mes, one of the brakesmen, well under the influence of whiskey
or wine, takes a careful look at all present, and if satisfied there is
no relative or sweetheart in hearing, he then and there tells an
_anecdote_ on one of the nice girls or married ladies with whom they
have been dancing, that certainly would bring the blush of shame to the
cheeks of the blackest devil that inhabits the world of outer darkness.
The drink, and anecdotes of the same character, _only worse, if
possible_, are repeated until interrupted by the appearance of a
half-witted looking young man, entering from a back door, who seems to
have something of great importance to tell the bartender. He talks low,
but sufficiently loud to be heard by the boys, for it is really for
their ears. "Have you heard the news?" "No, what news." "Why, about Bill
Jones; he went in back here to-night with only five dollars for a stake,
and he has just now gone home with _five hundred dollars_ in his
pocket." Then the boys slide out, and as soon as out in a dark corner,
they begin to enquire to see if a stake can be raised among them,
finding none, one or two being confidential clerks, go to the store,
bank or other place of business, and _borrow_ fifteen or twenty dollars,
having no doubt of their ability to win a few hundred dollars in a
little while, and then replace the _borrowed_ money without it ever
being known. Soon the _borrowed_ stake is in the hands of the dealer.
They repeat the drinks, and then _borrow_ some more in the same way,
which goes into the same hands as the first, and thus they continue
until the appearance of day-light, and then reeling to and fro under the
influence of the mean whiskey they have been drinking, and the ponderous
weight of their sins and crimes, they go to their rooms, cursing the day
on which they were born.

THEY HAVE LOST ALL SELF-RESPECT.

They are now at sea without chart or compass. When a man or woman loses
their self-respect, they are moral wrecks. "WANDERING STARS." There is
nothing left to build upon. It is from this cause that thousands commit
suicide, both men, women, and girls. It is the continual gnawings of the
conscience over the secret sins and crimes they have not the moral
courage to confess. Like the hidden spark of fire in a bale of cotton,
it continues its ravages until the whole bale is reduced to ashes. This
will account in great measure for the hundreds and thousands of
_unaccountable_ suicides of to-day,