At last Gough made his appearance on the platform.  He is a slender young man of three or four and twenty.  He told us he had spoken every night except three for the last thirty nights, and was then very weary, but thought “what a privilege it is to live and labour in the present day.”  He related his own past experience of delirium tremens,—­how an iron rod in his hand became a snake,—­how a many-bladed knife pierced his flesh,—­how a great face on the wall grinned at and threatened him; “and yet,” he added, “I knew it was a delusion!”

A temperance man, pointing to Gough, had once observed to another, “What a miserable-looking fellow that is!” “But,” replied the other, “you would not say so, if you saw how he keeps everybody in a roar of laughter at the public-house till 1 or 2 in the morning.”  “But I was miserable,” said Gough; “I knew that the parties who courted and flattered me really despised me.”  He told us some humorous tales,—­how he used to mortify some of them by claiming acquaintance with them in the street, and in the presence of their respectable friends.  He returned scorn for scorn.  “Gough,” said a man once to him, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself to be always drinking in this manner.”  “Do I drink at your expense?”—­“No.”  “Do I owe you anything?”—­“No.”  “Do I ever ask you to treat me?”—­“No.”  “Then mind your own business,” &c.  He introduced this to show that that mode of dealing with the drunkard was not likely to answer the purpose.

“Six years ago,” said he, “a man on the borders of Connecticut, sat night after night on a stool in a low tavern to scrape an old fiddle.  Had you seen him, with his old hat drawn over his eyebrows, his swollen lips, and his silly grin, you would have thought him adapted for nothing else.  But he signed the pledge, and in two years became a United States senator, and thrilled the House with his eloquence.”

In one place, after Gough had delivered a lecture, some ladies gathered around him, and one of them said, “I wish you would ask Joe to ’sign the pledge,”—­referring to a wretched-looking young man that was sauntering near the door.  Gough went up to him, spoke kindly to him, and got him to sign:  the ladies were delighted, and heartily shook hands with Joe.  A year after Gough met Joe quite a dandy, walking arm-in-arm with a fine young lady.  “Well, Joe, did you stick to the pledge?” said Gough to him.  “Yes,” said Joe with an exulting smile, “and the lady has stuck to me.”

For more than an hour Gough kept the vast audience enchained by his varied and charming talk.