"Their intemperate habits, I suppose, has reduced them to such extreme want ?" said Mr. Colburn.

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'Yes, drink has ruined them. And as long as the sale of it is legalized, there is no hope for them. I am out to-day soliciting names to a petition for the Maine law. You will give me your name, I suppose, Mr. Colburn ?"

“Well, really, Mr. Scribner, I hardly know what to say. I am not quite clear in my mind as to the constitutionality of the law. I had rather not just now, until I get a little more light on the subject."

"If you will take pains to visit some of the wretched families in this town, made so by intemperance, you will get light as fast as you desire it," said Scribner, pleasantly.

He left them to weep over their novel; while the sobs, groans, and agony of the drunkard's wife, and the piteous cries of her innocent babes for bread, could neither secure their attention, nor excite a particle of sympathy in their hearts.

The case of Mr. and Mrs. Colburn is not an isolated one. There are many Colburns who are not willing to give a single penny to promote the cause. They object to the Maine law because it is unconstitutional; find fault with temperance men because they go too fast; and grumble if called upon for money to assist the poor and perishing in their neighbourhood. We have many Mrs. Colburns also, who bestow their sympathies upon a pet dog, and weep profusely over the imaginary sorrows of some creature of fancy; but poor, bleeding humanity lies beyond the limits of their anxiety and care.

CHAPTER XII.

EXPERIENCE MEETING.

"For as the light

Not only serves to show, but renders us
Mutually profitable, so our lives,

In acts exemplary, not only win

Ourselves good names, but do to others give

Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live."

MAN is an imitative being. It is this quality of his nature that inclines him to yield to wrong and vicious practices, and also to deeds of virtue and benevolence. It is a maxim of long standing, that "actions speak louder than words." However good may be the sentiments a man holds, however valuable the instruction he imparts, his actions will exert tenfold greater influence than either of the former. To do good, it is not necessary to deliver long homilies on morality and religion; we have only to act out our sentiments in our daily deportment. This is what the Saviour meant when He said to his disciples, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

This principle John Donaldson well understood. He had felt the restraining power of virtuous example from youth up. His father not only taught him to be kind to the poor and unfortunate, but impressed it upon his son's mind by daily efforts to relieve, elevate, and save them. It was the influence of his father's example that led him to appoint a meeting at Jabez Quimby's, that the wretched beings he saw at Jenks's tavern might hear the happy experience of reformed men, and be led to imitate their example.

On the evening appointed for the meeting, the reformed men,

together with many who were still under the power of the drinkseller, assembled. The former came with an ardent desire to impart light and truth to their fallen brethren; while the latter came out of curiosity, and with a disposition to ridicule and disturb the meeting.

After all had assembled, John Donaldson said, "Father Quimby, I have taken the liberty to appoint this meeting at your house without consulting you. My knowledge of your devotion to the cause led me to think it would not be displeasing."

"Bless you, John, you couldn't have pleased me better. I love the cause, and am right glad you 'pointed here. I have been shut up here with the rheumatiz a long time, and ain't been to any of your meetings."

"Will you open the meeting, father Quimby, by reading a passage of Scripture, and a short prayer ?"

"I will, with pleasure. To grapple successfully with this terrible monster, we must have aid from above. Human aid alone can't do it. I will read a part of the tenth Psalm. I read it the other day, and discovered a most wonderful description of a drinkseller. David, no doubt, was moved by the Spirit of God to write it, or he couldn't have given such an exact picture of Jenks and Doty, and all other liquor-dealers.”

Commencing at the sixth verse, he read the following passages, and commented upon them as he passed along:

"He hath said in his heart, I shall not be moved; for I shall never be in adversity.'

"I wish to say, for the benefit of those who are present, that this sounds just like drinksellers' talk. When we beg of them not to sell drink to our neighbours, they tell us, 'I shall not be moved.' All we can say don't move them to abandon their work of ruin. When we tell them God will certainly punish them for their wickedness, they say, 'We shall never be in adversity.' They seem to think, because they are making money by ruining

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others, that their families will never be in adversity. I am an old man, and have watched the dealings of Providence with that class of men, and I tell you the truth when I say I never knew a drinkseller who did not come to adversity. They either lose their property, become drunkards themselves, or make drunkards of their wives and children. Yes, my neighbours, the curse of God is on this business.

"His mouth is full of cursing, and deceit, and fraud; under his tongue is mischief and vanity.'

"I venture to say there is many a drinkseller in the land whose mouth is full of cursing. Some of them are the most profane men in the world. And as for deceit and fraud, their equal can hardly be found. They defraud men out of their property, reputation, and life. It is all deception and fraud from beginning to end; and I presume some of you have found it so. They tell the poor drunkard their liquors will do him good, but they deceive him, and they do it intentionally, to get his property.

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He sitteth in the lurking-places of the villages.'

"All these shops in our villages are lurking-places, where men are ruined.

"In the secret places doth he murder the innocent.'

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They do murder the innocent. Who does not believe that Mrs. Howland was murdered by this infamous traffic? A better woman never lived; but the cruel treatment of her husband, through drink, caused her death.

"His eyes are privily set against the poor. He lieth in wait secretly as a lion in his den: he lieth in wait to catch the poor: he doth catch the poor, when he draweth him into his net.'

"The liquor-dealer, as a general thing, makes his money out of the poor; upon that class of men he fixes his eye, and watches them as a lion does his prey. And when they come near his lurking-place, he springs upon them, and draws them into his net.

"He croucheth, and humbleth himself, that the poor may

fall by his strong ones.'

"You have all noticed how very polite a drinkseller is when he wants to get a young man to drink, or a reformed man to go back to his cups. With a bow and a pleasant smile he meets you, and tells you a little won't hurt you! This he does to form an appetite, that men may fall by his 'strong ones.'

"He hath said in his heart, God hath forgotten: he hideth his face; he will never see it.'

"This is the language of all drinksellers. They think God has forgotten the poor and suffering of our race. They flatter themselves they can go on, and rob and ruin His fallen children, and He will never see it, and never call them to an account for it. But God has not forgotten; He does see it, and in due time will arraign them before His awful bar, and punish them for their wickedness."

Father Quimby closed the Bible, and offered a devout prayer, in which his soul was wonderfully drawn out to God for the reformation and salvation of the inebriates before him. His age, fervency, earnestness, and sincerity, melted his listeners to tears, filled them with deep emotion, and prepared the way for just such results as Donaldson hoped to secure when he appointed the meeting.

At the conclusion of father Quimby's prayer, Mr. Mortimer arose and related his experience as follows:

"My friends, I have no talent for speaking; but I want to tell you how I and my family have felt since I signed the pledge. You have all known me for many years. I was born here, and have always lived among you. I married my wife here. A better woman never lived. During all my ill-treatment of her, I never saw her out of humour. Often her kindness to me, when I came home drunk, has been like fire shut up in my bones. I have often thought it would be a great relief if she would get angry