My new pal couldn’t be got up on Main Street to the postoffice again for anything, and as soon as he earned money enough he took the train for “little old New York.”  I’ve met him on the Bowery since I became a missionary there, and we did smile about that ride in the “hurry-up wagon” in Syracuse.

Finally I came back to New York, after being away quite a time, got work in a carpet factory, and was quite steady for a while.

My poor dear mother was sick, sometimes up and oftentimes in bed.  I can still see her and hear her say, “David, my poor boy, I do wish you would stop your drinking.  I’ve prayed for you, and will pray until I die.  Oh, Dave!  I’d die so happy if my only son would stop and be a man!” But that cursed appetite, what a hold it had on me!  It seemed as if I couldn’t stop if I had been given all the money in the world.

I did love my mother dearly; I didn’t care for any one in the world but her.  Still, one of the meanest acts I ever did was to my mother.  And such a good mother she was; there are not many like her!

She was in bed and had only a few weeks to live.  One day she called me to her bedside and said, “Dave, I am going to leave you, never to see you again on this earth, but oh! how I wish you were going to meet me on the other side.  Now, Dave, won’t you promise me you will?” I said, “Yes, mother, sure I will.”  And she made me promise then and there that when she was dead, and waiting burial, I would not get drunk, at least while her body was in the house.  I went down on my knees and promised her that I’d meet her in heaven.

She died, and the undertaker had been gone but a short time when I began drinking, and the day of the funeral I was pretty drunk.  That was one of the meanest things I ever did.  But I am sure that sometimes my dear mother looks over the portals of heaven, and sees her boy—­a man now, a Christian—­and forgives me.  And some day, when my time comes, I am going to join her there.

I went from bad to worse, wandering all over, not caring what happened.  I took a great many chances.  Sometimes I had plenty of money, and at other times I wouldn’t have a nickel I could jingle against a tombstone.  I boated on the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, then up on the Lakes.  I was always wandering, but never at rest, sometimes in prison, and sometimes miles away from human habitation, often remorseful, always wondering what the end would be.

I recollect, after being eighty-two days on the river to New Orleans, being paid off with over $125.  I left the steamer at Pittsburg, and the first thing I did was to go and get a jug of beer.  Before I got anywhere near drunk I was before Judge White, and was fined $8.40, and discharged.  I wasn’t free half an hour before I was arrested again, brought before Judge White, and again fined $8.40.  After being free for about fifteen minutes, I was again brought before Judge White, who looked at me this time and said, “Can’t you keep sober?” I said, “Your Honor, I haven’t had a drink since the first time.”  And I hadn’t.  But he said, “Five days,” and I was shut up for that time, and I was in hell there five days if ever a man was.