* * *

move with more compassionate enthusiasm to the rescue where the onslaught is most fierce and the crisis most inevitable. We have a steadiness of purpose that comes of faith in God, and our wills ought to fly with resistless sweep to the execution of both thought and sympathy in glowing deeds. Revolutions never move backward. Pillar of cloud, pillar of fire, where dost thou lead? God hath not left Himself without a witness. There is still a party in the land to be helped onward to success by women. There is one party now despised for the single reason that it lacks majorities and commands no high positions as the rewards of skilful leadership or wily caucusing, but which declares as its cardinal doctrine that a government is impotent indeed which can not protect the lowliest home within its borders from the aggressions of the vilest saloon that would destroy that home. It declares all other issues trifling when compared with this, and insists that the "home guards" shall be armed with the ballot as a home-protection weapon. Here, then, let us invest our loyalty, our faith and works, our songs and prayers. To-day that party is Endymion, the unknown youth; but the friendship of Diana, the clear-eyed queen of heaven, shall make for it friends, until it becomes regnant and the two reign side by side. The Woman's Christian Temperance Union was never weak, but it is a giant now.

Let no man say, "But you have not the ballot yet and must not expect recognition from a party." Be it well understood, we do not come as empty-handed suppliants, but as victorious allies. Our soldiers are not raw recruits, but veterans wearing well-won laurels. We have no more to gain than God has given us to bestow.

Let not the lessons of history be disregarded. Of old, the world had its Semiramis and Dido, its Zenobia and Boadicea; nay, better still, its Miriam and Deborah. Later on, Russia had her Catharine and England her Elizabeth. But in my thoughts I always liken the Woman's Christian Temperance Union to the Joan of Arc whom God raised up for France and who, in spite of their muscle and their military prowess, beat the English and

crowned her king! But evermore she heard and heeded heavenly voices, and God grant that we may hear and heed them evermore! To the martyrdom of public rebuke and criticism they will surely lead us, a sacrifice not easy for gentle hearts to bear; but following where those voices lead, we shall steadily pass onward from the depths of this world's pain to the heights of eternity's peace; and, best of all, we shall help to lift humanity, so weak and so bewildered, nearer to the law, the life, the freedom of God.

STRONG drink has carried more victims to the grave, in America, than has war.-Dwight L. Moody.

INTOXICANTS make a man believe he takes them moderately, when he is on the highroad to ruin.-Theodore L. Cuyler. Aн, nobler is that triumph hour, the disenthralled shall find, When evil passion boweth down, unto the Godlike mind.

-John Greenleaf Whittier.

FIRST, for your own sake, throw the drink aside,
Let Temperance be your helpmate and your guide;
Next, for the sake of weaker ones, abstain,
And strive to win the drunkard back again.
Oh, for His sake, who came to save the lost,
"Rescue the perishing" at whatever cost,
And lift your voice in palace or in cot,

A voice of warning-Touch it not!"-W. A. Eaton.

WERE the sky over our heads one great whispering-gallery, bringing down about us all the lamentation and woe that intemperance creates, and the firm earth one sonorous medium of sound, bringing up around us from beneath the wailings of the lost, whom the commerce of ardent spirits had sent thither,—these tremendous realities, assailing our sense, would invigorate our conscience and give decision to our purpose of reformation.-Lyman Beecher.

NOTE.-In the chorus let the boys and girls mark time gently to the words, "Saloons, saloons, saloons, must go!"

TOMMY BROWM.

HAT is your name?" asked the teacher.

"WHA

"Tommy Brown, ma'am."

He was a pathetic little figure, with thin face, large, hollow eyes and pale cheeks that plainly told of insufficient food. He wore clothes patched with cloth of different colors. His shoes were old; it was a bitter day, yet he wore no overcoat.

"How old are you, Tommy?"

"Nine year old come next April."

"Well, it is time for you to begin school. Why have you never come before?"

"I never went to school 'cause-'cause-well, mother takes in washin', an' she couldn't spare me. But Sissy is big enough now to help, an' she minds the baby besides."

While he was making his confused explanation some of the boys laughed, and one of them called out, "Say, Tommy, where are your cuffs and collar?" And another said, "You must sleep in the ragbag at night, by the looks of your clothes!" Another boy volunteered the information that the father of the new boy was "old Si Brown, who is always as drunk as a fiddler."

The poor child looked round at his tormentors like a hunted thing. Then, before the teacher could detain him, he ran out of the room.

The teacher went to her duties with a troubled heart. All day long the child's pitiful face haunted her. She found the place where he lived, and went to visit him.

It was a dilapidated house in a street near the river. A woman stood before a washtub. A little girl came forward from a dark corner of the room, carrying a baby. This room was the place

where this family ate, slept, and lived.

There was no carpet on

the floor; an old table, three or four chairs, a broken stove, a bed in one corner, that was all.

"Where is your little boy, Tommy?" asked the visitor.