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Midnight Madness
Reverend Morrill, the author of this article, is now touring the West Indies and Cuba and soon will bring home with him a message of truth. He will picture to Whiz Bang readers the volatile life of our Latin neighbors.
By REV. “GOLIGHTLY” MORRILL
Pastor People’s Church, Minneapolis, Minn.
Paris is the paradise of pleasure. Cafés and cabarets invite on every hand. One night at Montmartre I went to “Le Cabaret du Neant.” As I entered, a green lantern overhead flung its deadly pallor on me. Two waiters dressed like undertakers met me and ushered me into a room where the walls were draped in black, the tables were coffins, and the cups were skulls. Like the mummies at Egyptian feasts which reminded the revelers of death, I saw a skeleton in the corner of the room, and the chandelier over my head was festooned with bones. Funeral tapers served as lights on the coffin-lid table, and to dead march music pictures on the wall were transformed from life into sickness, decay and fleshless bones.
Here death was ridiculed, but I thought this micawberesque surrounding and setting was but an analogy of much cabaret, roof garden and café life in America.