minute an hour; a small room will resemble a large hall, and a common wall-paper will appear to be magnificent frescoings painted in the most gorgeous colors. The circumstances of my first being led to try the drug were these: I was spending a few days at Swampscott. One of the family was taken ill, and the physician being called, he prescribed the Cannabis Indica. I heard him give the name, and being much interested in the properties of medicine, I looked out the word in a volume of the "Materia Medica," which we happened to have in the house, and found that it was a narcotic drug, its effects like those of opium, twenty grains being sufficient to produce the hallucinations that generally follow when taken in sufficient quantities. me. I instantly made up my mind to try it, and taking about fifteen grains, as near as I could judge, from the vial, I swallowed them, and awaited the effect. For two hours I felt nothing, but shortly after a strange thrill came over The room suddenly seemed to lengthen out, the face of my counsin, who was sitting in the room with me, suddenly assumed the expression of a demon. I sprang to my feet and rushed madly out of the house and on to the lawn, which appeared to extend as far as my eye could reach. I imagined myself a general at the head of his forces, and issued every imaginary command of my troops. Next I was gifted with the powers of Ariel, and leaving the earth, I flew with the speed of lightning through boundless space. On every side I beheld the most magnificent scenery; but looking down I discerned a garden peopled with the most beautiful houris. I descended to it, and for hours rambled amidst its shady walks. I quenched my thirst at fountains flowing with wine instead of water. Slaves bathed my feet with perfumed oils. Little Cupids brought offerings of fruit and flowers to me. I sank back, and saw vision upon vision float past me, most of them ethereal and grand in the extreme, but now and then varied by some ludicrous scenes. I awoke the next morning in bed, where I had been placed by one of my friends, resolved never to try hasheesh again, as I had made myself thoroughly ridiculous. REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D. D. THOMAS DE WITT TALMAGE, the distinguished divine, was born in 1832, in Bound Brook, Somerset County, N. J. His father was a farmer of much vigor and consistency of character; his mother, a woman of noted energy, hopefulness and equanimity. Both parents were in marked respects characteristic. Prepared by the usual course of study for college, young Talmage chose for his alma mater the University of New York, through which he passed with marked credit, ranking high, especially as a belles lettres scholar. Entering upon the ministry, he settled at Belleville, in New Jersey, where he laid the foundation, in an excellent practical ministerial work, for his future career of usefulness. From Belleville Mr. Talmage went to Syracuse N. Y., where he preached for three years to cultivated and critical audiences, and achieved additional celebrity for the eloquence and vigor of his discourses. Compelled by family considerations to leave Syracuse, the climate of which was a cause of ill-health, the next seven years of Mr. Talmage's life were spent in Philadelphia. There he learned what he could best do. He had the courage of his consciousness, and he did it. Previously he might have felt it incumbent on him to give to pulpit traditions the homage of compliancethough at Syracuse "the more excellent way," any man's own way, so that he have the divining gift of genius and the nature a-tune to all high sympathies and purposeshad in glimpses come to him. He realized that it was his duty and mission in the world to make it hear the Gospel. The Church was not to him in numbers a select few, in organization a monopoly. It was meant to be the conqueror and transformer of the world. For seven years he wrought with much success on this theory, all the time realizing that his plans could come to fullness only under conditions that enabled him to build from the bottom up an organization which could get nearer to the masses, and which would have no precedents to be afraid of as ghosts in its path. Hence he ceased from being the leading preacher in Philadelphia to become in Brooklyn a preacher with a world-wide fame. His work for twelve years there is known to all our readers. It began in a cramped brick rectangle, capable of holding 1,200, and he came to it on the "call" of nineteen. In less than two years that was exchanged for an iron structure, with raised seats, the interior curved like a horseshoe, the pulpit a platform bridging the ends. That held 3,000 persons. It lasted just long enough to revolutionize church architecture in cities into harmony with common sense. Smaller duplicates of it started in every quarter-three in Brooklyn, two in New York, one in Montreal, one in Louisville, several in Chicago, two in San Francisco, like numbers abroad. Then it burnt up, that from its ashes the present stately and most sensible structure might rise. Gothic, of brick and stone, cathedral-like above, amphitheatre-like below, it holds 5,000 as easily as one person, and all can hear and see equally well. In a large sense the people built these edifices. It is sufficiently indicative to say in general of Dr. Talmage's work in the Tabernacle, that his audiences are always as many as the place will hold; that seventy-eight papers in Christendom statedly publish his entire sermons and Friday night discourses, exclusive of the dailies of the United States; that the papers girdle the globe, being published in London, Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow, Belfast, Toronto, Montreal, St. Johns, Sidney, Melbourne, San Francisco, Chicago, Boston, Raleigh, New York, and many others. To pulpit labors of this responsibility should be added considerable pastoral work, and constantly recurring lecturing and literary work, to fill out the public life of a very busy man. Recently he has added to his other responsibilities that of the editorship of Frank Leslie's Sunday Magazine, to which he will henceforth give his best and constant efforts. . He has spoken in nearly all the great halls of the United States to vast assemblages. In 1879 he crossed the Atlantic, and preached and lectured in all the cities and large towns of England, Scotland and Ireland. He spoke ninety-six times in ninety-four days. Committees from many of the prominent cities met him at Queenstown on his arrival abroad, and he was received with great enthusiasm everywhere. Some of the audiences, on his appearance on the platform, would rise and stand cheering until it was necessary for the presiding officer to wave them into silence. The Earl of Kintore, the celebrated Scotch philanthropist, presided at the meeting to receive Dr. Talmage in Exeter Hall, while the platform was occupied by some of the most distinguished men and women of England. At the close of many of his meetings in church and hall, he would be called to stand in a carriage or on a chair and speak to the multitudes who could not gain admission. Leaving one of the pulpits where he preached, he went through a back door so as to get to his carriage unobserved; but no sooner did he step into the carriage, than the people gathered around and thousands shook REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D., EDITOR OF FRANK LESLIE'S "SUNDAY MAGAZINE." hands, and as the driver attempted to start the people for, and so fully equal to, all the duties and responsibililifted the carriage by the wheels, and it was necessary for ties of active work in the service of his Master and of huthe police to clear the way. He was breakfasted, ban- manity, have more than a local and temporary interest. queted and honored in all parts of Great Britain and Ire- They concern the world; and thousands who have never land. The railroad stations were thronged when it was seen Dr. Talmage's face in the flesh will thank us, we are known he was to pass through. sure, for presenting it, and also this very brief sketch of The life and labors of a man so thoroughly equipped his life, in these columns. HE DISENGAGED IT GENTLY."- SEE NEXT PAGE. THE MURDER IN THE RUE ST. DENIS.-"WHEN MONSIEUR GABOT HAD GOT AS FAR AS THE HANDS, HE SAW THAT ONE OF THEM WAS CLOSED ON SOMETHING. Vol. XIII, No. 1-8. THE MURDER IN THE RUE ST. DENIS. NINE o'clock had just sounded from the bells of St. Eustache. All Paris had fairly awaked to a new day-that is to say, the people, those who had work, duties, responsibilities. There were some still asleep-the belle who had only thrown aside her satin and pearls at dawn-the jeunesse dorée who had danced all night at the Jardin Mabille, with the laudable desire of looking into the habits of the lower classes. But the work-day world was quite awake, and eager and alert. The streets were still wet from last night's rain, and a pale November sun was struggling through the clouds. The last stroke of the clock had sounded, when a man hurried in a somewhat agitated manner to the side-door of a house in the Rue Montmartre. Being admitted, he made his way up a narrow and illlighted stairway to a door of plain wood, garnished with iron, and a slide which drew back noiselessly as he touched the copper knob of the bell. A woman's face appeared. "What is it ?" "Monsieur Gabot-agent of the police." "Name and occupation ?" "No matter, he would not know. But I am sent from the Rue de Jerusalem." "Oh! have the goodness to walk in.” The young man entered a room that seemed a cabinet of work partly, and partly a dressing-room, since at one side of it was hung the costumes of all classes of society, from the silk-velvet coat, garnished with red rosettes-the fashion of the past-to the plain black woolen blouse of a work man in the barrière to-day. On a shelf near by lay wigs of every color, and beneath, shoes in all variety. In a corner was a collection of every style of cane. Presently a door opened noiselessly, and a slender, pale young man eatered. He looked like the neophyte of some theological school. He wore spectacles. His hair and mustache were blonde, and the eyes which appeared beneath the glasses were innocent-rather vacant-in expression. The messenger stared. "I wish to see Monsieur Gabot." The blonde young man langhed merrily. "What, don't you know me, Leronge? Then the dis guise is good. What's up?" "But the people in the house, they must have heard some sounds-the concierge—he must have seen some one enter." "No; curiously enough, no one seems to have heard a sound. "Ah !” said Gabot in a prolonged and meditative style. "Do not tell me any more. I must leave my mind free for the freshness of first impressions.' On reaching the house, about which a curious crowd had already gathered, the two made their way to the apartment on the third floor, and entered at once the scene of the tragedy. It was to all appearance the living room of the couple, and was well furnished, even luxuriously, for people of that class. There was a small round table covered with a white cloth drawn near the fire, and on it pretty teaservice of Sèvres, but only one cup and saucer had been used. The body of the murdered woman had been left exactly in the position found. Rosine, the maid, stood at one of the windows with her apron to her eyes. The justice of the peace, a gray-headed man, and his assistant had just made a tour of the rooms, with little result. He bowed to Monsieur Gabot. "Allow me first to ask a few questions," said the agent of the police, deferentially. The justice made an assenting gesture. "You, ma'm'selle," said Monsieur Gabot, bowing to Rosine, "were the first comer at t e door this morning?" "Yes, monsieur !" cried the young girl, "and when I saw my good, kind mistress-oh, she was a real angel, gentlemen!" "But," interrupted Monsieur Gabot, "did you notice nothing? Where was your master last night ?" "He was going somewhere—I do not know "Did he leave before you did ?" "No; I went early-at half-past six. My mistress would have it so, although I did not like to leave her alone. She had such a tender heart-and my mother—” "As you stood at the door and knocked for admission, were there no footprints? Last night was very muddy." "Ah, yes," answered the girl, in a startled way. "I did notice the mark of a boot, because I had polished the "A tragedy in the Rue St. Denis. Come with me, and floor yesterday-a large, muddy mark." I will give you the facts of the case on the way." "It cannot be distinguished now," said Mr. Gabot, In a moment the two were rolling along the streets as quietly. "You have made an examination, Monsieur le rapidly as possible. "On the third floor of No. 20 Rue St. Denis lived Monsieur and Madame Clement-monsieur a man of forty, very fresh and vigorous and young in appearance; his wife a beautiful young woman of twenty. Yesterday Monsieur Clement went to the country on business. This morning as the maid, who sleeps at her own home on account of the illness of her motuer, returned, she found it impossible to make any one hear-knocking and calling were in vain. At last a locksmith was sent for to open the door, and a terrible sight was disclosed. The poor young wife lay dead on the floor, with her head almost in the fire. Her pretty blonde hair was, indeed, somewhat burned. The rooms have all been searched-every thing of value taken." "How was she killed ?" asked Gabot. Judge-have you any theory of the murder?” "Scarcely, and yet a suspiciou, perhaps, that will go for something when we are all in the dark. Ah, here is Madame Lemoine, from the floor below, Monsieur Gabot!" Madame Lemoine, a buxom woman of forty, her rosy cheeks pale, and her dark eyes betraying her horror at tho tragedy which had taken place under that peaceful roof, looked about in an excited way. "Mon Dieu, gentlemen!" she cried. "Is it possible that one can be assassinated in this way in our belle Paris? Never can I draw a serene breath again. Oh, the poor angel!" "Perhaps you can tell us something to the point," in"Did Madame Clement livə They were like two chil "Strangled! The marks of a powerful hand are on her dren. Oh, what desolation for the poor man !" throat." "You do not happen to know where he is ?" "No. I did not even know he was going away or I would have come up to sit with her; but then, mon Dieu! there might have been two corpses !" And the horror of this thought made the good woman's cheeks grow more ashen. "Then you heard no sound ?" "Yes. I did hear something." "Ah!" All looked eagerly at her. "I heard-about ten, or it may be half-past. Let me see; I had just given Adolphe a tisane-Adolphe is my youngest boy, and a true little pickle "But you heard?" "A step." "A step, soft, muffled 46 'No, a heavy tramp." "That is not like an assassin." "But let us question the concierge." "I have questioned him already," said the justice. "He states that at ten o'clock he opened the door for an old servant of Monsieur Clement's, called Robertin, who came here frequently. That he went up-stairs and remained about half an hour, when he saw him go out of the door. After that the house was closed for the night." "And no one could enter ?" "No; but one could go out." "My mind is quite settled about this Robertin," said the justice. "Indeed, at the first suspicion I dispatched a man in search of him." Gabot said nothing, but turned to look through the rooms. Everything had been upset, all had been searched. The drawers of the bureaus were taken out and overturned on the floor; a writing-desk burst open and its contents strewn about. The dresses from a wardrobe had been thrown down in a heap-even the pillows and bedding appeared to have been snatched from the bed with a curious hand. "This could not have been for plunder," said Gabot, pointing to the bed. "Why not? Many people secrete money between their mattresses," said the justice. At this moment there was a knock at the door. Two men entered, bringing another. He was about fifty years of age, with gray hair, small, restless gray eyes, and tallow-like complexion. "Name and occupation?" asked the justice of the peace, officially. "Robertin Perot," answered the man. "I am a sort of herb-doctor." "Did you call here in the capacity of a doctor last evening at ten ?" "Messieurs, I was an old acquaintance of Monsieur "Ah !" exclaimed Monsieur Gabot, significantly, and he Clement. I called sometimes." went forward to look at the corpse. "How long have you known Monsieur Clement ?" "For ten years." "Do you know where he now is ?" "No. I was surprised last night not to see him. Ho made an appointment with me.” "You saw his wife ?" "Yes. Madame was kind enough to see me, and"Well ?"- they were all looking sharply at the man's face. The woman was, indeed, very pretty, and a certain style and coquetry in her dress showed that the poor thing Lad been conscious of it. Her hair, which had fallen in disorder during the struggle for her life, was long and rippling, and glittered in the light like threads of gold. The eyes, spite of their terrified stare, were limpid, blue and childlike; the throat, around which those cruel fingers had been pressed, was round and snowy; the mouth, open now, with the tongue horribly protruding, had been fresh, rosy and smiling. That one could easily see. The hands were really aristocratic in their shape, and-ah! when Monsieur Gabot had got as far as the hands he saw that one of them was closed on something. He disengaged it gently. "Here, gentlemen, if I mistake not, is a clew to the in a whisper to Gabot. "He has come here evidently with assassin." no criminal intention. He has found the master gone. "She gave me an old overcoat of her husband's, as it "I do not make much now with the herbs, you see." It was a bit of gray tweed, torn with a button from a Possibly Madame Clement had rich jewelry on. The tempcoat. "This is very important," said the justice, gravely. "Does the concierge remember the dress of this Robertin ?" asked Gabot. "We will have him up.” The man presently appeared with a most terrified face. He had an idea that he would be held in some way accountable for the tragedy. "Yes, this man Robertin had a most villainous countenance," he said. "At once, when I heard of the murder, I was certain about it. He wore a light overcoat, I noticed as he went out. No, I did not notice it when he came in. Gray? Yes, a sort of gray." "At what time did Monsieur Clement go away?" "Ah! I did not notice. I heard the door shut while I was at supper. Most likely then.” "Did Madame Clement have other visitors-young men -admirers, in short ?" "Never. A more prudent and devoted little wife never lived. She cared for no one else," Madame Lemoine answered. "She was coquette for him alone-her husband." "Ah! they had been married but a year," said the concierge, as if this state of things was a strange infatuation from which she would have recovered in due time. tation offered, and he yielded. It is a clear case. must be arrested for examination, at least." He |