had
noticed:
That the boy who is most afraid of the