He was unconscious of the presence of the white figure that stood at the head of the stairs holding up a lamp, like liberty enlightening the world, and as a tremulous voice called him to the judgment bar, the door closed behind him on the paradise of a fool, and he sneaked up the steps, muttering to himself, "What shadows we are--(hic)--what shadows we pursue." Then I saw him again in the morning, reaping temptation's bitter reward in the agonies of his drunk-sick; and like Mark Twain's boat in a storm, "He heaved and sot, and sot and heaved, And high his rudder flung, And every time he heaved and sot, A mighty leak he sprung." If I were a woman with a husband like "that," I would fill him so full of Keely's chloride of gold that he would jingle as he walks and tinkle as he talks and have a fit at every mention of the silver bill. The biggest fool that walks on God's footstool is the man who destroys the joy and peace of his own sweet home; for, if paradise is ever regained in this world, it must be in the home. If its dead flowers ever bloom again, they must bloom in the happy hearts of home. If its sunshine ever breaks through the clouds, it must break forth in the smiling faces of home. If heaven ever descends to earth and angels tread its soil, it must be in the sacred precincts of home. That which heaven most approves is the pure and virtuous home. For around it linger all the sweetest memories and dearest associations of mankind; upon it hang the hopes and happiness of the nations of the earth, and above it shines the ever blessed star that lights the way back to the paradise that was lost. [Illustration: RETURNING FROM THE CLUB.] BACHELOR AND WIDOWER. I saw a poor old bachelor live all the days of his life in sight of paradise, too cowardly to put his arm around it and press it to his bosom. He shaved and primped and resolved to marry every day in the year for forty years. But when the hour for love's duel arrived, when he stood trembling in the presence of rosy cheeks and glancing eyes, and beauty shook her curls and gave the challenge, his courage always oozed out, and he fled ingloriously from the field of honor. Far happier than the bachelor is old Uncle Rastus in his cabin, when he holds Aunt Dina's hand in his and asks: "Who's sweet?" And Dina drops her head over on his shoulder and answers, "Boaf uv us." A thousand times happier is the frisky old widower with his pink bald head, his wrinkles and his rheumatism, who Wires in and wires out, And leaves the ladies all in doubt, As to what is his age and what he is worth, And whether or not he owns the earth.