REACTION. There is reason to hope that the raging fires of intemperance will soon be quenched. And yet there is always fear of reaction. It seems to follow, as the night the day, on the heels of every reform. The fire which to-day seems smothered, leaps forth with fresh fury to-morrow, and almost consumes our zeal. You have, perhaps, been present at a large conflagration. If so, you have been intensely excited by the struggle of the elements-the fire and water contending for mastery. At one time the maddened flames seem subdued and swallowed up,-the wearied firemen suspend their labors,-the shouts of the multitude rend the air with the cry of "all out,"-when lo!-they burst forth with added fury, and, like so many fiery spirits, dance in mockery over the smoking ruins. But the invincible arm of man is again at work—the aspiring flames are once more covered as it were with “repentant ashes"—we feel that now the victory is won—we turn homeward-when lo the flame, like Milton's Satan, "With fresh alacrity and force renewed Springs upward-a pyramid of fire— Into the wild expanse; and through the shock Of fighting elements, on all sides round Environed, wins his way.” Not dissimilar to me seems the course of the temperance reform. Its progress has never been steady. At one time, when the old Temperance societies were in their glory, the cause went bravely on. Thousands were reclaimed. The air was coined into sweet From Maine to Louisiana music by the song of the reformed. the great cause left its foot-print which the waves of eternity may not obliterate; and the echoes of the Alleghanies, ceased not to answer night nor day to the thanksgivings of them that were saved. But there came a reaction. Many of the societies became "Extinct with scarce a show of dying." Designing politicians iaid their unholy hands on the cause, and it withered and died at their touch. Temperance tracts, which were flying from one end of the country to the other, like birds of message, laden with the words of truth, were stopped, while yet on the wing, robbed of their message, and made the unwilling tools of crafty men. Now and then a temperance essay was read;-but oftener than now and then, some office-seeker with intemperance in his heart, would take the words of temperance on his lips, and "Steal the livery of the court of Heaven, To serve the devil in." What was the consequence? As we have said, reaction, and then, inaction. So went the matter when a few common men in Baltimore awoke from the drunkard's sleep, and awoke NEW MEN. Fired with a new spirit, the film and the beam taken from their own eye, they were inspired with the inspiration of a Paul, to rescue their lost brethren. They came forth clothed with light. They spoke as those having authority. They came with no pretension, with no flourish of trumpets, with no authority but that of truth, with no eloquence but that of the heart, with no prompter but an awakened conscience;-and, clad in the panoply of rectitude, went to those who seemed to them no less fellow-men, because they had been fellow-drunkards, and besought them to reform. They touched their hearts, by telling them the secret of their hearts. They drew from the sweet and bitter waters of experience. They knew where the sore was, and that there was a "balm in Gilead." They had lived the life of the sot. They had struggled in the burning maelstroom of intemperance; they knew its horrors; and therefore it was that they preached with power, that their words dropped like coals of fire upon the heart of the poor inebriate. "Never man spake like these men ”—to them. They had been used to hard names, and inured to hard fare. They had been neglected lepers by the roadside; and these were the only Samaritans who could bind up their wounds. These were their own brethren-flesh of their flesh as it were. Here was a good thing from Nazareth. And when the Reformed Drunkard told them of the beauties of the new life, and when he bade the doubters "COME AND SEE!"-they came. They hung upon his lips, and their hearts danced to the music of his voice, as the oceanharp thrills to the breath of heaven. First one, then another, dashed the red cup to the earth, hoisted the white flag of temperance, till “Now, at last, the sacred influence of light appears, And from the walls of heaven shoots far into the bosom of the night Let us not however mistake this dawn for day. Let us not relax our labors. Let us not compromise our principles. The moment we lag, the moment we rest our arms, reaction will come, the storm cloud will again gather over our head, and we shall once more be deluged with intemperance. SONG. BY C. T. CONGDON. When the night of doubt and danger For the possible to-morrow, I can wait, I can wait. With a heart and head God-given, For the instant of endeavor, 'Till this discord of things human, Character'd in letters golden, THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. BY THOMAS HOOD. One more unfortunate, Weary of breath, Take her up tenderly, Look at her garments Drips from her clothing; Touch her not scornfully; Make no deep scrutiny Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family,Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses, Escaped from the comb,Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or, was there a dearer one Alas, for the rarity Under the sun! Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed: Where the lamps quiver With many a light, From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, In she plunged boldly,- The rough river ran,— |