The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1893-04-21
TALMAGE'S SERMON.
The Dark Side OF the Social Life
In Great Cities.
The Wickedness That Stalks Abroad at
the Midnight Hour-sorrows of the
Vicious Poor-The Thieves
and Drunkards.

Brooklyn tabernacle when he talked on
THE Dark Side of Social Life in Our
Great Cities" He took for his text:
And the darkness He called nght--S5ehests
is.
Two grand DIVISIONS Of time. The
one OF suI-lught, the other of shadow;
TIE one for work, the other for rest:
the one type of everything glad and
beautiful, the other used in all Lam
guages as type of sadness and afiic-
ton and sin. These two divisions
were made by the Lord himself Other
divisions of time may have nomencla-
ture of human invention, but the dark
ness held. up its dusky brow to the
Lord and He baptized it, the dew drip
ping from His fingers as He gave it a
name-"and the darkness He called
night" My subject is midnight in
town. The thunder of the city rolled
out of the air. The slightest sounds
cut the night with such distinctness as
to attract your attention. The tink-
ling Of the bell Of the street car in the
distance, and the baying of the dog.
The stamp of horse in the next street.
The slamming of a saloon door. The
hiccough of the drunkard. The
shriexs of the steam whistle five miles
away. Oh! how suggestive, my friends;
midnight in town.
There are honest men passing up and
down the street. Here is a city mis-
sionary who has been carry semitic of
coal to that poor family in that dark
place. Here is an undertaken going up
the steps of a building from which
there comes bitter cry which indi-
Gates that the destroying angel has
smitten the first born. Here is min
lister of religion who has been giving
the sacrament to dying Christian.
Here is a physician passing along in
great haste, the messenger few steps
ahead hurrying on to the household.
Nearly all the lights have gone out in
the dwellings. That light in the win
dow is the light of the watcher, for the
medicines must be administered, and
the fever must be watched, and the
restless tossing off of the coverlid
must be resisted, and the ice must be
kept on the hot temples, and the per-
petual prayer must go up from hearts
soon to be broken. Oh! the midnight
in town! What a stupendous thought
"a whole city at restl
Weary arm preparing for to-morrow's
toll. Hot brain being cooled off. Rigid
muscles relaxed. Excited nerves
soothed. The white hair of the octo-
genarian in thin drifts across the pill
low, fresh fall of flakes on snow al
ready fallen. Childhood with its dim
pied hands thrown out on the pillow,
and with every breath taking in new
store of fun and frolic. Gods slum-
berless eye will look. Let one great
wave of refreshing slumber roll over
the heart of the great town, submerg-
ing care, and anxiety, and worriment,
and pain.
Let the city sleep. But, my friends,
thousands tonight who will not sleep
at all. Go up that dark alley. and be
cautious where you tread, lest you fall
over the PROSTATE form of drunkard
lying on his own doorstep. Look
about you. lest you feel the garroter's
hug. Look through the broken win
dow-pane and see what you can see.
You say: "Nothingr' Then listen.
What is it? ''God help u.s." No foot
lights, but tragedy ghastlier and
mightier than Ristori or Edwin Booth
ever enacted, No light, no fire, no
bread, no hope. Shrivering in the
cold, they have had no food for twenty
four hours. You say: "Why don't
they beg?" They do. bnt they get
nothing. You say: "Why don't they
deliver themselves over to the
almshouse?" Ahl you would not
ask that if you ever heard the bitter
cry of a man or child when told he
must go to the almshouse.
'"Oh!' you say, ''they are the vicious
poor, and therefore they do not demand
our sympathy" Are they vicious? So
much more need they your pity. The
Christian poor, God helps them.
Through their night there wrinkles
the round, merry star of hope, and
through the broken window-pane they
see the crystals of Heaven; but the
vicious poor, they are more to be pitied.
Their last light has gone out. You ex-
cuse yourself from helping them say
ing they are so bad they brought this
trouble on themselves. / reply, whore
give ten prayers for the innocent who
are suffering 1 will give twenty pray
ers for the guilty who are suffering.
The fisherman, when he sees vessel
dashing into the breakers, comes out
from his hut and wraps the warmest
flannels around those who are most
chilled and most bruised and most bat
tered in the wreck, and / want you to
know that these vicious poor have had
two shipwreclzs-shipwr of the body,
shipwrecl1 of the soul-shipwreck for
time, shipwreck for eternity. Pity, by
all means, the innocent who are suf-
fering, but pity more the guilty.
Pass on through the alley. Open the
door. ''Oh," you say, lit is locked. I"
No, it is not locked; it has never been
locked. No burglar would be tempted
TO go in there to steal anything. The
door is never locked. Only broken
chair stands against the door. Shove
it back. Go in. Strike match. Now
look. Beastliness and rags See those
glaring eye-balls. Be careful now
what you say. Do not utter any in
suit; do not utter any suspicion, if you
value your life. What is that red mark
on the wall? It is the mark of a muir
derer's hand! Look at those two eyes
rising up out of the darkness and out
from the straw in the corner, coming
toward you, and as they come near you
your light goes out. Strike another
match. Ali this is a babe; not like
the beautiful children of your house
hold, or the beautiful children smiling
around these affairs on baptismal day.
This little one never smiled; it never
will smile. A flower flung on an Aw-
fully-barren beach. Oh, Heavenly
Shepherd. fold that little one in Thy