and out that it might fasten itself the more firmly to the earth.  For long years this old tree stood there, bowing its head in courtesy to the passing storm, while its branches were but harp strings for the music of the winds.  One evening as the sun went down over the mountain’s brow, not a storm cloud on the sky, a little wind went hurrying round the mountain’s base, struck the great oak and down it went with a crash that made the forest ring.  Young men, why was it a tree that had withstood the storms of ages, should, before such a little gust of wind bow its head and die?  Years before, when in the zenith of its strength and glory, a pioneer with an axe on his shoulder, went blazing his way through the wooded wilderness that he might not be lost on his return.  Seeing the great tree he said:  “That’s a good one to mark,” and taking his axe in hand, he sent the blade deep into the oak.  Time passed with seemingly no effect from the stroke given by the axeman.  But steadily the sun smote the wound, rain soaked into the scar, worms burrowed in the bark around it, birds pecked into the decayed wood and finally foxes made their home in the hollow trunk, and the day came when resisting force had weakened, boasted strength had departed and the giant monarch of the Sierras stood at the mercy of the winds that have no respect for weakness.

There are young men before me today, who can drink or let it alone.  Temptation to them is no more than the gentle breeze in the branches of the oak in the zenith of its strength.  True, temptation has been along their way blazing, here a glass of wine, there a glass of beer and yonder a glass of whiskey.  They can quit when they please, but the less they please the more they drink, the more they drink the less they please.  They don’t quit because they can, if they couldn’t quit they would, because they can, they won’t.  Thus they reason, while appetite eats its way into their wills, birds of ill omen peck into their characters and finally they will go down to drunkards’ graves, as thousands before them have gone.  Young men, in the morning of life, while the dew of youth is yet upon your brow, I beg you to bind the pledge of total-abstinence as a garland about your character and pray God to keep you away from the tempter’s path.

I wonder that young men will trifle with this great “deceiver.”  I wonder too at so much ignorance on the question among intelligent people.  Some years ago after a temperance address a gentleman was introduced to me as the finest scholar in the city.  Next morning we were on the same train, and referring to the lecture of the evening before, he said:  “I heard your address and was pleased with your kindly spirit, but I beg to differ with you, believing as I do, that when properly used, alcoholic liquor as a beverage is good for health and strength.”  I felt disappointed to hear a great scholar make such a statement, but I ventured the reply: