The kindly admonition of friends and my own intelligence began to tell me the story, and then how I struggled for months and months—­a naturally sensitive nature only making me worse—­till, at last, the conviction forced itself upon me that, for me there was no redemption, that I was bound, hand and foot, perfectly powerless, and then I was forced to accept the fact.  My only desire then was to save those dear to me from any knowledge of the truth; for this reason I chose Chicago for my home.  Not wishing to take my own life in my hands, I was simply waiting for the moment when, having gone lower and lower, it would, at last, please God to relieve me of my earthly sufferings.  Oh! the mental agonies I endured!  Too true is it that the drunkard carries his hell around with him.  At any moment I was perfectly willing to die, perfectly willing to trust whatever might be before me in the other world, feeling it could be no worse.  At last, by God’s grace, I was directed to the ‘Washingtonian Home,’ and there, for the first time, I learned that I could be free; and in this knowledge lies the power of the Home.  The Home took hold of me and bade me be a man, and directed me to God for help; and, at the same time, told me to work out my own salvation.  Its teachings were not in vain; and to-day I can look up and ask God’s blessing on you all for your kind labors.  But for that Home, I should, to-day, have been filling a dishonored grave.”

And another says:  “It is now over five years since I applied to Mr. Drake for admission to the Home.  I was then prostrated, both physically and mentally, to that degree that I had scarcely strength to drag myself along, or moral courage enough to look any decent man in the face.  I was often assured that to quit whisky would kill me.  I thought there was a probability of that; but, on the other hand, there was a certainty that to continue it would kill me.  I resolved to make one more effort and die sober, for I never expected to live; had no hope of that.  From the day I entered the Home I have been a changed man.  The encouragement and counsel I received there, gave me strength, to keep the resolution I had formed, and which I have kept to the present moment, viz:  TO DRINK NO MORE!  Ever since I left Chicago, I have held a respectable position; and now hold the principal position in a house of business, the doors of which I was forbidden to enter six years ago.  I do not write this in any spirit of self-laudation, but simply to lay the honor where it belongs—­at the door of the ‘Washingtonian Home.’”

The following from the “experience” of one of the inmates of the Chicago “Home,” will give the reader an idea of the true character of this and similar institutions, and of the way in which those who become inmates are treated.  A lady who took an interest in the writer, had said to him, “You had better go to the Washingtonian Home.”  What followed is thus related: 

HOW I WAS TREATED IN THE HOME.