an oriental band steal through the
trees. A rustling noise is heard, and a huge serpent is seen winding
its way through the undergrowth. It stops. Its head is erect. Its
bright eyes sparkle. Its whole body seems animated. A man emerges
from the heavy foliage. Their eyes meet. The serpent quails before
the man--man is victor. The serpent is under control of a master.
Under his guidance and direction it performs a series of fearful feats.
At a signal from the man it slowly approaches him and begins to coil
its heavy folds around him. Higher and higher do they rise, until man
and serpent seem blended into one. Its hideous head is reared above
the mass. The man gives a little scream, and the audience unite in a
thunderous burst of applause, but it freezes upon their lips. The
trainer's scream was a wail of death agony. Those cold, slimy folds
had embraced him for the last time. They crushed the life out of him,
and the horror-stricken audience heard bone after bone crack as those
powerful folds tightened upon him. Man's playful thing had become his
master. His slave for twenty years had now enslaved him.

The following is a will left by a drunkard of Oswego, New York State:
"I leave to society a ruined character and a wretched example. I leave
to my parents as much sorrow as they can, in their feeble state, bear.
I leave to my brothers and sisters as much shame and mortification as I
could bring on them. I leave to my wife, a broken heart--a life of
shame. I leave to each of my children, poverty, ignorance, a low
character, and the remembrance that their father filled a drunkard's
grave." It behooves us as Odd-Fellows to ponder well the lessons
taught by our order. Unless the principles that are laid down are
fully carried out, we can never be Odd-Fellows in spirit and in truth.
Today is our opportunity; act now. Have you ever seen those marble
statues fashioned into a fountain, with the clear water flowing out
from the marble lips or the hand, on and on forever? The marble stands
there, passive, cold, making no effort to arrest the gliding water. So
it is that time flows through the hands of men, swift, never pausing
until it has run itself out, and the man seems petrified into a marble
sleep, not feeling what it is that is passing away forever. And the
destiny of nine men out of ten accomplishes itself before they realize
it slipping away from them, aimless, useless, until it is too late.
"Be suc