I have lived to see more than one hundred counties of Kentucky, in which I established Good Templar Lodges, when bottles were on sideboards in the homes, and barrooms in almost every crossroad village, now in the dry column.

I have lived to see seventeen states under prohibition, fifty millions of people of the United States living under prohibitory laws, the Congress of the United States giving a majority vote for submitting national prohibition to the people, and the great empire of Russia going dry in a day.

Sweet is the “buttered bread” that is coming to me after these many years since I cast my bread upon the waters, when days were dark, discouragements many and faith weak.  I am waiting now for another slice of this “buttered bread” about the size of old Kentucky dry.

If I could live life over I would put a better bit to my tongue, and a better bridle on my temper.  An Englishman said:  “My wife has a temper; if she could get rid of it I would not exchange her for any woman in the world.”

Two men meet and have a misunderstanding; one flies into a passion, shoots or stabs, while the other stands placid and self-contained, preserving his dignity.  The world calls the first a brave man and the latter a coward; but Solomon declared the man who rules himself to be “greater than he that taketh a city.”

Oh! the tragedies that lie in the wake of the tempest of temper.  On the dueling field such men as Alexander Hamilton went down to death for want of self-control.  Andrew Jackson killed Dickerson; Benton of Missouri killed Lucas; General Marmaduke killed General Walker.  Pettus and Biddle, one a Congressman, the other a paymaster in the army, had a war of words, a challenge followed; one being near-sighted selected five feet as the distance for the duel, and there educated men, with pistols almost touching, stood, fired and both were killed.

Senator Carmack of Tennessee, criticised Colonel Cooper as a machine politician.  Cooper said:  “Put my name in your paper again, and I’ll kill you.”  Young Cooper felt in his rage that he must settle the trouble.  Did he settle it?  The bullet that went through the heart of Carmack went through the heart of his wife, threw a shadow over the life of his child, and draped Tennessee in mourning.  Did he settle it?  He started a tempest that will howl through his life while memory lasts and echo through his soul to all eternity.  Oh! that men would realize that to walk honorably and deal justly insures in time vindication from all calumny.

Abraham Lincoln was called the “Illinois baboon” by a leading journal, but Mr. Lincoln placidly read the charge, and told a joke as a safety valve for whatever anger he may have felt.  One hundred years go by and the President leaves Washington and goes on a long journey to stand at a cabin door in Kentucky, there to pay tribute to a man who “never lost his balance or tore a passion to tatters.”