Not long after this a young man, the only support of his parents, went out into the dark night from a dance, dazed with drink. He fell on the track, and the morning express crushed him to death. Brother Newberry, going to condole with the parents, found the poor father bedridden by an accident, and the mother, who was furious with drink, held by two men. Down on the dock, one evening, a poor man fell into the lake. He had been drinking to drown his sorrows (a man having run away with his wife). The bystanders, among whom was his own son, seemed stupidly indifferent to his fate; and when they did arouse themselves it was only to bring up his dead body. This they laid in the freight shed, while the son went coolly to work on a vessel close by, and brutal men made jests of the misery of the dead man's married life. To give you an idea of the zest with which the liquor traffic is carried on, let me say that three days after the ferry-boat "Algomah" was stuck fast in the ice-drift, and while it was yet dangerous to cross the strait by sleigh, a saloon was built on the ice about a mile from shore to catch the teamsters as they passed with freight. When I saw it five days later, it had been removed nearer the shore; so that it was built and taken down and put up again all within a week. But come with me out of so baneful an atmosphere. Let us cross the Strait of Mackinaw on the ice by moonlight. What a scene! It is a wild midnight, the moon at the full, a light snow falling; and although it is here only six miles to the other side, you cannot see the shore, as the snow thickens. There are miles upon miles of ice, driven by the fierce gale, sometimes into the depths, again mounting the crest of some mighty billow, groaning and cracking up into all shapes and sizes, swirling as if in some giant whirlpool, transfixed and left in all its awful confusion. It is glittering with beauty to-night; yet so wild, so weird, so awfully grand and solemn, that we involuntarily repeat, "Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him?" The sleighs look, in the distance, like a little dog-train. Now you are gliding over a mile of ice, smooth as glass, while all around it is heap upon heap; then you pass through gaps cut by the road-makers, who have left little pine-trees to guide you; and though the ice in places is packed thirty feet deep, you feel a sense of comfort and safety as you pass from the bleak sweep of the wind into the thick cedars on the shore, and nestle down as if in the shadow of His wing.