PART SECOND. HIS REFORMATION-BECOMES A TEMPERANCE ADVOCATE, AND SUBSEQUENT CAREER. HITHERTO my career had been one of almost unmitigated woe; for, with the exception of the days of my childhood, my whole life had been one perpetual struggle against poverty and misery in their worst forms. Thrown at a tender age upon the world, I was soon taught its hard lessons. Death had robbed me of my best earthly protector, and Providence cast my lot in a land thousands of miles from the place of my birth. Temptation had assailed me, and trusting to my own strength for support, I had fallen, O how low! In the very depths of my desolation, wife and children had been torn from my side. In the midst of thousands I was lonely, and, abandoning hope, the only refuge which seemed open for me was the grave. A dark pall overhung that gloomy abode which shut out every ray of hope; and although death to me would have been a 'leap in the dark,' I was willing to peril my immortal soul, and blindly rush into the presence of my Maker. Like a stricken deer, I had no communion with my kind. Over every door of admission into the society of my fellow-men, the words 'no hope' seemed to be inscribed. Despair was my companion, and perpetual degradation appeared to be my allotted doom. The month of October had nearly drawn to a close, and on its last Sunday evening I wandered out into the streets, pondering as well as I was able to do, for I was somewhat intoxicated, on my lone and friendless condition. My frame was much weakened by habitual indulgence in intoxicating liquor, and little fitted to bear the cold of winter, which had already begun to come in. But I had no means of protecting myself against the bitter blast, and as I anticipated my coming misery, I staggered along, houseless, aimless, and all but hopeless. Some one tapped me on the shoulder. An unusual thing that to occur to me; for no one now cared to come in contact with the wretched, shabby-looking drunkard. I was a disgrace -'a living, walking disgrace.' The person who touched my shoulder was an entire stranger. I looked at him, wondering what his business was with me. Regarding me very earnestly, and apparently with much interest, he exclaimed 'Mr Gough, I believe?' 'That is my name,' I replied, and was passing on. 'You have been drinking to-day,' said the stranger in a kind voice, which arrested my attention, and quite dispelled any anger at what I might otherwise have considered an officious interference in my affairs. 'Yes, sir,' I replied; 'I have.' 'Only sign our pledge,' remarked my friend; 'sign it, and I will introduce you myself to good friends, who will feel an interest in your welfare, and take a pleasure in helping you to keep your good resolutions. Only, Mr Gough, sign the pledge, and all will be as I have said; ay, and more too.' Oh how pleasantly fell those words of kindness and promise on my crushed and bruised heart! I had long been a stranger to feelings such as now awoke in my bosom. A chord had been touched which vibrated to the tone of love. Hope once more dawned, and I began to think, strange as it appeared, that such things as my friend promised me might come to pass. On the instant I resolved to try at least, and said to the stranger'Well, I will sign it.' • When?' he asked. 'I cannot do so to-night,' I replied, for I must have some more drink presently; but I certainly will to-morrow.' 'We have a temperance meeting to-morrow evening,' he said: 'will you sign it then?' 'I will.' 'That is right,' said he, grasping my hand. I will be there to see you.' You shall,' I remarked; and we parted. I went on my way much touched by the kind interest which, at last, some one had taken in my welfare. I said to myself, 'If it should be the last act of my life, I will perform my promise, and sign it even though I die in the attempt, for that man has placed confidence in me, and on that account I love him.' I then proceeded to a low groggery in Lincoln-square hotel, and in the space of half an hour drank four glasses of brandy; this, in addition to what I had taken before, made me very drunk, and I staggered home as well as I could. Arrived there, I threw myself on the bed, and lay in a state of drunken insensibility until morning. The first thing which occurred to my mind on awakening, was the promise I had made on the evening before to sign the pledge; and feeling as I usually did on the morning after a drunken bout, wretched and desolate, I was almost sorry that I had agreed to do so. My tongue was dry, my throat parched— my temples throbbed as if they would burst, and I had a horrible burning feeling in my stomach, which almost maddened me, and I felt that I must have some bitters, or I should die. So I yielded to my appetite, which would not be appeased, and I repaired to the same hotel, where I had squandered away so many shillings before; there I drank three or four times, until my nerves were a little strung, and then I went to work. All that day, the coming event of the evening was continually before my mind's eye, and it seemed to me as if the appetite which had so long controlled me, exerted more power over me than ever. It grew stronger than I had at any time known it, now that I was about to rid myself of it. Until noon I struggled against its cravings, and then, unable to endure my misery any longer, I made some excuse for leaving the shop, and went nearly a mile for it in order to procure one more glass wherewith to appease the demon who so tortured me. The day wore wearily away, and when evening came, I determined, in spite of many a hesitation, to perform the promise I had made to the stranger the night before. The meeting was to be held at the lower Town Hall, Worcester, and thither, clad in an old brown surtout, closely buttoned up to my chin, that my ragged habiliments beneath might not be visible, I repaired. I took a place among the rest, and when an opportunity of speaking presented itself, I requested permission to be heard, which was readily granted. When stood up to relate my story, I was invited to the stand, to which I repaired; and, on turning to face the audience, I recognised my acquaintance who had asked me to sign. It was Mr Joel Stratton. He greeted me with a smile of approbation, which nerved and strengthened me for my task, as I tremblingly observed every eye fixed upon me. I lifted my quivering hand, and then and there told what rum had done for me. In my palsied hand I with difficulty grasped the pen, and, in characters almost as crooked as those of old Stephen Hopkins, I signed the total abstinence pledge, and resolved to free myself from the inexorable tyrant-RUM. The very idea of what I had done strengthened and encouraged me. Nor was this the only impulse given me to proceed in my new pathway; for many who witnessed my signing, and heard my simple statement, came forward kindly, grasped my hand, and expressed their satisfaction at the step I had taken. A new and better day seemed to have dawned. As I left the hall, agitated and enervated, I remember chuckling to myself with great gratification, 'I have done it—I have done it.' Little did Joel Stratton, a humble waiter in a temperance hotel, know the influence of the kind act he had that night done. The smallest effort is not lost; Each wavelet on the ocean tost, Aids in the ebb-tide or the flow; Each rain-drop makes some floweret blow; |