What associates I had in those days were among men rather than boys, and the men I went with drank.  They gave whisky to me and I drank it, and whether they gave it or not, I wanted it.  Some of those who gave me drinks are no longer among the living, but neither of them nor of the living would I speak unkindly, nor call up in the memory of one who may read this book a thought that might excite a pang; but I would ask any such just to go back ten, fifteen, and twenty years, and tell me where, are some of the wealthy, influential men of that time?  In the silence of the winding-sheet!  How many of them have hastened to death through the agency of whisky?  And how few suspected that slowly but surely they were poisoning the wellsprings of life?  How many are bankrupts now that might yet be in possession of unincumbered farms, the possessors of peaceful homes, but for that thief accursed—­Liquor!  Look, too, at some of the sons of these men, and say what you see, for you behold lives wrecked and wretched.  Need I tell you what has wrought all this ruin?  Need I say that intemperance is at the bottom of it?

The country where I lived in youth and boyhood was equal, if not superior, to any surrounding it.  My father’s neighbors were all kind-hearted, generous people, and some of them—­many of them, indeed—­were good Christians, and yet I repeat that twenty years ago there was not a place of a mile in extent but presented the opportunity for drinking.  In every little town and village whisky was kept in public and private houses.  There was, and yet is, near my father’s farm two very small but ancient towns, containing each some twenty or thirty houses, and both of these places have been cursed with saloons in which liquor has been sold for the last thirty years.  Both of these towns were favorite resorts with me, especially the one called Raleigh.  I have been drunk oftener and longer at a time in Raleigh than in any one place in Indiana.  I have written thus of my birthplace and surroundings, that the reader may know the temptations that encompassed me about, and not to speak against any place or people.  The country in my father’s neighborhood is peopled at this time with noble men and women—­prosperous, noted for kindness, generosity, and unpretending virtue.  I think if I had been raised where liquor was unknown, and had been taught in early childhood the ruin which follows drinking—­if I had had this impressed on my mind, I would have grown up a sober and happy man, notwithstanding my inherited appetite.  I would have been a sober man, instead of traversing step by step the downward road of dissipation.  I am easily impressed, and in early life might have been taught such lessons as would forever have turned my feet from the wrong and desolation in which they have stumbled so often—­in which they have walked so swiftly.  Instead of dwelling with shadows of realities the most terrible, and brooding in the cell of a maniac, I might have now communed with the pure and noble of earth.