brick house, and you live in this poor, tumble-down old house yourself!"

"I never saw it in that light before." Then, holding out his hand, that shook like an aspen leaf, he continued: "You speak the truth, madam; I am a slave. Do you see that hand? I've got a piece of work to finish, and I must have a mug of beer to steady my nerves, or I cannot do it, but to-morrow, if you call, I will sign the pledge."

"That's a temptation of the devil. I did not ask you to sign the pledge. You are a slave, and cannot help it. But I do want to tell you this: There is One who can break your chains and set you free."

"I want to be free."

"Well, Christ can set you free, if you'll submit to Him, and let Him break the chains of sin and appetite that bind you."

"It's been many a long year since I prayed."

"No matter; the sooner you begin the better for you." He threw himself at once upon his knees, and while I prayed I heard him sobbing out the cry of his soul to God.

His wife knelt beside me and followed me in earnest prayer. The words were simple and broken with sobs, but somehow they went straight up from her crushed heart to God, and the poor man began to cry in earnest for mercy.

"Oh, God! break these chains that are burning into my soul! Pity me, and pity my wife and children, and break the chains that are dragging me down to hell. Oh, God, be merciful to me a sinner!" And thus out of the depths he cried to God, and He heard him and had compassion upon him, and broke every chain and lifted every burden; and he arose a free, redeemed man.

When he arose from his knees he said: "Now I will sign the pledge and keep it."

And he did. A family altar was established; the comforts of life were soon secured-for he had a good trade -and two weeks after this scene his little girl came into my husband's Sunday-school with white shoes and white dress, and a blue sash on, as a token that her father's money no longer went into the saloon-keeper's till."

A Legitimate Strike

BY FRANCES E. WILLARD,

Many and urgent are the questions that the workingmen and women of to-day must help to decide. But whatever may be said of methods in general, and of special methods, as strikes in particular, as a temperance woman I am confident that the best strike is to strike against the saloon, and then to strike against all politicians and parties that do wrong to the workingmen. Those are the two strikes that will pay.

There are enough saloons in America, if they were set in a row, and one should go from Chicago to New York City direct by rail-there are enough saloons to keep one company without a break in a street reaching from Chicago to New York. In the eleven mountain States of the Union, in the West, there is a saloon for every fortythree voters. The boycott of the saloon is the greatest thing and the most helpful thing that has ever come to the Knights of Labor or any similar organization.

In one of the towns of Illinois, a banker put his private mark on the money he paid out on Saturday night to the wageworkers of the town who patronized his bank; and on Monday night, of the $700 paid out, and marked privately, over $300 had come back to him from the saloons of that town! There is nothing that cramps, belittles and dwarfs the possibilities of the labor movement in America like the saloons.

Legitimate traffic is like the oak tree; in its branches. the birds gather and make their pleasant music; under its shade the weary herds and flocks find rest and shelter. There is nothing living, hardly, that cannot get good out of an oak tree. It is like legitimate industry; every other industry is benefited and helped by it. But the liquor traffic is like the upas tree, forsaken by every living thing because it is the deadly foe of every thing, and drips, not dew, but poison.

The labor question is a wonderful and mighty issue, but wage-workers would do well to study with it the temperance question, the prohibition question-do well

to remember that nine hundred millions a year are expended by our people in America across the counters of the saloons and in the liquor traffic-nine hundred million dollars, to say nothing of the money that is lost by those who would be at work except for the temptation of the saloon.

Drinking Annie's Tears

BY ROSE HARTWICK THORPE.

My treat, boys? Step up, I don't care if I do,
It's many a time I've been treated by you.
And, boys, I can tell you, it's many a time
With you at the bar I have spent my last dime

And gone reeling home, but you've both done the same.
We begun, I believe, with wine and champagne
Served in wafer-like glasses, light as the mist
That rolls from the sea which the sun god has kissed.
We were then college students. Science and rhyme,
Art, music and Latin slipped down with our wine.
But stomach and brain got o'erloaded, and so
We held to the drink and let all the rest go.
Success we had painted in glowlight of pride,
Ambition and wealth swept away by the tide,
Love, social position and friends by the score,
We sacrificed all, but the demon craves more.
We gave him each one of life's blessings 'tis true.
He asks for our souls and eternity, too.

Step up, boys, it's my treat, provided you'll take
The beverage I've chosen for old friendship's sake.
You wonder what mixture I've gotten up now?
No mixed drink for me, for I'm sure you'll allow
I have mixed my drinks well, rum, beer and champagne,
Strong drink to the stomach is death to the brain.
A drunkard has only the semblance of man,
The form of his Maker. Degraded, accurst,
The vilest of all living things and the worst.

But sometimes that bit of God's presence within
Which clings to a fellow in spite of his sin

And sets him to thinking. Well sometimes you know
The angel within us has worried us so

We have sworn to reform. We did it last year,
And we pledged to drink nothing stronger than beer.

We made up in quantity, what lacked in fire
And watched the last glow of true manhood expire,
In excuses, poor phantoms, pride's tawdry hearse,
Concealing not death, but humanity's curse.

We satisfied conscience; hushed whisperings of fear, We three model temperance men drinking our beer. Drinks for three, if you please. We'll take the pure

stuff;

Of soul-blighting mixtures we've had quite enough. Don't scrimp the measure. Fill the glass to the brim, With God's sparkling sunlight and glory thrown in. Pure crystallized light from the vineyards above Drink fit for the gods, from God's wine-press of love.

What brought it about, this free lecture of mine,
What stirred up the depths of my soul against wine
And wine's variations? List, boys, while I tell;
You know how you left that night at the well,
Blear-eyed and besotted with imbecile leer,
A real model temperance man pickled in beer.
She met me, my guardian angel so fair;
The night dews lay damp on her beautiful hair;
The heart dews hung wet on her lashes, and lay
On her thin, pallid cheeks. Boys, you know the day
She came to my home, wife and helpmate to be,
The bonniest girl, and you both envied me.

The bright pansy-blue has gone out of her eyes,

And her roses-O how I loathe and despise

The wretch who could blight them. No word of com

plaint

Or censure for me had my fair little saint.
She steadied my uncertain footsteps, and led
The wreck of my manhood in silence to bed.

I called for a drink, as the demon of thirst
Raged within me. Annie obeyed my command,
And brought me a drink with love's unweary hand.

'As she passed it to me, one jewel tear fell

And was lost in the drink she brought from the well.
That tear sobered me; I had seen them before,
But I swore then and there I'd drink them no more.
I swore that the rest of my life's misspent years
I'd drink God's pure water, but not Annie's tears.

The Problem of Drunkenness

Ꭰ

BY OLIVER W. STEWART.

RUNKENNESS is a bad thing. On that point no argument is needed. Everyone admits it. The drunkard is one of the first so to do. Even the saloon-keeper acknowledges it, and his various organizations, by their resolutions, proclaim a belief in temperance, and that drunkenness deserves to be condemned. It is a bad thing for the drunkard, and worse for his family. It is a bad thing for society and for the State, depriving them of the services and clear minds of some of the best of their sons. It is bad for business, destroying as it does the wage-earning power of men, hence their purchasing power. The volume of business depends to no small degree on a strong, healthy, vigorous manhood. Anything which succeeds at the price of a deteriorating manhood is a bad thing for business and a foe to humanity.

The drunkard is at a discount. So clearly is this recognized that the men who seek to profit by the drunkard's appetite, such as saloon-keepers and the like, find themselves barred from society, shut out of the best secret orders, and generally looked down upon or despised in the community

This being accepted as true, the problem is that of getting rid of drunkenness. How may we reduce this thing to a minimum? How may we drive it into a corner and prepare the way for its utter destruction?