motive, it silences reason, it stifles conscience, it overleaps everything that you choose to put in its way.

What does it do to a man's body? It diseases it. It crazes his brain, it blasts his nerves, it consumes his liver, it destroys his stomach, it inflames his heart, it sends a fiery flood of conflagration through all the tissues. Have you ever seen a man under the influence of delirium tremens? Have you heard him mutter and jabber and leer and rave like an idiot? Have you heard him moan, cry, shriek, curse, and rave as he tried to skulk under the bedclothes? Have you looked into his eyes and seen the horrors of the damned there? Have you seen him heave on his bed as though his body was undulating upon the rolling waves like a fire? If you have, then you know what intemperance does to the body. It enthralls the will. A man's will ought to be king. The will of the drunkard is an abject slave. I verily believe there have been no such wails of despair out of hell itself as have gone up from the lips and heart of the drunkard who knew that he could never be recovered. It wrecks character. It is a double shipwreck: The drunkard not only loses his own respect but he loses the respect of everybody else. His own character, with its real worthiness and its reputation, is gone, and his worthiness in the estimation of other people is gone, too -both of them slain and buried in one grave—and the gravedigger and the murderer, who are they? Rum.


It breeds crime, fills our prisons, penitentiaries, houses of correction. It feasts the thought of robbery, makes it appear feasible, promises it immunity. It nourishes the conception of murder and gives cunning to the shrinking murderer. is the forger's emboldener, it is the assassin's inspiration, it nerves the suicide, it impels every year myriads of men and women across the boundaries of virtue into the territories of brutal vice and hopeless guilt.

What shall we do about it? Shall we let it alone? Shall we say, "The thing is so tremendous an evil, is so far-reaching and so deeply pervading that we can not do anything with it?" Suppose when the ocean threatened to submerge

Holland that the Hollanders had said, "We are little men and this is a great ocean; one surge may carry a thousand of us away like so many egg-shells. We can not do anything." But they did not say that. They built dykes which are the admiration of the world. They kept out the ocean, saved their fields, cities and people, and the surf which would have devastated them is now walled out forever, and as it ceaselessly strikes their bulwarks can only utter in a hoarse voice its perpetual Amen to the grand triumph of those resolute Hollanders. I say, if intemperance threatens our country as the ocean threatened Holland, let us act as the Hollanders did. God helps courageous souls. If we are bold, brave and faithful we shall yet build dykes that shall gave our country and our race.




ARTIES are the molds into which God pours the principles that are to bless humanity. But when these have crystallized into the law and life of a people, God breaks the mold for which he has no further use. Parties, like men, travel the long road from cradle to coffin; but, unfortunately, when dead they are not so sure of a burial as


Parties are organic-they grow by gradual accretions and require nourishment and care. As a whirlwind begins with a few leaves and particles of dust, so a party begins with a few individuals, often obscure. But if God's breath sets them in motion, the widening and ascending spiral of their progress draws in the multitudes. But parties have their best analogy in well-disciplined armies under intelligent and faithful leadership. First, the soldiers must be recruited, one by one, for a well-understood contest against a foe detested by them all.

Our temperance women have been petitioning legislatures which were, as a rule, companies of soldiers enlisted for no other purpose than to defeat their measures. Is it any wonder that we have grown tired of it and decided to invest our valuable time where it promises better results-namely, in recruiting, one by one, from the people of the country, soldiers committed to the proposition, "The saloon must go?",

The men who will naturally unite in this party will also strongly support civil-service reform, anti-monopoly and anti-Mormon legislation, and will commit the organization heartily to the cause of national and compulsory education. The best elements of the disintegrating parties of the past will gravitate toward this; from their outworn hulls the sound timbers will help make up our life-rafts.

Very soon this new party of great moral ideas will hold the balance of power. At first, perhaps, this will occur in some obscure but carefully canvassed locality; later, in a State; and, finally, by the inevitable sequence of party evolution, in the nation itself.

Here, then, at the nation's capital, let us declare our allegiance. Here let us set our faces toward the beckoning future. Here, where the liquor traffic pours in each year its millions of tarnished gold, let us set up the prohibition standard in the name of the Lord.



["The liquor tax paves our streets." ]

OME, let us reason; heed what we say;

COME, let us are willing and strong to earn.

Our hands are

There is no price that we will not pay

Is there no gold that will serve your turn

Save the gentle gold of the heads that rest
Soft on a gentle mother's breast?

Must they go down in the shameful dust?

How long will your votes shout back, "They must?"
Here is our beautiful, gifted son,

Kept safe till the day he is twenty-one.
The fiends may clutch him upon that day-
What can we say?

We have our pay.

Pave with his blood the broad highway.
Ah, Heaven! Can it be such things are done
Under the sun?

Come to the licensed dealer now.
We shall be met with a smiling bow;

He is all ready for our call.

With a wave of the hand,

Polite and bland,

Toward his framed diploma upon the wall,
He will give the mothers to understand
Our boys are his--he has bought them all.
But I think if mothers could have control
They could pave to-day

The broad highway

With something not so white as the soul
Of an innocent boy at play.

Even the ground

Sends up a sound;

The echoing clods on the coffin-lid

Where our dead away from our sight are hid;
Not to make note of the orphans' wails,

Or the faces under the widows' veils.
Every three minutes some man falls;
Yet you hang the license upon the walls.

No matter how we may writhe and moan,
You will not let our treasures alone;

There is not enough of wood and stone,
Or I think you would pave the city streets
With something harder than mothers' hearts
That cry out under the hurrying feet

And under the heavy brewers' carts;
For, though they are crushed, they still must beat
In deathless mother-love, fierce and sweet.

Peace lies murdered. There is no bliss.
Fear strikes cold through a baby's kiss.
Has God forgotten the world like this?



`HOUGH high license should reduce the number of saloons slightly, it does not lessen the sales or reduce the evils flowing therefrom. But the reduction in the number of saloons is rarely due to high license, as claimed by its advocates, but is due to the rising tide of prohibition sentiment. In Missouri before the enactment of high license she had double as many counties without saloons as she had at the end of three years under high license, yet there is published by speech and document the benefits of high license. Are they utterly ignorant of the truth or utterly false to it?

High license will make the business more decent and respectable, they claim. Nothing on earth can make respectable that which mildews, blights, rots, and destroys human life. The authority and the sanction of law make it legitimate, whether the license be high or low.

They tell us it is a step toward prohibition. The traffic itself is our best witness on this point. Always and everywhere does it oppose prohibition and favor license. When did any business ever favor what would tend to its detriment and extermination? High license forms a subtle but most tenacious bond between the pocket and the conscience. From

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