“O, yes.—­Give us a temperance speech!” rejoined Jim Braddock, not at all sorry to get a good excuse for giving up his examination of the pledge, which had revived in his mind some associations of not the pleasantest character in the world.

“No objection at all,” replied the ready Washingtonian, mounting the rostrum which the tavern-keeper had indicated, to the no small amusement of the company, and the great relief of Jim Braddock, who began to feel that the laugh was getting on the wrong side of his mouth, as he afterwards expressed it.

“Now for some rare fun!” ejaculated one of the group that gathered around the whiskey-barrel upon which Malcom stood.

“This is grand sport!” broke in another.

“Take your text, Mr. Preacher!” cried a third.

“O yes, give us a text and a regular-built sermon!” added a fourth, rubbing his hands with great glee.

“Very well,” Malcom replied, with good humour.  “Now for the text.”

“Yes, give us the text,” ran around the circle.

“My text will be found in Harry Arnold’s grog-shop, Main street, three doors from the corner.  It is in these words:—­’Whiskey-barrel.’  Upon this text I will now, with your permission, make a few remarks.”

Then holding up his pledge and laying his finger upon the wretched being there represented as the follower after strong drink, he went on—­

“You all see this poor creature here, and his wife and children—­well, as my text and his fall from happiness and respectability are inseparably united, I will, instead of giving you a dry discourse on an empty whiskey-barrel, narrate this man’s history, which involves the whiskey-barrel, and describes how it became empty, and finally how it came here.  I will call him James Bradly—­but take notice, that I call him a little out of his true name, so as not to seem personal.

“Well, this James Bradly was a house-carpenter—­I say was—­for although still living, he is no longer an industrious house-carpenter, but a very industrious grog-drinker,—­he has changed his occupation.  About five years ago, I went to his house on some business.  It was about dinner-time, and the table was set, and the dinner on it.

“‘Come, take some dinner with me,’ Mr. Bradly said, in such a kind earnest way, that I could not resist, especially as his wife looked so happy and smiling, and the dinner so neatly served, plentiful and inviting.  So I sat down with Mr. and Mrs. Bradly, and two fat, chubby-faced children; and I do not think I ever enjoyed so pleasant a meal in my life.

“After dinner was over, Mr. Bradly took me all through his house, which was new.  He had just built it, and furnished it with every convenience that a man in mode. rate circumstances could desire.  I was pleased with everything I saw, and praised everything with a hearty good will.  At last he took me down into the cellar, and showed me a barrel of flour that he had just bought—­twenty bushels of potatoes and turnips laid in for the winter, five large fat hogs, and I can’t remember what all.  Beside these, there was a barrel of something lying upon the cellar floor.